“ALRIGHT, FOLKS!” a voice booms from the stage. “Who’s ready for MURPHY’S CORPORATE TRIVIA NIGHT?”
The bar erupts in scattered cheers. I glance at the guy on stage. He’s wearing a Murphy’s Tavern T-shirt and holds a stack of index cards.
“First place wins a first-class ticket to anywhere in the continental United States, PLUS twenty-five hundred dollars cash!”
Now that gets my attention.
Twenty-five hundred dollars. A ticket anywhere.
The tequila is making everything feel possible, like maybe the universe is trying to tell me something.
“Teams can have up to four people, or you can play solo. Sign-up sheet is at the bar!”
I flag down the bartender and scribble my name, phone number, and email address on the sheet. Savannah Castellanos, party of one.
At 7:00 PM, the game starts.
“Question one!” The host grins. “In business terms, what does ROI stand for?”
I write downReturn on Investmenton the little whiteboard they gave me. Easy. This is why I went to business school, even if my marketing job was soul-crushing.
“Question two: Which company was originally called ‘Cadabra’?”
I know this one.Amazon. The tequila hasn’t hit my memory yet, just my inhibitions.
The questions keep coming. Some about Fortune 500 companies, others about famous CEOs and business scandals. I’m drunk, but I’m also weirdly focused, like all my anxiety has been replaced with determination to win this thing.
By 8:20 PM, we’re down to the final round, and it’s between me and a team of four guys in polo shirts who keep high-fiving each other.
“Final question, worth double points: In 1995, this company’s IPO made several employees millionaires overnight. Its founders started it in a garage. Name the company.”
My hand is shaking as I writeNetscape.
The host checks the answers. “And the winner is…Savannah Castellanos!”
Holy. Shit.
I sit there staring at my whiteboard like it might disappear.
“Savannah?” The host waves me up. “Come get your prize!”
My legs are shaky as I stand. The bar erupts in applause, and I make my way to the stage, my heart pounding. The polo shirt guys are also clapping, looking disappointed but sporting about it.
The host hands me an envelope. I open it with trembling fingers. There’s a voucher for a first-class ticket and a thick stack of bills.
Twenty-five hundred dollars.
“Holy shit,” I whisper.
The host laughs. “Where do you want to go?”
I blink at him. “What?”
“The ticket. You can go anywhere in the continental United States. Where do you want to go?”
My mind is blank. Completely blank. Then something clicks.
“Vegas.”
