There was a storm raging both outside and inside at the Sam Bankman-Fried's FTX offices on November

8, 2022. It was if the elements were acting out the fury of the maelstrom taking place within FTX’s
holdings on the announcement that FTX was being sold due to a financial crisis. “What the heck?” James
said aloud. He eyed his coffee that was growing cold on his desk. The mere thought of drinking coffee
made his stomach turn, as he had done nothing but drink the vile stuff for days, now, since hearing
rumors of impending doom from fellow employees via his messenger apps. He could not eat; he could
not sleep. He had everything invested in FTX. Not only his assets, but his heart and soul, as well. He had
willingly followed FTX from California to Hong Kong to the Bahamas. What was he going to do if FTX was
bought out? Where would he go? What would he do?

He heard a loud crash from the kitchen and swore. It seemed like Tropical Storm Nicole was hell-bent on
destroying his life, as well. He jumped up and ran to the kitchen in his stocking feet, praying to God that
it was just a window breaking and the damage would be minimal. As he thundered into the kitchen, he
stepped in a pool of water that had blown in from the broken window and his feet slipped out from
under him. He fell hard, landing on his back and hitting his head on the ceramic tile floor. His vision
turned black with tiny pin-pricks of stars and it felt as though all the air had been violently expelled from
his lungs. He laid on the floor, stunned. As his vision returned and he could start breathing, again, he
gingerly rolled over and slowly got to his feet. His head hurt, his body hurt, and his pride hurt. He looked
over to where the window had broken over the sink…and sitting in the sink in gusting wind and driving
rain was a purple octopus.

“What the heck?!?” he asked for the second time that day. His mouth dropped open and he blinked
rapidly a few times, trying to make the vision make sense. Had the octopus been blown in through the
window by the storm? He had heard of odd things happening in tornados back in the States, but he had
never heard of full-grown octopi being dropped into people’s homes. He closed his eyes and tilted his
head back in despair. Not only did he have a mess of glass and water to clean up during the middle of a
storm, but now he had an octopus in his sink to deal with. And he had a splitting headache.

The octopus slid out of the sink and onto the floor. It started dancing its way across the tile towards him,
his tentacles moving in a weird undulating kind of waltz. James frantically looked around for something
to keep the beast at bay. A broom? A mop? A pan? A knife? Something! As he was quickly assessing his
choices of weapons, the octopus stopped, made a little bow with its over-sized head, and spoke to him.
SPOKE to him. It said in a very clear voice with an Oxford accent, “Excuse me, my good man, but it
appears that I may have been accidentally deposited into your home. Please accept my deepest
apologies for the inconvenience, but may I intrude upon your good graces and ask for your assistance?

“Uhhh…what?”, spluttered James, his eyes blinking rapidly, again. The octopus started, in a patient but
rather patronizing voice, “Excuse me…,” but was interrupted by James. “I KNOW what you said, but,
how? How can you speak? You are not human! You are an octopus! In the Bahamas! How do you even
know English?!?”

The octopus replied, “Oh, that is quite simple. I studied abroad and spent time at Oxford in England. In
fact, I received my PhD in English Literature. Please allow me to introduce myself…”

Suddenly the room whirled and James found himself back on the floor in a growing pool of water. He
carefully rolled over, once again, got to his feet, being careful not to slip again. He looked to where the
octopus had been, but there was nothing there. He looked at the sink, and although there was shattered
glass around the sink and rain and wind blowing in, there was no octopus. He tentatively felt the back of
his head and it was wet. He fearfully looked at his fingers, but it was simply water. He breathed a sigh of
relief, and cautiously made his way to the sink, avoiding the glass. He looked out the window, but again,
no octopus.

He turned around and slid back to the floor. He propped his elbows on his knees and put his head in his
hands. He realized that he must have been knocked out when he fell, and that the purple dancing
octopus was simply a bizarre dream. He remembered reading somewhere that having a purple octopus
show up in a dream signifies an ability to adapt to diverse situations.

He knew, in that moment, that whatever happened with FTX, he would be okay

This is a fictional story created for a job application with subjects provided by prospective employer. The
events and/or people are not real.