When it comes to the economics of happiness, a guaranteed maximum price can entail unacceptable costs – as this festive tale demonstrates
Everyone likes the idea of price certainty. It is comforting and makes things easier to plan for. The fixed price has made possible any number of things that we take for granted. For example, Thomas Cook’s first “package” holiday, from Whitby to Skegness, relieved travellers of the fear of running out of funds. But is it reasonable to expect certainty when what you’re pricing for doesn’t yet exist? For things such as films, engineering enterprises and one-off buildings?
Just take a reasonably simple set of circumstances, such as six friends going out for a Christmas meal. You’ve booked the table and you have an idea of the price range. But can you work out exactly what your meal is going to cost by each of you peering through the window at the menu, making your choices, adding a service charge and totting up the figure? I’m not talking about a catering operation, I’m talking about a convivial evening that has taken time to set up and might not be repeatable.
The first thing that will happen is that either one of the starters will be off or, just for that evening, they are offering Normandy crab in choux pastry with an asparagus cream sauce. Of course, it costs a bit more than the baked goat’s cheese in prosciutto that you selected in the window … And you don’t want to have the whitebait, which is cheaper, because you had it last time and it was a bit spiky. Then someone says: “Well, if three of us are having crab, we might as well order something more lively than the Pinot Grigio. You agree that although the 2002 Viognier is a bit dearer than you had allowed for, £22 is a pretty good price. Especially here.
Then, one of your party who thought they didn’t want the Chateaubriand has changed their mind, which means that your colleague who would have chosen it but couldn’t because it has to be split between two people can now order it. Naturally, it’s 10% more expensive than the other mains.
Ten minutes into your evening, you have probably exceeded your budget by 15%.
Now if the food is good, and there is the right gap between the courses, and the waiters manage to bring everyone’s order at the same time, the evening starts to take on a life of its own. And if the service continues to be efficient and the waiters refrain from interrupting the flow by topping up everyone’s glasses every 30 seconds, the evening can develop into something very cheery indeed.
Everyone is kissing and there is much bonhomie, although the budget was exceeded by 75%
It improves further when the couple on the next table who like to leave their Marlboro Lights smouldering in the ashtray leave. This has the effect of making the dessert course look more tempting. Perhaps £7.75 doesn’t look that expensive for a rhubarb brulée. By the time one of your colleagues has recommended you for a wonderful job, and you’ve realised that someone you always thought was a bit of a prune actually has a very infectious laugh and much nicer ankles than you remembered, you all agree that some prewar Calvados at £12.45 a shot will put the final touch on the jolliest evening you have had together in a long while.
Soon everyone is kissing each other effusively on the pavement and there is much bonhomie, despite the budget having been exceeded by nearly 75%. Inevitably it becomes a case of, “Darling, we can’t spoil this by waiting for the Tube and there’s one over there with his light on”.
So despite knowing all the prices in advance, you’ve all spent much more than you thought you were going to spend. But then it was a much better evening than you thought it was going to be. Anyway, you could all sort of afford it. It’s just that before it started, you didn’t know if it would be worth it. And if someone had value-engineered it halfway through so you’d had to cut out the coffee and the Calvados, it would probably have spoiled the whole thing.
Of course, you could guarantee price certainty by restaging the whole event at McDonald’s. And as you sat on the Tube breathing secondhand alcohol fumes while avoiding the festive cans of White Lightning rolling around on the floor, you could console yourselves for having had a miserable evening with the thought that at least it cost what you thought it would.
Postscript
Gus Alexander runs his own architectural practice in Clerkenwell, London