You are the type of person who could defuse a bomb while babysitting a room full of rambunctious children. Family and friends come to you for advice because they don't have the time for you to come to them. Today, you are likely to spend a great deal of time at a dollar discount store seeking to buy either storage boxes for your summer clothes or 500 feet of coaxial cable. Be on the lookout for florescent light bulbs that hum folk songs from the sixties. You should consider shopping at stores or businesses beginning with the letter D, but do not buy any products with a serial number or product code containing the number 393667. Your preferred shopping venue is department stores. Your special symbol is the at sign (@).

As a Blue Placidola, you are easy-going and even-tempered, calm and composed. For you, the hectic pace of a crowded shopping mall during the holiday rush is nothing, it's little more than a tranquil stroll in the park. Life is good. Life goes on. Why worry. You are a happy shopper and you seldom fret over trivial details of a market exchange, in part because you are astute enough to get moderately low prices and relatively good deals.

A problem underlying the provision of public goods that occurs when a person consumes or benefits from a good without making payment. The free-rider problem is the primary reason that public goods are produced by governments. Because public goods are characterized by the inability to exclude nonpayers, once a public good is produced anyone, everyone, can consume without making payment, that is, get a "free ride." Voluntary payments like those occurring in markets will not provide enough revenue to pay production costs. The only way to finance public goods is to force free-riders, and everyone else, to pay through government taxes. The free-rider problem also applies to common-property goods.

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In the discussion of recession we see that one of the problems confronting both pedestrians and the economy is stepping in an occasional pothole. These potholes are usually small and do little damage. Every now and then, however, our economy falls face first into one humdinger of pothole that's big enough to swallow the better part of a marching band. Rather than a mere recessionary pothole, these are best thought of as depressionary canyons. The Great Depression of the 1930s was the most memorable depressionary canyon on record for the good old U. S. of A. The question we need to ponder over the next few pages is: Are there any more depressionary canyons like the 1930s lurking along the economic pavement?
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