During election years, really big ideas emerge on taxation, regulation, education and the like. In the spirit that intriguing ideas are often the most provocative (they couldn’t really do that, could they?), I am humbly offering my really big idea. One that leaps all industries in a single bound. An idea so crazy that it just might work. I call it the “Complexity Discount” and here’s how it works:

Every citizen is entitled to a Complexity Discount (I’m thinking 15%, but just stay with me here) when they come face-to-face with unintelligible information that stops them dead in their tracks.

Just this week, I’ve already had one experience that would have scored me a sweet 15% on my savings:

I chose a simple financial product from an (unnamed) insurance company (I’m being kind here) that seemed straightforward enough, with a guaranteed rate of return and a fixed period of time. Done. Then I received the 50-page investment contract in the mail. It began innocently with a cover letter and then there it was — another percentage rate appeared front and center…not my guaranteed rate, and then another appeared. What happened to my guaranteed rate? Turns out those weren’t my rates and weren’t rates at all, but (once translated) were withdrawal fees, annuitization fees, and other fees, which (I’m told) apply to some folks some of the time, but not to me any time, I think. There were other percentages and fees, too, enough that made me question whether I would ever see the guaranteed percentage.

I didn’t have time to create a matrix of what applies under which circumstances and find the pattern for my simple needs. You see, you’d need a matrix because the contract is a series of disparate topics on separate pages all concatenated with some superseding others (for some people under some circumstances). Not to mention I received the contract two weeks late and only after I placed calls to my representative and the company. And I had a shorter window to “review” the contract than expected. What happened to my simple investment?

So I wrote “cancelled” on the top of the contract and mailed it back.

If the Complexity Discount were in place, it would have been different.

I’d call the company’s “Complexity Hotline” (they couldn’t really do that, could they?) and have a rousing productive chat. As a patriot for Simplicity, my insight would be immediately elevated to the CEO’s attention. My little 15% discount would have cast a long, dark shadow on the folks who created the contract in the first place.

I’ve never held elected office, but I am sure the Complexity Discount could transform the nation: No CEO would willingly build a line into the quarterly financials to show $2 billion reserves for “Complexity Discount Payouts.”

I can hear the CFO on the quarterly investor call:

CFO: “We're setting aside $2 billion for 2013 to comply with the national Complexity Discount.”
Analyst: “A one-time charge?”
CFO: “No, it’s going to be annual. The Customer Experience guy tells me our stuff is really, really bad.”

Shareholders and the investment community wouldn’t stand for a Complexity Expense that appeared in financials.

In this brave new world, when the helpful patriot points out complexity, he or she earns 15% for their trouble, and the CEO gratefully guarantees a streamlined fix within the quarter. I envision a national campaign “Complexity bad. Profit good” that would rival “Uncle Sam Wants You.”

I dream of a ticker in Times Square showing the ever-diminishing “Complexity Indicator.” After all, who can defend or afford Complexity?

Charlene Raytek is a strategy director for the Siegel+Gale New York office.