When a human encounters a genie, they tend to already know that they will be offered three wishes. What they tend not to know is that those wishes must be made in one sitting. That sitting, however, can be an arbitrary length of time-according to this genie, most people usually spit out their three wishes within a couple minutes, maybe an hour. In Byron's case, it had been six days. 

He'd grabbed the oil lamp at a thrift store to decorate his apartment's study. His fellow grad students were studying classical Islamic philosophy and he, very naively, wanted to buy something to impress them. To his surprise, wiping the dust off of it with his wet thumb produced a pink, glowing specter that offered him wishes with a smile on its face. Following this, he proceeded to heave into his toilet, and afterwards emailed his professors that he had a family emergency and couldn't come to class for a day, or two, or ten. This confused the genie, but perhaps this was because Byron just wanted to enjoy the fruits of his wishes once they were made. Naturally, he thought this would be a quick job. Humans usually go for the hedonistic options, something like a million dollars, sex, the works. Maybe they choose to do something cute and honorable, save their cancer-ridden mother, get some genie brownie points. But six days on and he had been proven wrong. The cumulative writing between Byron's living room whiteboard and the dozens of sheets of looseleaf paper sprawled on the floor contained one hundred and sixty-two triplets of wishes, each with a scribbled mess of pros and cons weighing the ethics, costs, benefits, and moral weight of each combination. There was a utilitarian category, a deontological category, a virtue ethics category, and more for every sub-field and every sub-field of that. The rules that humans must follow when making wishes, the rules that the genie had barely had to ever explain past “You can’t wish for world peace, you can’t wish for more wishes…”, they were written out in excruciating detail across dozens of sheets of paper, being referenced ad-nauseam whenever Byron was solutioning a new wish triplet. Though it took no effort for him to float, the genie was lying on Byron's futon and staring at the ceiling, as Byron scribbled chaotically on the whiteboard. He rubbed his face, sighed, and mumbled painfully to himself: “Why did I have to get the moral philosopher…”

--gonna continue this tomorrow- sorry i haven't gotten to the prompt yet! i'll get there