Put on your thinking caps, friends -- today I present you with some really intensely researched science. Keep in mind that in my world, science = random observations that are confirmed by the fact that I've experienced them more than once. It's an unassailable intellectual position, too, so don't test my gangsta.
We're all familiar with the most basic and universal laws of nature: gravity, Newton's laws of motion, the regularity of ocean tides and so on. What I'd like to hypothesize about today are a few new phenomenon, which I'm sure will be thoroughly researched someday by scientists living off of my tax dollar. Not that I have a problem with that.
Anyway.
The Law of Diminishing Cell Phone Return: Much like the original economic concept of diminishing returns, this law is based on a decrease in product when too much is put into the process. The more time you spend talking, texting, Facebook chatting or whatever with your family and friends, the less likely it will become that you could contact them at a time when you actually need their help.
Example: I have a very communicative family. We have long dinners, use mass texts and reply-alls, and basically stay all up in each other's business all day long, every day. However, the more often I speak to my husband or mother about inconsequential things like the dog groomer or Sunday lunch, the less likely it will be for them to actually pick up the phone should I become stranded on the side of the road with a flat tire. Every time. Universally. Really needing someone = inability to get in touch with them. Branching off of this is the phenomenon which results in a person who JUST texted you 30 seconds ago never, ever answering the phone when you call.
The Inverse Ratio of Bathroom Proximity: This one is very simple. The closer you are to a bathroom when you've been holding it for a while, the more you have to go.
Example: I will sometimes go all morning without drinking any water, then realize around noon that I have a headache and a whopping thirst. The obvious answer to this problem is to chug an entire Route 44 iced tea from Sonic all at once. And then get into the car to go somewhere. I really don't think I have to explain the rest -- suffice it to say, the closer I actually get to a bathroom, the more I think I may not actually make it there.
The Good Hair Day Phenomenon: Every now and then, the planets align just right, relative humidity is holding down, winds are calm, the angels are singing in just the right key and it happens. The perfect hair day. You can't predict it, you can't plan for it, and you sure as heck can't replicate it. But your hair (or outfit, or whatever) looks slammin'. You are proud, you are confident, you are happy. You strut in front of the mirror before you leave the house. And then? You see no one. You walk into work, or the grocery store, or wherever you normally go, and nobody notices you. The grocery store is devoid of acquaintances, and your co-workers barely look up from their desks as you walk by.
Example: Well, that was pretty much it. But let me add that it is a soul crushing experience. Especially once you get home at the end of the Good Hair Day and realize that it must have only been a Good Hair Hour. I am convinced that this law is the reason behind the developing cultural norm of posting pictures of oneself online, usually taken in a bathroom mirror. Sigh.
The Conservation of Mass in Public Bathroom Technology: I'm talking about those motion sensor sinks and paper towel dispensers. Because they want to retain that which they are supposed to transfer: mainly water and paper towels. I'm pretty sure, unfortunately, that this law only applies to me. I cannot make those dadgum things work.
Example: I use the bathroom at a restaurant or mall, or wherever, and then go to wash my hands. I hold my hands dutifully under the sink faucet. Nothing. I peer down under the faucet, locate the sensor, and wave my hand in front of it. Nothing. I become frustrated and begin waving both arms frantically in front of the sink, jumping up and down in an attempt to jog it into action. Nothing. I try to act nonchalant, like I don't really care if it works, then just casually wave my hand near it. Nothing. Women come and go on both sides of me, washing their hands all smugly, like it's easy. I switch sinks, assuming mine was defective. Nothing. And just when I'm ready to give up and leave the bathroom, dejected and germy, the water comes on. I am so happy, you'd think I'd just seen Moses make water come from a rock in the desert. And then I move on to the paper towel dispenser. I'll save some ink here and just say that I usually wipe my wet hands on my clothes.
Peace, love, and hypotheses.
P.S. Sorry I talk about the bathroom so much. I can't seem to stop.
sharris@blythevillecourier.com