March 2000 feature by Steve Hawley |
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Changing Worlds
I have a theory.
Actually, I have a vast number of theories. For example, I have
a theory that thunderstorms are an indication that the Earth is
really nothing more than a really huge capacitor in the circuitry
of the galaxy. This theory is not important to this essay, but the
process of building theories about the world is.
I'm a firm believer in humans as model builders. Things happen to us
and we build models which serve as crude functional diagrams so that
we won't be too surprised by any given event the second time around.
If anyone squeals to you, "oh, I just love surprises!" smack
him upside the head for being imprecise. I can guarantee that that
person only likes a small subset of surprises: the pleasant ones.
If they persist, ask them how much they love burst pipes, blowouts,
and the Blue Screen of Death.
Over time some models are replaced and some are revised. As kids
we believed that were little people actually living in the TV set;
then we believed that if you were watching a given show and turned
off the set, it would continue later when you turned the set back on;
then we believed that the actors really are the characters they play
(the entertainment industry has done nothing to discourage this since
it satisfies our respective desire for juicy, dripping gossip).
There are some models and some habits that are so deeply fundamental
to our being that it takes a cataclysmic event or personality to
change them. This happens rarely and as such is worthy of note for
a couple of reasons:
As it turns out, there are two changes in models and processes in my
life that come immediately to mind. As it also turns out both changes
were taken in one of the veins listed above. And as a final bout of
coincidence both changes were closely tied to my penis.
The first involved a college buddy named David. Before I can suitably
explain what happened, I need to explain David. First off, he is a
David and not a Dave. Secondly, he was--and still is--prone to burst
into song, as if his life needed musical captions (little side note:
the last time I spoke with him at length, he mentioned that since he
started taking Prozac, his songs have been very much less about gore
and death). Finally, his consistent ability to look at the world with
awe and wonder is infectious.
David and I were preparing to urinate in a public restroom. David was
examine the plumbing and his eyes went wide. "I can't believe it!" he
exclaimed in shock. I had to know what was up. I mean, when you hear
that at a urinal, you really want to know what's up with the same kind
of desire for you to NOT want to know when you hear, "whoa, whoa! Easy
there little fella!". I asked and David replied that the flush
mechanism on the urinal was NOT made by the Sloan Valve Company. Sloan,
according to David, manufactures most of the urinal flushers in the
United States. It is a rare event to see a pissoir powered by non-Sloan
equipment.
At this point, my approach to urination in public restrooms changed
forever.
I now perform the same cursory examination as David and note non-Sloans
with fascination. I doubt I will ever achieve the same measure of
glee as David, but that's fine. I'm not David and David's not me.
Count your blessings for that trivial truism because the world would
certainly be a very different place if there were two of either of us.
This event led me to think about and examine the ritual and process
of urination and its variations among people. It's something that you
do pretty much every day and whether or not it's in a public restroom
there are rituals that we do without even thinking about them because
they are so deeply ingrained. I can't speak for women, but as for men,
I'm willing to bet that each of you shake, waggle, or flick precisely the
same way and the same number of times each time. Why? Is it merely
habit? Possibly. Is it a model that you built when you were younger
for the optimal way to remove the last droplet? More likely. Is it a
good model? And if not why do you still use it? This is introspection,
and the worst part of it is that you will probably alter your ritual
by trying to observe it. It's like trying to figure out how your
tongue lies in your mouth.
I shudder to go into the details surrounding the second fundamental
change. I do. Even 7 years later, I literally shudder. I think the
best way to talk about this is briefly and clinically.
The fundamental model that I had made can be expressed this way:
"My penis is a one-way, exit only conduit."
This assumption which, to the best of my knowledge, had held true for
nearly three decades was changed forever by one thankfully brief
procedure: catheterization.
If you think about the assumption with any depth, it is clearly wrong.
The urethra is nothing more than a tube. As any kid who has frothed
milk out of the carton can tell you, straws work both ways.
I think it is merely more comfortable to hold the unidirectional
assumption, at least with respect to the plumbing of my body.
So therefore, when that assumption was being proven completely wrong,
it was preferable and maybe even healthy to detach from the immediate
horror and just rubberneck at the whole thing going on. My own thoughts
turned to the manufacturer of the device and how I knew that its
corporate headquarters were in my home town and that the father of
one of my childhood friends was an executive at that company, and
further that I still knew his phone number. The temptation to grab
the phone at that instant and dial was overwhelming. Had I actually
succumbed to this temptation, my side of the conversation would have
gone something like this:
"Hello, Mr. S.? This is Steve Hawley. I'm having one of your
catheters put in. No, really. Right now. Yeah, that's the model.
Well, I just wanted you know that I was thinking of you. *click*"
in the junk drawer
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