Dan Queues to Mail Schrödinger’s holiday CAT
Best wishes for a wonderful, delightful and happy holiday season. As a recent immigrant to the USA, I’ve learned a subtle way to detect that a seasonal holiday is on the way. (It isn’t store decorations or sales; those began in August and they’re not subtle.) Subtle was at the Post Office. I wanted to buy stamps for an important letter going to Switzerland. The line stretched ...
“... forever,” I thought. Sourly. “At least they have four clerks working the counter.” (I noticed that amazing fact as I walked to the end of the line. The very end of the line.) I thought about lessons from my corporate travel career: “We are number 57 for take-off.”
In the rare moments that the queue moved, it moved slowly. “I wish I had brought a book,” I thought, tired of counting ceiling tiles.
Eventually I was within sight of the counter clerks. I could even overhear some (clueless nitwit-ish) customer discussions:
“If you had pressed on the top page of the customs declaration, it would have copied through to all the pages. You shouldn’t tear off the the top sheet to fill it in. But I will wait while you copy your entries onto the second and third sheets.”
“Yes, it is a beautiful day. But my lumbago is acting up and Maude has contracted shingles. A skunk got caught in my garage and now my car smells like, well, skunk. My daughter wants a koala for Christmas because: “We have eucalyptus trees.” I’m not sure about the...”
“I will explain the difference between Priority Mail+, Priority Mail Express and First Class mail. First Class mail was defined by Benjamin Franklin in 1765 - even before the country existed; he used horse and rider to deliver mail... “
“... and when you’ve filled in the forms, just come right back here with the completed form. You do not need to wait in line again.”
“I should have picked up a form when I came into the building,” I thought. “Then I could have just walked to the front with a completed form.” I couldn’t help noticing that the line had slowly gotten shorter. “But that’s only because there is no one behind me,” I thought.
I was third (but last) in line when a clerk finished with the customs declaration client and.. went on break. His insolent look conveyed his message clearly: “Because the line is short, we don’t need four clerks anymore.” I waited. Patiently.
“Patiently?’ Nazy asks.
“Are you insinuating that I am a purveyor of terminological inexactitudes?” I ask.
“I’m saying you were not patient.”
“Do not interrupt my story with facts, my dear.”
I was second in-line (and last) when another clerk took a break. The woman in front of me had 87 envelopes (I counted them when she dropped them). No two went to the same country and each one had a unique weight. I knew that she wouldn’t finish her counter visit quickly. (In fact, after all the letters were weighed and the total charge was computed, she realized that she had forgotten to bring her wallet.)
“Do not go on break,” I mouthed to the other ‘working clerk’.” He nodded knowingly and said ‘Happy Holidays’ to his customer. Excited, I began to stroll toward the counter when..
“Just one moment,” the clerk held up his hand. “I have to handle this gentlemen first.”
I saw a form-wielding yeti wheeling 14 Christmas packages to ‘my’ counter. “I wonder if they’ll serve me if I start crying,” I thought. “Or maybe just a little whimpering will suffice.”
I was finally called. 30 seconds later I was on my way. The queue had vanished and the two clerks had returned from break. All was right with the world. I drove to town to meet Nazy. She greeted me warmly.
“You should have been here 25 minutes ago! Where were you?”
Last week’s issue of The Weekly Letter described 16 Third Street,The elite address in Atlanta, and one of the places I lived during my time at Georgia Tech. I got a comment from John Miller, a 16 Third resident who predated my time at Georgia Tech..
“Somebody predated your time at Georgia Tech?” A bewildered reader interrupts. “I didn’t know that was possible.”
Anyway, John informs me that when he lived at 16 Third, the dog was named Schrödinger. “The name came from the fact that the symbol for Schrödinger's wave equation is the Greek letter psi. When Schrödinger was petted, she would go ‘sigh’. She had puppies we named Einstein, Planck, Fermi, and Spot. I never knew what happened after I got drafted.”
For the technically minded, I’ve attached Schrödinger's equation as a physics joke. Suffice it to say that quantum physics defies common sense. For example, nothing actually happens until someone makes and observation. This can lead to the paradoxical situation of something being in two places at the same time or of a cat (Schrödinger’s Cat) being both alive and dead simultaneously.
However, our Schrödinger was a dog. We found homes for most of her offspring (i.e. Einstein, Planck and Fermi.) Spot was harder to place. In fact, 13 Third residents constantly rebuked Spot - usually with a sentence that began: “Damnit, Stop!.” Accordingly, he (or she) responded to Damnit - that’s why I thought it was his name.
With the holiday season upon us, Nazy wanted to decorate the house. So, Christmas Tree acquisition was scheduled even though our massive collection of ornaments was inaccessible. Moreover:
“We can’t go to a snow-packed field to select and harvest like we did in Switzerland,” I explained.
“Well! Aren’t you The Grinch?” Nazy replied.
“And we can’t get a 5 meter tree like we had in Zurich,” I continued.
“That sucks. I suppose you have some kind of flimsy excuse.”
“We don’t have a 5 meter ceiling,” I replied. Reasonably. “But at least we won’t need a forklift and an outside elevator to get it into the house. We can choose a short, but full one. A rotund example of holiday spirit.”
“I don’t want a tree that looks like you Dan.”
“But I’m wearing red, not green,” I replied.
Nazy decorated the tree with colorful purple bows. We bought a few ornaments and lots of lights. Nazy also decorated the remainder of the house. Now we’re ready for the holiday. In fact, as I write this note, Darius is en route from Lebanon. Mitra will pick him up at LAX . We’ll bring both of them from Los Angeles to Santa Barbara on Sunday. Melika is already living in Santa Barbara.
Finally, regular readers have noticed that we have been going to ‘a lot’ of holiday parties. (Each recent letter has included a picture of Nazy in a party dress.) This week was no different. But, in response to questions about whether I actually attended any of the parties, I’ve enclosed photographic proof.
“... forever,” I thought. Sourly. “At least they have four clerks working the counter.” (I noticed that amazing fact as I walked to the end of the line. The very end of the line.) I thought about lessons from my corporate travel career: “We are number 57 for take-off.”
In the rare moments that the queue moved, it moved slowly. “I wish I had brought a book,” I thought, tired of counting ceiling tiles.
Eventually I was within sight of the counter clerks. I could even overhear some (clueless nitwit-ish) customer discussions:
“If you had pressed on the top page of the customs declaration, it would have copied through to all the pages. You shouldn’t tear off the the top sheet to fill it in. But I will wait while you copy your entries onto the second and third sheets.”
“Yes, it is a beautiful day. But my lumbago is acting up and Maude has contracted shingles. A skunk got caught in my garage and now my car smells like, well, skunk. My daughter wants a koala for Christmas because: “We have eucalyptus trees.” I’m not sure about the...”
“I will explain the difference between Priority Mail+, Priority Mail Express and First Class mail. First Class mail was defined by Benjamin Franklin in 1765 - even before the country existed; he used horse and rider to deliver mail... “
“... and when you’ve filled in the forms, just come right back here with the completed form. You do not need to wait in line again.”
“I should have picked up a form when I came into the building,” I thought. “Then I could have just walked to the front with a completed form.” I couldn’t help noticing that the line had slowly gotten shorter. “But that’s only because there is no one behind me,” I thought.
I was third (but last) in line when a clerk finished with the customs declaration client and.. went on break. His insolent look conveyed his message clearly: “Because the line is short, we don’t need four clerks anymore.” I waited. Patiently.
“Patiently?’ Nazy asks.
“Are you insinuating that I am a purveyor of terminological inexactitudes?” I ask.
“I’m saying you were not patient.”
“Do not interrupt my story with facts, my dear.”
I was second in-line (and last) when another clerk took a break. The woman in front of me had 87 envelopes (I counted them when she dropped them). No two went to the same country and each one had a unique weight. I knew that she wouldn’t finish her counter visit quickly. (In fact, after all the letters were weighed and the total charge was computed, she realized that she had forgotten to bring her wallet.)
“Do not go on break,” I mouthed to the other ‘working clerk’.” He nodded knowingly and said ‘Happy Holidays’ to his customer. Excited, I began to stroll toward the counter when..
“Just one moment,” the clerk held up his hand. “I have to handle this gentlemen first.”
I saw a form-wielding yeti wheeling 14 Christmas packages to ‘my’ counter. “I wonder if they’ll serve me if I start crying,” I thought. “Or maybe just a little whimpering will suffice.”
I was finally called. 30 seconds later I was on my way. The queue had vanished and the two clerks had returned from break. All was right with the world. I drove to town to meet Nazy. She greeted me warmly.
“You should have been here 25 minutes ago! Where were you?”
Last week’s issue of The Weekly Letter described 16 Third Street,The elite address in Atlanta, and one of the places I lived during my time at Georgia Tech. I got a comment from John Miller, a 16 Third resident who predated my time at Georgia Tech..
“Somebody predated your time at Georgia Tech?” A bewildered reader interrupts. “I didn’t know that was possible.”
Anyway, John informs me that when he lived at 16 Third, the dog was named Schrödinger. “The name came from the fact that the symbol for Schrödinger's wave equation is the Greek letter psi. When Schrödinger was petted, she would go ‘sigh’. She had puppies we named Einstein, Planck, Fermi, and Spot. I never knew what happened after I got drafted.”
For the technically minded, I’ve attached Schrödinger's equation as a physics joke. Suffice it to say that quantum physics defies common sense. For example, nothing actually happens until someone makes and observation. This can lead to the paradoxical situation of something being in two places at the same time or of a cat (Schrödinger’s Cat) being both alive and dead simultaneously.
However, our Schrödinger was a dog. We found homes for most of her offspring (i.e. Einstein, Planck and Fermi.) Spot was harder to place. In fact, 13 Third residents constantly rebuked Spot - usually with a sentence that began: “Damnit, Stop!.” Accordingly, he (or she) responded to Damnit - that’s why I thought it was his name.
With the holiday season upon us, Nazy wanted to decorate the house. So, Christmas Tree acquisition was scheduled even though our massive collection of ornaments was inaccessible. Moreover:
“We can’t go to a snow-packed field to select and harvest like we did in Switzerland,” I explained.
“Well! Aren’t you The Grinch?” Nazy replied.
“And we can’t get a 5 meter tree like we had in Zurich,” I continued.
“That sucks. I suppose you have some kind of flimsy excuse.”
“We don’t have a 5 meter ceiling,” I replied. Reasonably. “But at least we won’t need a forklift and an outside elevator to get it into the house. We can choose a short, but full one. A rotund example of holiday spirit.”
“I don’t want a tree that looks like you Dan.”
“But I’m wearing red, not green,” I replied.
Nazy decorated the tree with colorful purple bows. We bought a few ornaments and lots of lights. Nazy also decorated the remainder of the house. Now we’re ready for the holiday. In fact, as I write this note, Darius is en route from Lebanon. Mitra will pick him up at LAX . We’ll bring both of them from Los Angeles to Santa Barbara on Sunday. Melika is already living in Santa Barbara.
Finally, regular readers have noticed that we have been going to ‘a lot’ of holiday parties. (Each recent letter has included a picture of Nazy in a party dress.) This week was no different. But, in response to questions about whether I actually attended any of the parties, I’ve enclosed photographic proof.
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