Oh Boy.

I procrastinate. When it comes to work or writing, I usually put things off until I have absolutely no choice but to perform the task due, lying to myself that I work better under pressure. With prescription refills, I act like world governments do with endangered animals. I’ll let the population of the species Protonix in my medicine cabinet dwindle to a lone pair before I decide that I really should take action, and call the pharmacy to return them from near-extinction, only to poach them back to the brink in 29 days.

About six weeks ago, my keychain died on me. I'd push the buttons to lock and unlock my car doors, but nothing would happen. The battery was dead, so I switched it with the other keychain the dealership had given me.

"Great," I thought, knowing I would put off getting a replacement battery until this one was dead, too. "Now I have no backup keychain. If this one goes, I'll be stuck with no way to get in the car."

Tonight, I passed a house and noticed a woman getting into her car. It was an older car, and to get inside, the woman pushed a metal stick into her door and twisted it, which magically unlocked the door's mechanism somehow, physically.

It was her key. I realized with shock, six full weeks after wondering what I'd do if my keychain battery died, that I also have a key to my car on that keychain and that it will in fact open the door. I was horrified at the realization: I had forgotten I could use my car key to open my car door. I did not have automatic locks on my cars until around ten years ago. And of course, as far back as I can recall, my parents used keys to get into their vehicles.

So for 26 of my 36 years, I used my key or watched others use keys to get into cars. In eight years I had forgotten that cars could be opened without the use of a push-button. That bothers me. I don't even remember the last time I opened a car with the actual key.

What other simple, possibly essential things have I forgotten? And what will I unnecessarily forget that I know now? Will I someday be stranded in a cabin somewhere, starving, cold,staring at a fully functional phone with a rotary dial and think "Damn!  This stupid thing's broken!"

For that matter, what have we as a society or civilization forgotten? If there's some huge power problem or a megatastrophe and the world loses all electronic systems for months, years, decades, or centuries, will we be able to survive? Will we have to rediscover all the simple things we just haven't done in a while?  How to make fire?  How to irrigate a field?  Long division?  How to tell if a thunderstorm is approaching?

At least our motionless, rusting automobiles will still have one use: they'll be able to provide us shelter from that thunderstorm we won't be expecting, if we can remember how to get the car door open.

Have you ever suddenly realized some simple thing that you'd totally forgotten about?
 
(c) 2010 Scott Teel.  All rights reserved.

I was at the walk-in clinic/lab the other day to get blood drawn for a test and noticed a new, nicely illustrated sign hanging in several areas instructing anyone with a cough to wear a surgical mask or:

"--Cough into elbow, not hands."
"--Use sanitizer to clean hands."

In that order.  Cough into elbow, sanitize hands.  Not even addressing that you can't cough into your elbow, you cough into your inner-arm-side of the elbow, the crook of the arm.  I had a red pen in my pocket and wanted to write "and sanitize elbows (crook of arms), too, where all the germs are now," but I had a needle in my right arm, so I couldn't.  My normal writing is hard enough to read; left-handed it looks like a photograph of microscopic tapeworm larvae.

(c) Copyright 2010 Scott Teel.  All rights reserved.