By Jack Edwards

I have long viewed fish as “vegetables without roots.” They go about their daily fish activities (i.e. eating, pooping and procreating), as directed by their microscopically tiny fish brains. So, imagine my shock when I realized that my brain is shrinking faster than a bowl of double-fudge ice cream at a Weight Watcher’s convention. I recently wondered whether my brain was closer to the size it was when I was an honors math student or the size of a domesticated carp. My level of uncertainty scared the be-daylights out of me.

I blame calculators. When I was a kid, we did math in our heads. And we did it quickly. Mind you, it wasn’t always accurate, but it was quick. We’d hand over a bottle of soda and a candy bar to the store clerk, and then begin a heated argument over whether we got back the correct change. Now, we hand over our money and then wait and stare at the cash register like it’s a Magic Eight Ball.

I also blame GPS directional units. We used to use maps. If we were headed somewhere unfamiliar, we’d open up a map or ask someone for directions. Yes, these directions were usually wrong, and we would get hopelessly lost, ending up on the wrong side of town. But that was okay, because we didn’t have cell phones, and the people we were meeting couldn’t call us to complain. Now we simply plug the address into our phone, or even just “tell Siri” to take us somewhere, and our phone leads the way. Every once in a while we second guess the directions we’re told, and do a “manual override.” This is usually signaled by a husband announcing to his wife, “I think it’d be faster if we turned left here,” and then just as his wife shouts out a desperate plea of, “Don’t…,” he turns down an on-ramp to the wrong freeway heading straight for the hinterlands. Not that I’ve ever done this.

This blind acceptance of electronic assistance has shrunk my brain with other forms of electronic “convenience” as well. It started with automatic sliding glass doors. We’re so used doors automatically sliding open as we approach in Open Sesame fashion that we’re startled when they don’t. ‘Wow,’ we think, ‘I almost ran into that large stationary plate glass object. I can’t believe it didn’t defy the laws of physics and get out of my way!’

I also enjoy putting my hands under the restroom faucet and waving them around trying to trigger the infrared beam like an idiot, only to realize I need to actually turn the knob. This humiliation is compounded by waving my hands around the paper towel dispenser like I’m getting ready to do a magic act. Here, I must make a point to our learned lawmakers:

I hate over regulation and every new law since the New Deal (except, of course, the ones I think up), but we do need a new law. It should be a crime punishable by a frozen week in a Siberian gulag to mix and match automated restroom features. I’m tired of enjoying the sanitary convenience of a touchless faucet and then standing at the paper towel dispenser waving my hands around like I’m directing traffic before realizing that I need to turn the little handle.

Hold, on. I’ll need to finish this rant later. My phone just told me I have a list of things I need to do today. It says I need to be somewhere in ten minutes. Unfortunately, my GPS says it will take me 12 minutes to get there. Hmm… I think I know a short cut.