Things I Don't Understand, Part One

Here are a few things I don't understand...




The best technology we have to combat rain in 2015 is the umbrella

We sent a man to the moon generations ago, and yet our best defense against water falling from the sky is a ridiculous contraption comprised of an odd-shaped piece of fabric affixed to flimsy metal prongs on a stick.

The umbrella only works well when the rain is light drizzle, and perfectly vertical in its descent.

Therefore it never works well.

Moderate to heavy rain - you're getting a bit wet.

Angled rain - you're getting wetter.

Carrying a bag - it's you or the bag getting wet.

Carrying two or more bags - almost impossible while holding the umbrella up, I hope you like being wet and your possessions being wet too.

Then there is wind. Is anything less resistant to wind than an umbrella? And if there are other people with umbrellas you need to constantly be dodging to avoid umbrella clashes, which involves getting more wet.

Finally, the main purpose of the umbrella is getting wet, yet it doesn't quickly and effectively dry.

Rubbish.


Complaining about petrol prices while gladly purchasing bottled water

Petrol was briefly under one dollar per litre last month in Sydney, a far cry from the crazy days of outrageously high prices like $1.65/L.

The price of Mount Franklin water 400mL bottle at Coles online at present is $1.67, or $3.68/L. Water is virtually free out of the tap. Reusable drink bottles cost a few dollars.

Have you ever complained about the price of bottled water?


Rage only displaying the artist and song on screen at the start of the video clip and not the end as well

Great show, great format. Perfect for winding down after getting home from a night out, or waking up the morning after a night out. But how many random half-heard songs must I endure never being able to find again?


The unwarranted pride and possessiveness associated with garbage bin ownership

When I was a kid I remember eating a mandarin at a bus stop and throwing the peelings in the bin belonging to the nearest house. A man came out of this house to yell at me for using his bin. This didn't make sense to me at the time. It was a rubbish bin, I put my rubbish in it. It wasn't a particularly special bin, nor was my deposit into it out of character when compared to its other contents.

The next day I ate an apple and threw the core onto his lawn.

I recently moved from an apartment block to a house. When you live in an apartment you typically put your rubbish in any old bin in a giant room and then it mysteriously gets sorted out. I don't know how - I never saw anyone do it. In the absence of evidence, I've always assumed it's wizard magic.

When you live in a house you become responsible for the entire the rubbish process. And I take this responsibility very seriously. I have experience - I did it as a teenager. But that was different as those were my parents' bins. I had a supervisor. Now I'm my own boss. I run the bin racket and I run a tight ship. I'm pretty sure my wife doesn't even know where the bins are kept. She doesn't need to, because I got this.

The first time I brought the bins back after emptying I noticed someone had thrown their disposable coffee cup in. There it was, just sitting at the bottom.

My initial reaction was interesting - for a fleeting moment, I think I'd have preferred them to have littered. How could somebody throw rubbish in my bin designed to hold rubbish?! How could they soil my smelly bin with garbage juice at the bottom with their relatively clean paper cup?! I even briefly considered whether I could get it out and put it in another bin. A bin belonging to someone else.

Then I remembered the story of the boy with the mandarin peelings. I realised how stupid and irrational I was acting, and decided, no, you still shouldn't fuck with my bins.


Getting up from your seat really quickly when a plane lands

I understand getting up a bit early to move towards the doors on a busy train or bus, because there is perhaps a chance it will depart before you can get through standing passengers to alight.

But the plane isn't going anywhere without you departing. And there is only one way off, assuming you've landed safely on the runway.

So there is absolutely no benefit to leaping from your seat like the 'seatbelt off' sign is actually an eject button. You aren't getting the jump on anyone, window seat row 34. There are still roughly 200 people and their luggage between you and getting off the plane. The exit is a bottleneck. It will be awhile. Relax.

Except you don't relax. You death glare at everyone between you and the exit that has sensibly remained seated. Your eyes shouting "Get Up! Get Up! Get Up! GET UP!!"  You sigh impatiently and look at your watch. "Move! Move! MOVE!!"

Reluctantly the person sitting next to you gets up to stop you from staring at them. They stand awkwardly, tilting their neck to avoid hitting their head on the overhead compartment. They might even try to open it, feel for their bag, and carefully bring it down without hitting anyone else standing with it. They'll almost succeed. All for you.

Twelve minutes later you triumphantly get off the plane. All that awkward and uncomfortable standing was totally worth it to save 26 seconds.

You waste those 26 seconds later thinking about something pointless, like people using your bin or Taylor Swift.


Drinks in jars

What is wrong with a glass? I mean look at this wanker, about to drink a delicious juice in a jar: