Rethinking What We Do Without Thinking

Nothing major, just how we eat, greet, dress and go between floors.

Change.

Is there any word that strikes as much terror in the hearts, spleens, and other internal organs of every living creature? I thought about it for a full two minutes and came up empty, so unless you can bend the space-time continuum and answer a question before I’ve asked it, I’m sticking with change.

And because we hate change so much, we persist in doing lots of things in ways that no longer makes sense—if indeed they ever did. What with our opposable thumbs, language, and big ole brains, we’ve become highly adaptable animals, but that stuff takes place over considerably longer periods of time than any of us get, and over my lifetime, for instance, it seems we’ve barely moved a muscle. I speak here only of things that really don’t matter so much, for if I venture opinions on them that turn out to be stupid wrong it affects nothing. That does not, however, make them unworthy of identification or correction. With that in mind, here are some things we persist in doing poorly for the worst yet arguably most popular reason for doing anything: because that’s how we’ve always done it.

Breakfast. Nowhere in the Constitution are we endowed by our creator with freedom of menu, but why is it I can get pretty much whatever I want for lunch and dinner but my breakfast options are narrow in scope and limited in number? I’m an American, goddamnit, and that means, or so I’ve been told, that I can have whatever I want whenever I want it. Many places do serve breakfast all day and even all night, but that’s really not the same, is it. There’s a difference between whenever and whatever.

Breakfast is dictatorial and irrational. You can have hash brown or home fried potatoes but not mashed. You can have eggs any way you want, unless you want egg salad, for that is quite obviously unacceptable until 11:30 at the earliest, you cretin. Want rice, soup and/or pickles? Move to Japan! I used to think it was weird we had a National Prayer Breakfast; not the national or prayer part, but why breakfast? I think I know. Much of organized religion is incredibly fond of putting its adherents into smaller and smaller psychological, social, and behavioral boxes, limiting freedom of thought, choice, and other things people would naturally gravitate toward if not frightened into believing in things they can’t see. Breakfast is kind of like that too, only its limits are culinary. It’s an often delicious asshole, but an asshole nonetheless. And to fight this particular power, I‘ve decided to start my slow cooker at night and eat all that inappropriate shit—beef stew, pulled pork, hell, maybe even chicken a la king—first thing in the morning. I’m not letting some stupid meal push me around, even if it is the most important one of the day.

Male greetings—the handshake/hug hesitancy. This one is particularly vexing, as we’ve historically done this both poorly and inconsistently. Most men one meets/knows fall squarely into one category or the other, but there’s a squidgy middle none of us are comfortable with. A while back an old friend, with whom I have an inconsistent hugging history, came to town for a conference and spent the night with us. He arrived and immediately stuck out his hand for a shake, so I figured that’s where our physical relationship had landed after all these years. On his way out the next day he approached me with arms outstretched, and we had a lovely if semi-confusing hug. I suppose next time I see him we’ll fist bump on the way in and high five on the way out. But the uncertainty is part of the joyride that is dealing with physical contact with one’s fellow fellows.

For many men of my generation, the issue of hugging can be a minefield, and everyone deserves space to find their own path. But hugs are nice, and handshakes are stupid. I get the latter’s appropriateness, especially upon first introduction, but my problem is I always concentrate so hard on the firmness of my grip and making eye contact I don’t even hear the person’s name and so the entire exercise is useless really. And it’s so awkward; thrusting right hands forward until they clasp, then moving them up and down for an utterly undetermined and in no way previously agreed-upon length of time. Ever catch a Trump-Macron handshake? It’s way ickier than any hug you’ve ever seen.

I think it’s time to shitcan the handshake in favor of the fist bump. I know, there will be something a bit off about watching old people do it, but I’ve given this more thought than is advisable, and it’s the best compromise. It features a short, well-defined duration, and minimal skin-to-skin contact, thereby minimizing disease transmission. It leaves ample room for embellishments like the classic fist bump explosion or other add-ons, but less space to become a battle for dominance, as can happen with handshakes. And if you’re not going to get the emotional and physical benefits of a hug, why bother exchanging so many dead skin cells? Are you doing a study on age-related hand clamminess?

Neckwear and footwear. I have become convinced that at least some of the hostility those with money and power exhibit toward those with neither stems from the incredibly uncomfortable clothing they wear almost all the time. This is not in any way to minimize their greed, racism, sexism, narcissism and so many other really bad -isms. It is simply to say that wearing neckties, belts, dress shoes, heels and other ruling class fashion musts that often would make me cranky AF. Probably the only thing Trump and I have in common is the experience of having to shoehorn our fat selves into a suit, especially buttoning that fucking top button. Your neck, waist, and feet are pinched, and it gets worse as the day goes on. And while I dislike getting dressed up, these days when I do it’s usually for a wedding or something fun. These people get dressed uncomfortably to sit in meetings all day every day with people they hate and who hate them. Think of what that must do to your worldview.

Here are three good things just off the top of my head that will happen if you stop wearing neckties, especially diagonal-striped ones (those fill me with irrational rage): 1) Your neck will be happier, and because it holds up your really important head, so will the rest of you. 2) You won’t ever again have to pick one out, or grab one before you sit so it doesn’t fall in your risotto, or fling one over your shoulder when you pee. Think of the time you’ll save. 3) You’ll get better birthday and holiday gifts, because anything is better than another fucking tie. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, nobody—and I really mean nobody—needs a directional arrow to find anyone’s penis.

Steps/Stairs. This one’s more elusive, and may even be dumb, but without at least a cursory exploration we’ll never know, so here goes. Stairs, and their individual components, known as Steps, have been around for about 10,000 years, and rapid research confirmed my suspicion: they’ve barely changed at all. The Egyptians used them to signify vertical movement in temples I suppose to make people feel closer to god, and the Romans came up with the spiral staircase, but other than that, zilch. This one didn’t really hit my frontal lobe until I reached the demographic for which falling is a leading cause of not being able to get up ever again. Stair falls are second only to car accidents in the injury-causing sweepstakes, and while we’ve developed air bags and other safety items in cars to try in vain to compensate for the tons of texting motorists, stairs stomp up and down on our safety largely unimpeded by technological innovation. Yes, I know there are such things as elevators, escalators, and stair chairs, but these seem overly radical sledgehammers for what should be at best a grapefruit-sized challenge. I’m not even a structural engineer, but I’ll take a shot. How about less-aggressive-than-normal Velcro as a stair safety aide? You come home, put on your slippers with Velcro bottoms, then go upstairs, stepping on the equally mild Velcro footprints perfectly calibrated for your ascent. Not only will it be safer, but your calves will be so shapely. Okay, it needs work, but I think if we grab a few of our best and brightest currently working on the AI Apocalypse, maybe we won’t all fall down the stairs racing for our lives when it comes.