Notes On Sensors

Well, as my friend the Cowboy notes (Technobabble), sensors are invading the bathroom. I'd like to reflect for a moment on the fact that the reason for these sensors is the fundamental inability of humans to properly operate bathroom equipment. As evidence of this take the large sign posted above a sink at a local coffee shop, which details the instructions for washing ones hands (Of course I'm paraphrasing parts of each step here, but not the list as a whole):

1) Turn on the water.
2) Wet your hands.
3) Apply soap and lather for a while.
4) Rinse soap from hands.
5) Grab paper towel from dispenser to the right and dry hands.
6) Using paper towel turn off the water.

I doubt very much that many of us actually follow this procedure in the bathroom. In particular, the action of actually letting the water run while you dry your hands and then never touching the sink with your skin again is one that is likely observed by only the most unique of individuals. Its intent is to eliminate the likelihood that germs from your hand which had been deposited on the sink's hot and cold nobs will not be redeposited on you hands again after they have been rid of the evil microbes. Personally, I wonder whether such an action has any merit at all for me as an individual. Of course, in many of the places where these signs are posted, food handlers are using the restroom after touching raw chicken and the like, but part of me says, "My immune system could use a challenge every once in a while. I mean how long ago was it that humans never washed there hands and here we are today, not wiped out by germs, but actually killing off entire species ourselves much more efficiently then germs will ever be able too." And so on.

Anyway, the fundamental thing that the list implies is that even though, we as individuals have been trained on how to wash our hands for our entire lives and food handlers in particular have literally had training to do exactly what this list says, people still fail at doing it "properly." And so we develop technology to protect us from ourselves, and the result is we go around wiggling at sensors, which makes us feel less human; and maybe we are.

P.S. Here's a tip for those of you who want to wash your hands in something more closely resembling "the old fashioned way" when you encounter a sensor driven faucet. Affix a wet paper towel to the sensor of the faucet and enjoy the non-stop wiggle free flow of water.

Technobabble

I realize that I can't avoid making new technologies a part of my daily life concessions.  I still have never text-ted anyone.  Mostly because I have no dependents or friends under 25.  I remember the days when if someone was particularly gabby you would hold up your hand in the thumb to fingers representation of a mouth and move them rapidly together with that knowing look of exasperation on your face.  Lately, the hand gesture has turned into a wildly punching thumb as you point with your other hand to the person intently focused on their tiny phone.

Texting I can avoid.  That is, until I have children, but by then there will be a new more ridiculous method of unnecessarily bothering your friends and family.  Maybe you will just wiggle your nose like Samantha in Bewitched, or your index finger like the "Redrum" kid in The Shining, and we will all go around wiggling things in the air as we communicate to people miles away who are wiggling back.

 

This wiggle hypothesis seems very plausible to me, and brings me to a form of wiggle inducing technology that I can't avoid.  The SENSOR.  I realize that motion sensors are not new, but they have been recently infiltrating our public restrooms.  Forcing us to change our behaviors in strange and very public ways.  I find myself waving my hands beneath a faucet or in front of a towel dispenser, and a good portion of the time nothing happens.  Either the sensor is broken or there is a manual valve or crank that I didn't notice before the frantic waving began.  The interaction with restroom fixtures that yield no results really takes something out of me.  Like a swing and a miss.  I stand in front of the mirror with my hands, slowly at first and then more vigorously, attempting to activate the sensor that I know worked for the guy ahead of me. Maybe his hands were larger.  Maybe there was a sweet spot that I wasn't hitting.  Or maybe it is equivalent to a vampire looking into a mirror and getting nothing in return.  Maybe sensors only work if you have a soul for them to sense.  With this abstract bit of melancholy running through my head I leave the restroom with dirty hands and little pieces of my soul back on the tile floor.

Okinawa gave me a glimpse into the near future of sensors in America.  All the restrooms are wired for touchlessness.  It goes with their collective neuroses that keeps them behind filter masks as they walk the streets, and also why public restrooms dot every corner.  Of course this is all based on observation because I lacked the essential tools for communication, but it is my feeling that to relieve yourself in an alleyway may get you a life sentence.

  

Technology in the Japanese restroom goes far beyond the extrasensory.  Emma excitedly reported on her return to our table at an Izakaya that she had used the dryer.  Apparently a button on the toilet activates a butt dryer beneath the seat.  Other buttons on the keypad trigger a seat warmer, bidet and flushing sound to cover bodily noises.  I left Japan without ever experiencing the wonders of the Roboto toilet (domo arigato), given that my lodging was equipped only with the antiquated western style.  I did, however manage to attain sensory overload.  The culmination of which was when I inadvertently tripped a sensor in the Narita airport and a jet of foamy soap landed on the crotch of my pants.  Soapy residue leaves a dark stain that doesn't seem to evaporate as readily as the occasional water splash.  Unfortunately my choices in shirts of late had left me with little fabric to drape in front of a seemingly leaky personal faucet.   I stood in line displaying a soapy crotch waiting for the airplane to take me back to the comforting dark ages of my America.

 

To be continued... 

-ASC