Column By Mike Bibb
Sometimes, things don’t seem what they appear.
In this particular case, two ordinary commercial pain-relieving creams are marketed in identical-sized containers, manufactured by the same container company (Olcott), yet one is stipulated as being three ounces, while the other says it is four ounces.
“So what? I didn’t learn this stuff in school, and I don’t care how many ounces are in the containers,” a former school chum informed me.
“Now, get outta here before I bust you in the face” was his concluding statement to my inquiry.
Normally, I take most folks as being sincere in their verbal warnings, because I’ve been punched in the face before and it’s no fun.
And, as the old Bee Gees tune advises, I’m just “Stayin’ Alive” (1977) — trying to make it through another day without harm, accident, or a broken nose.
However, in this particular case, I’ve carefully evaluated the importance of the topic, assayed the good versus the bad possibilities, and came to the realization that it does matter why two equally sized containers can contain two different amounts of contents.
Actually, one says it has 25% more.
At the risk of receiving an unwanted facial massage, I pressed on with my urgent message.
“Look, Bobby Jr., there’s no need to get physical,” I reasoned. “Let me explain my point, and then you can decide if punching me in the face is really what you want to do.”
Sounded rational, and I guess Bobby Jr. thought so, too. He unclenched his fists, took a step back, and assumed a more relaxed pose.
After a brief pause, Bobby Jr. agreed, “Okay, Mike, I’ll give you a few minutes to tell me why two same-sized containers can contain different amounts of stuff. And, why should I even care?”
Like a patient fisherman, I knew it was time to set the hook — Bobby Jr. took the bait.
Opening my explanation with a simple comparison of “Which would you rather have, a gallon of gasoline or a gallon of milk?”
“Who cares, a gallon is a gallon,” Bobby Jr. immediately replied.
Surmising Bobby Jr. was not overly interested in the size, weights, and cost of things he regularly purchases, I figured convincing him of the oddity of two alike small plastic jars having different holding capacities would be similar to discovering the New York Knicks did not win the 1993 NBA basketball championship — as the Governor of New York recently insisted.
Bobby Jr. played basketball in high school, so he’s somewhat familiar with sports trivia.
Not so knowledgeable with weights and measures in the real world. Which is why I felt it my obligation to inform him there could be a whole different life experience out there if only he is willing to put forth the effort.
To assist in this mission, I decided to help Bobby Jr. by starting with less complicated things, since Bobby Jr. appears to be an uncomplicated guy.
Except when saying his name. He insists on being called Bobby Jr. Not Bobby, or Bob, or Jr. — Bobby Jr.
He’s never revealed the reason for this particular eccentric attitude, other than that his mother was expecting a daughter to be named Bobbie Jo when Robert came along instead. To emphasize the point, his dad replaced “ie” with a “y,” dropped “Jo,” and substituted “Jr.” Minor, but important changes.
All of this was before anyone ever heard of something called “transgender,” where boys could “identify” as girls, or a Barbie doll, and change back anytime they wanted to. Especially when a guy discovers a supposed “menstrual cycle” episode is really a clue he’d better find a urinal soon.
Tampon dispensers won’t be of much use — excepting Minnesota — where they’re a common vending machine in boys’ restrooms.
“Listen, Bobby Jr., this isn’t rocket science, brain surgery or deciphering the IRS Code. It’s merely understanding the difference between what a container can hold in volume and in weight, and why there’s a difference,” I slowly began my tutorial.
Already looking somewhat dazed and confused, Bobby Jr.’s frown lines became more pronounced as tendons in his hands began to tighten.
Realizing time was running short, I cut to the chase — “Listen, you already admitted ‘a gallon is a gallon.’ We both agree on that. Except a gallon of gasoline weighs about 6.1 pounds, while a gallon of milk is around 8.6 pounds. A difference of over two pounds for the same-sized gallon container.”
“Are you still with me, Bobby Jr.?” I wondered, as his eyes were beginning to fog.
“I think so, but slow down. It’s been a lotta years since I was in a classroom and I’m a little rusty on scientific comprehension of liquids, solids and flatulents,” Bobby Jr. assured me.
As if I didn’t already know, but was surprised by his use of the word “flatulents.” Unless he thinks it has something to do with multiple flat tires.
Nevertheless, remaining confident I was on the verge of a major breakthrough in changing Bobby Jr.’s opinion on science and how it impacts his normal daily routines, I wrapped up my sidewalk lecture by assuring him, “That’s it.”
“What’s it?” he wondered.
“You now understand how same-sized jars can contain similar items, only having different weights,” I congratulated him.
“I do?” Bob hesitantly replied.
“Sure, you do. It’s only a matter of the two container contents having different ingredients weighing different amounts. Like gasoline and milk. Or, one of the two small pain-relieving creams weighing three ounces, while the other weighs four ounces,” smiling as I observed Bobby Jr.’s previous bewilderment evolving into total confusion.
Sensing this would be a good time to quickly exit the area before Bobby Jr. finally realizes he really is as dumb as he looks, I thanked him for his time and wished him continued happiness with his new wife.
His fourth or fifth. I’ve lost count. Bobby Jr. probably has, too.
Not certain if there was ever a Bobby III, or Bobbie Jo somewhere in the mix.
The opinions expressed in this editorial are those of the author.
