Monday 18 June 2012

Schrodinger's Mailbox

Life as an adult can be difficult, and there are still certain responsibilities I haven't gotten used to. Paying for the likes of water, electricity, and gas is one of them.

But before you think I'm getting all #firstworldproblems on you, let me put your mind at ease. I don't hate or resent having to pay bills; such transactions are entirely reasonable in nature. No, it's the act of paying bills I hate or, more specifically, can't be bothered with. The typing of endless information into an online form, or else the phonecall to a line that starts off automated before plunging you into human interaction without warning, or else trying to locate a Post Office that is open at sane hours of the day: each choice a task so arduous it could be chronicled by Tolkien. They haven't yet devised a payment option that doesn't strike me as the biggest inconvenience of all time.

The solution to my woes came to me by accident, in the form of a well-known thought experiment that I've unknowingly been carrying out for the last two months, the same amount of time that has passed since I last checked the mailbox. Partly because the tiny little key that opens the box is missing. I know that it is somewhere in the flat, but its exact location is unknown and its absence unlamented, so the search was called off before it even got started, largely because of a nonsensical complacency: I'm so certain that I could find it within two minutes of looking that it's like I've already found it, and if I've already found it, why would I need to look for it?

Because of this attitude, I find myself in the perfect situation. It goes without saying that nestled in the mailbox are several letters from utilities companies, all requesting money. It's been two months: of course the bills are mounting. However, because the box has not been opened, and the letters containing the bills not retrieved, it is impossible to say with absolute certainty that such letters exist. So at the same time they exist and do not exist, a glorious paradox that both critiques the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics and means I do not have to contend with the reality of my debts.

I'm sure Erwin Schrodinger could only dream about such a practical application of his theories.

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