Numbers, numbers everywhere.
I remember the old days when there were just a few numbers: A three, one, a couple of sevens. Of course, since Old Testament days, there’s been the dreaded 666 hanging over, or worse, possibly on our heads, appearing as a birthmark on a random scalp.
But things such as telephone numbers were simple, with an exchange name and four or so numbers. Our first phone number when I was a mere kid was Maywood 2507R. The “R” at the end had something to do with the fact that it was a party line, I think. For you younger readers, a party line was not a “Let’s party!” invitation. It was a phone line shared by two or more households. If you wanted to make a call and you picked up your receiver and heard some yacky-old-lady chatting about her incontinence problem with a friend, you had to wait until she hung up before her incontinence reached its natural conclusion. Or, you could make rude noises or yell at her to get off the line or you’d beat her senseless with a pig bladder because your incontinence problem was much worse than hers and you really needed to make a call. It was similar to sharing a bathroom when you really have to go and the person using the bathroom is sitting inside, whistling and reading a Mad magazine while you’re dancing around outside the door dealing with your current incontinence.
Where was I? Oh, yeah. If my mother wanted to “reach out and touch someone” at, say, Maywood 2508R, she’d pick up the phone and if no one else was on the line, wait for the operator to respond with, “Number, please.” Mother would answer, “Maywood 2508R” and get connected.
The phone company couldn’t leave well enough alone and changed the exchanges to just the first two letters, making Maywood “MA,” and added a number to make it five numbers and harder to remember. Then Ma Bell dropped the exchange all together and turned the whole thing into seven numbers. Ma Bell went even further and added area codes, which piled on three more numbers to total 10, and finally, she stuck a “1” in front of the whole shebang for a nice round 11 digits.
The U.S. Postal Service wanted to get into the act, so they invented zip codes. Now, in addition to our underwear size, we had five more numbers to remember to add after the state of the place where we wanted our mail to go. I’ll never forget the day I went to the post office to pick up my mail and buy stamps. The clerk was excited, and this is true, to tell me that soon four more digits would be added to the zip code, enabling the post office to pinpoint the exact house where the mail should be delivered. What a technical marvel, I thought, as I walked out. But then it dawned on me: Isn’t that what the address on the letter does already?
Have you Dewey Decimal System fans checked books at the library lately? The stickers on the spines of nonfiction books have barely enough room for all the numbers, which are getting longer as we speak. I’ve found books with nine numbers to the right of the decimal and recently found one with 10.
The Romans had the right idea. One day some lesser Roman emperor said, “Numbers? Numbers? We don’t need no stinkin’ numbers!” and from then on used a few of their letters, XIV&M%C$, and a zucchini to make up Roman numerals: Although an innovative idea, it did play hell with their cell phones. By the time they finished punching in their numerals, they forgot why they were making the call.
Social Security numbers, bank account numbers, license numbers, credit score numbers, Wheel of Fortune numbers, poll numbers, the number of angels that can fit on the head of a pin, the number of lies told by our Buffoon-in-Chief…where will it all end? Every one of us is just a big glop of numbers somewhere in Big Brother’s computer.
My head is spinning. When it stops, I think I’ll go check my scalp.