When an elevator is illegally overloaded with passengers, who is criminally responsible?
When you are bored at breakfast, you read cereal boxes. When you are bored on an elevator, you read the elevator-inspection certificate, which in most localities is posted inside the elevator and includes not only emergency procedures, but specified weight and passenger capacities.
In most cities, it is a crime or a civil violation to overload an elevator. We've always wondered how these rules are enforced. Do the police conduct spot “weight traps,” corraling unsuspecting hordes and putting them on cattle scales? Do those electric eyes on so-called security elevators actually do head counts, electronically signaling Interpol when there is one too many passengers in an elevator?
And what if the police do nab 11 people and 1600 pounds in an elevator designed for 10 people and 1500 pounds? Who is legally responsible? The last person to enter the elevator? The other 10 people, for allowing the illegal eleventh? And if there are only 10 people on the elevator, are you responsible for knowing the weight of your fellow passengers?
We talked to every branch of law enforcement in the elevator capital of the world, New York City, and we at Imponderables are pleased to inform you: Relax. No one could dig up a case, ever, where passengers were prosecuted for overloading an elevator, although such a rule is on the books. Even elevator inspectors we spoke to indicated that they wouldn't report freight elevators being overloaded and that they would be lucky if they didn't get cursed at for politely suggesting that maybe it would be a good idea not to try to cram ten refrigerators into a small elevator.
Little things like muggings and murders aren't the only reasons for law enforcement's laissez-faire attitude toward incipient elevator crime—overloading an elevator isn't particularly dangerous. Excess weight is not a common cause of elevator accidents. Most electronic elevators will simply not move if overweighted; others will not even close their doors.
The formula used for designating elevator capacities, developed by the federal government, is a bit on the arbitrary side. It isn't real complicated. Once the square footage and the technical specifications of the elevator are determined, a weight capacity is issued. Then that weight capacity is divided by 150 pounds to determine what number to list as the maximum passenger capacity. Obviously, this weight standard would not work for a convention of Overeaters Anonymous, and an elevator certainly can't sense whether there are 8 adults or 15 little kids in an elevator. The weight capacities are meant to be guidelines, although even the usefulness of guidelines is questionable when it is difficult to pack enough full-size adults in an elevator to exceed the stated limits and when it doesn't matter much, from a safety standpoint, whether the elevator is overloaded.
If there were a horrendous elevator accident, civil, not criminal, action is likely to occur, but the elevator passengers are more likely to be the plaintiffs than the defendants in such a proceeding. Most likely, injured passengers would sue the building that houses the elevator (for allowing its elevators to become overcrowded) and the manufacturer for building a defective elevator.
You are driving in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the highway. You have barely moved in the last half hour. Then, suddenly, traffic clears. There has been no traffic accident. You pass no clogged on-ramps or off-ramps or any other explanation for the tie-up. What caused the traffic jam? What caused the traffic to clear?
Chances are, you have been a victim of what traffic-flow specialists call the shock-wave effect. Highway drivers operate at peak efficiency around the 35 M.P.H. mark and are capable of performing satisfactorily at higher speeds. When traffic volume on a highway nears its designated optimum capacity, some stragglers begin driving under 35 M.P.H. and a traffic jam is born.
Otherwise speedy drivers react irrationally to a slowing down on a highway. Slower speeds, theoretically, should increase control and maneuverability, but drivers grow fearful as their pace declines. The shock-wave effect occurs because drivers look for the reason they had to slow down in the first place: they overreact to any stimuli, particularly the brake lights of cars ahead of them. A few slow drivers, at 25 M.P.H., can set off a shock-wave effect for miles behind them and, if the traffic volume is high, can create bumper-to-bumper traffic without any ostensible reason.
Why do traffic jams caused by the shock-wave effect suddenly disappear? Usually, traffic clears because there is a smaller ratio of traffic volume to capacity ahead—enough breathing room to prompt even slow-poke victims of the shock-wave effect to risk peeling away at 35 M.P.H. or more.
Why are some pistachios dyed red?
As if Iranians didn't have enough public relations problems, they have something else to answer for: They're responsible for that red gook you get on your hands after eating pistachio nuts.
Pistachios originated in the Middle East, growing wild in the deserts in ancient times. Pistachios were considered a rare delicacy and were so expensive that they were consumed mostly by royalty (the queen of Sheba was a pistachio partisan) and exported to Europe. Pistachios were grown in Greece and Sicily during the Roman Empire and remained popular in the Mediterranean, but didn't really catch on in the United States until the first great wave of immigrants from southern Europe in the 1880s.
Pistachios didn't become a mass-marketed item until the 1930s, when they were placed in vending machines, the type that is now used mostly to sell gumballs and assorted teen idol paraphernalia in front of markets and Woolworth's. The main reason pistachios were dyed bright red was to make pistachios stand out from the relatively pallid cashews and peanuts that were their main vending-machine competition.
It worked. Pistachios were a hit, even at their premium price—especially with kids, who were attracted by their shiny shells. So the choice of red was fortuitous. But why were pistachios dyed in the first place? In order to answer this question, we will have to tell you a little more than you probably want to know about the cultivation and harvesting of pistachios.
The natural color of a pistachio shell is ivory. But when pistachios are ripe and ready to be harvested (usually in September and October), the shell is encased by a thin rose-colored hull. When it ripens, the shell of the pistachio splits naturally, thus enabling the purchaser to open the shell with the fingernails rather than the bicuspids. While the pistachios are still on the tree, the rose hull protects not only the nutmeat, but the opening shell of the pistachio.
Iranian pistachios are harvested the same way now as they were a century ago. Workers knock the nuts off pistachio trees with poles. The nuts are picked off the ground by hand and thrown into burlap bags. Often, the nuts sit in these bags for weeks. The protective hull of the pistachio is removed by rubbing the nuts against rough surfaces, usually stones.
All of this manual contact with the vulnerable nut results in staining the shell. And though the stain doesn't affect the taste of the nutmeat, the resultant shell has the aesthetic appeal of a pale linen tablecloth with sweat stains. The red vegetable dye, first introduced by American importers in the 1930s, was a marketing tactic to draw attention to pistachios in vending machines and to allay consumers' fears about the blotched shells.
Americans farmers realized that pistachios were a potentially valuable crop, but there were several stumbling blocks to cultivation in this country. Pistachio trees are unusually sensitive to inclement weather, and it takes from seven to ten years for planting until the first yield begins. Many species of pistachios had shells that didn't seem to want to open.
Pistachios were a natural for California, which had the requisite warmth and dryness that pistachios demand. Eventually, California farmers settled on the Kerman tree—a strain of pistachios that had large nutmeats and split open naturally more often than others they researched. Pistachios were first planted commercially in the late 1960s and were first marketed in 1976.
The American farmers developed a technology not only to maximize efficiency, but to eliminate the need to dye pistachios. Pistachios are shaken off the
tree by machines and never hit the ground. The nuts are immediately loaded into containers and processed: cleaned of leaves and twigs, hulled, washed and dried. The hulling and drying is accomplished so quickly that the shells have no time to stain, and they can be marketed in their natural ivory color.
It is difficult to see why anyone would want to buy the reddyed pistachios when the naturals are available (it's a little like an M&M clone competing by boasting that they “melt in your hand, not in your mouth”), but old habits die hard. Although consumer preference is the only reason to do so, 40-50 percent of California pistachios are dyed red. The California Pistachio Commission reports that it expected consumers to switch to natural pistachios quickly but have found that East Coast customers particularly resist the change. New purchasers of pistachios, however, invariably choose naturals.
Red-dyed pistachios eventually may become a fondly remembered figment of our nostalgic past (although not too soon, since most imported pistachios are still dyed red), but it is unlikely that too many tears will be shed over the passing of the white pistachio, which can still be seen occasionally. White pistachios, after they were roasted, were coated with a mixture of salt and cornstarch that not only managed to come off on one's hands but also to mask the subtle, buttery taste of the pistachio. Even Imponderables can't answer why anyone would want to dye a pistachio that awful color.
Why is the color blue associated with baby boys? Why is the color pink associated with baby girls?
The association of colors with babies undoubtedly started as an attempt to identify the gender of that one group of humans to whom the cliché“they all look alike” often applies.
But why blue for boys? In ancient times, it was believed that evil spirits lingered over nurseries and that certain colors possessed the capability to combat evil. Blue was considered the most powerful color, possibly because of its association with the sky and, thus, heavenly spirits. Since boys were then considered the most valuable natural resource to parents, blue clothing was a cheap form of insurance.
Evil spirits apparently couldn't bother with pestering baby girls. Not only were girls not dressed in blue, but they had no color to call their own until centuries later. Our association of pink with girls stems from European legend, which professed that baby girls were born inside of pink roses.
European legend also holds that baby boys are born in blue cabbage patches—yes, the same patches that spawned the doll craze of Christmas 1983.
Why is the NBA shot clock 24 seconds?
During the 1953-1954 season, the National Basketball League was beset by difficulties. Attendance was low; many franchises were in financial trouble.
Professional basketball's problem was not a trivial one: Fans found the game boring. Hoop fans like to see plenty of shooting and scoring, but the rules did absolutely nothing to encourage teams with a lead to shoot the ball. If a team led in the late stages of the game, the custom was to have its best ball handler dribble in the backcourt, forcing opponents to foul intentionally, resulting in tedious but profitable free throws for the stalling team. There was also no incentive for teams in the lead to run cross court and set up their offense quickly, further dragging the pace of the game.
The owners knew they had a problem, but the solution was the brainchild of an unlikely savior named Danny Biasone. Biasone, a bowling alley proprietor, bought the Syracuse Nationals franchise for the princely sum of $1000. Biasone might not have had the clout within the league to compete with the Knicks or Celtics owners, but he concluded that a clock was necessary to force players to shoot at regular intervals and speed up the game.
How did Biasone arrive at 24 seconds? He figured that the average game contains about 120 shots between the two teams. Since there are 48 minutes, or 2880 seconds, in an NBA game, teams averaged exactly one shot every 24 seconds. Figuring that players would be forced to shoot before the 24 seconds expired, a shot clock would compel teams to shoot more often and, presumably, score more often.
Biasone invited club owners to watch a demonstration of how a game would be played with a clock. All could see that the shot clock would add excitement to the game, and it was instituted in regular play at the beginning of the 1954-1955 season.
The shot clock changed basketball immediately. Scoring did increase, an average of 14 points per game in one season. Most importantly, attendance rose quickly. NBA historian Charles Paikert quoted former league president Maurice Podoloff as saying that the adoption of the clock “was the most important event in the NBA and Danny Biasone is the most important man in the NBA.”
Biasone's shot clock had another effect that perhaps he did not foresee—it changed the type of player needed to build a championship team. The Minneapolis Lakers dominated the NBA before the shot clock, led by the physically bruising but slow and lumbering George Mikan. The Lakers, with the shot clock, could no longer afford to loiter downcourt while Mikan hauled down a rebound and casually jogged across the half-court line. Mikan retired the year the shot clock was instituted. He returned for the 1955-1956 season, but he averaged only 10 points versus a career average of 22 points, and he quit after half a season.
The shot clock was tailor-made for the team Red Auerbach was fashioning in Boston. In Bill Russell, the Celtics found a tall center who was also exceptionally quick and could spark a fast break offense.
Although Paikert notes that Biasone has so far been denied a place in the basketball Hall of Fame, he was justly rewarded in one respect. In the premier season of the 24-second clock, his Nationals won their first and only championship. Biasone sold the Nationals in 1963. They became the Philadelphia 76ers and went on to win many more championships.
How many more shots are taken today than in Biasone's era? In the regulation 1984-1985 season, NBA players took 168,048 shots in 943 games, an average of 178 shots per game—58 more shots per game, an almost 50 percent increase.
Dividing the number of shots per game (178) into the number of seconds per regulation game (2880), we find that a shot is taken on an average of every 16.17 seconds. Considering how many quick shots and tips are attempted on the offensive boards, which would bring down this average, it is surprising how much time most offenses take in getting off shots, and perhaps a tribute to the defensive skills in the NBA.
Why is butter, rather than margarine, served even in grungy eating establishments?
Most consumers prefer butter to margarine. But they buy margarine in grocery stores. Margarine is cheap, it has no cholesterol, and it provides a reasonable imitation of butter. One would expect to be served butter in an elegant restaurant, but why do coffee shops, cafeterias, diners, and even fast-food establishments invariably serve butter?
The answer lies in the Federal Food, Drug and Cosmetic Act, which specifically provides that oleomargarine cannot be sold in a public place unless:
a notice that oleomargarine or margarine is served is displayed prominently and conspicuously in such place and in such manner as to render it likely to be read and understood by the ordinary individual being served in such eating place or is printed or is set forth on the menu in type or lettering not smaller than that normally used to designate the serving of other food items. No person shall serve colored… margarine at a public eating place, whether or not any charge is made therefore, unless (1) each separate serving bears or is accompanied by labeling identifying it as oleomargarine or margarine, or (2) each separate serving thereof is triangular in shape.
With the exception of hospitals and kosher restaurants, few culinary institutions want to publicize the fact that they serve a perfectly wholesome substitute for butter. The restaurant industry is so self-conscious about the whole butter/margarine issue that many places serve individual pats with covers that blare B-U-T-T-E-R in capital letters.
Ironically, restaurants are under no compulsion to announce their use of margarine in cooking, where its use is much easier to conceal. And even restaurants that use butter can purchase a wide range of quality. Butter is r
ated on a range of 0-100, with the top butters achieving the mid-90s level. Although few restaurants use them, the cheaper, inferior grades of butter, which do not have to be labeled in any way, can have an off taste far more objectionable than any margarine.
On Jeopardy what is the difficulty level of the daily doubles supposed to be?
Even devout watchers of Jeopardy are unlikely to know the answer to this Imponderable. We watch contestants risking $300 or conservatively wagering only $40 that they can construct the right question to “answer” a daily-double answer correctly. But do they know how difficult the question is going to be?
If a daily double appears behind a $100 answer, does this mean that the daily double will have the same difficulty as the $100 answer it replaces? Or are daily doubles more difficult? Or do they vary from answer to answer?
According to Alex Trebek, host and producer of the current incarnation of Jeopardy, a daily-double answer is exactly the same level of difficulty as the answer that would appear without the daily double. In fact, the staff does not even compose separate answers for daily doubles.
Although the categories under which daily doubles appear are randomly selected, faithful viewers of the show can attest to the fact that daily doubles tend to be placed in the middle range of difficulty, rarely instead of the easiest or hardest answer. In the original Jeopardy, contestants tended to select the easiest answers first and then move down the board neatly in ascending order of difficulty (and prize money). This worked well from the producers' point of view, since games could swing dramatically toward the end of Double Jeopardy, when more prize money was being gambled. Placing the daily double in the middle of the board helped guarantee that contestants wouldn't select them early in the game, when their appearance has a less dramatic effect on the result.
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