Pseudo-Science 101

I have a theory. I actually have a lot of theories, but most are best kept secret. This one is based upon what I <i>think</i> is a generally accepted scientific belief, but since Science is always updating and refining these things, I may be behind the times. But so what, this isn't my PhD thesis.

From what I understand, the ratio of brain to body mass correlates with the general intelligence of a species. For instance, the average 150 lb. human has a 3-pound grapefruit inside its noggin while a 20-ton brontosaurus has a peach pit. You with me? Okay.

I theorize that when a guy sits down behind the wheel of a car, his brain-to-body mass ratio effectively goes from 1:40 to 1:1500, putting him in line with your average hippopotamus.

In other words, as soon as someone gets in a car and starts driving, they are suddenly a whole lot dumber than they were standing in the parking lot.

Again, it's only a theory.

Okay, so maybe "dumb" isn't the right word. A shark has a brain-to-body ratio of about 1:2500, and nobody here is calling a shark dumb. How about primal?

Regardless, I had to rent a 6000-pound U-Haul truck the other day to do a little schlepping -- moving art from one secret location to another. -- and I gotta say, I sure felt stupid driving it. Like a little old lady driving to church, I lumbered through Brooklyn at 10 miles an hour. inhaling and holding my breath as if it would make the whole truck thinner whenever I had to thread my way through parked and double-parked cars. Holding my breath probably made me even dumber still.

By the way, I was surprised by the U-Haul rental office on Carlton Street, near the Brooklyn Navy Yard. There's a beautiful waterfall fountain and koi pond outside the office door, and inside, the office looks like an Old West mail station. There was a large brass cash register on a wooden platform against the wall and a counter with barred windows. I felt like I should be sending a telegram rather than renting a truck.

Guess what? STOP

The U-Haul office looks like a telegraph office STOP

There's a koi pond outside STOP

Who knew? STOP

Time Out Magazine used to have a regular item called "What's Up With That?" where readers would write in with questions about things they found curious and or confusing, and the staff would answer them. For instance:

Q: What’s up with the black obelisk on the northeast corner of Ocean Parkway and Avenue U in Brooklyn?

I remember seeing one where someone asked: "What's up with Staten Island?"

As I inched my way through the toll booth on the Verrazano Narrows Bridge from Brooklyn to Staten Island, I started to wonder the same thing. I've driven over the bridge countless times — usually as a shortcut through Staten Island from my apartment in Brooklyn to my parent's house is southern New Jersey — and I was well aware of the astronomical 13 dollar toll to cross it, but when I handed the toll collector a 20 dollar bill, he barked, "Twenny six." I was stunned.

"Pardon me?"

"It's twenny six, pal."

I don't drive trucks very often — my little Ford Ranger barely qualifies since it’s smaller than a lot of cars I see. I had no idea the toll would be double for a U-Haul. According to the U-Haul website, the 10' truck I was driving weighs 5790 pounds empty — or roughly one hundred pounds lighter than a Ford Escalade — and it hardly seemed fair. But I wasn't about to argue with the guy. He was bald and muscular, with the stern face of a made-for-TV prison guard. I had enough cash to cover it, but just barely.

There were more tolls to come, so as I pulled away from the toll, I asked Deborah, who was in the passenger seat with me, if she had any cash.

Deborah had been sick the previous couple of days and wasn't keen on coming along, but I convinced her that all she had to do was keep me company. "No, I didn't bring my wallet," she said.

The job was straightforward. Pick up some art from one warehouse, drop it off at another, and go home. The truck was booked for six hours, which gave us about twenty minutes for lunch. I handed Deborah a few bucks and waited in the truck while she ran into the rest area to get us some food. Pickings were slim. There was a Nathan's, which was closed, a Starbucks, and a Burger King. Deborah stood in line at Starbucks with two plastic-wrapped ham and cheese sandwiches. She thinks they were ham and cheese, anyway, she said they were too smushed up to be certain. As she neared the counter, the cashier warned her before ringing up the order, "Those are seven-fifty each."

Oh well, when trucking, do as the truckers do. "Two Whoppers with cheese, please."

With bellies full of bio-fuel, we got the rolling box back on the road and began the last leg of the trip. The Verrazano Narrows Bridge only collects tolls in one direction, so I felt safe from the robber barons, but before we got that far, we had to cross the Goethals Bridge across Arthur Kill — from New Jersey into Staten Island. (What's up with Staten Island?) Normally a 12-dollar toll, I saw signs as we approached which read "Trucks 13 dollars per axle." I didn't need to be a math wiz to know we were driving on two and that the 13 dollars in my wallet would only cover one. I pictured being allowed halfway through he toll booth. But at least it would be the front half, where Deborah and I sat. Halfway through, we could ditch the truck and walk the rest of the way.

Thankfully, the toll collector was more forgiving in his definition of a truck. He leaned his head out of the booth and looked at the U-Haul. "Twelve dollars," he said.

And so, with one dollar to spare, we rumbled through the forgotten borough. Home again, home again jiggity jig. I stepped out of the truck in the U-Haul parking lot and allowed my brain to readjust to its puny human housing. If it hadn’t taken so long, I might've been smart enough to take some pictures of the Wild West U-Haul corral. Maybe next time.