The inclined plane is a simple machine that has been in use since prehistoric times. Used as a machine it allows for motion from one plane to be transferred to another plane with mechanical advantage - that is, for example, to push a vehicle up a ramp (pushing horizontally makes the object move vertically), to split wood (chopping “down” makes the wood split “sideways”), or convert rotational motion to longitudinal motion (a screw twisting into wood or a propeller propelling a ship through water) with less effort than simply lifting, tearing, or pushing. This is all to say that the inclined plane is ubiquitous - I suspect there’s one within eyesight of wherever you’re reading this.
When we think of machines, we often think of humans doing work. Work, however, can be done by gravity. Think of a marble at the top of a ramp. Gravity pulls the marble “down” and the inclined plane transfers that motion “sideways” - instead of ending up directly beneath where it started, the marble will end up somewhere else horizontally (assuming the ramp is not also a helix).
This is all to say this is a simple concept. A ubiquitous concept. A prehistoric concept. Yet, it’s a concept that seems to escape people all around the world. Especially people who have to deal with water.
I am going to blow your mind: water generally flows downhill. Crazy, right? Obviously I’m being sarcastic, as you certainly already know this. You know who doesn’t know this? Bathroom contractors, the streets department, and my housemates.
I first noticed the phenomenon of inclined plane erasure when I was traveling in Asia. Showers were often co-located with toilets and the drains were often higher than the floor level. So, if the shower had been used and the water hadn’t evaporated yet, you would be left with soggy pants if your pants touched the floor. Had the drain been the lowest point on the floor, the system would have been a little more tolerable - at least then there wouldn’t be a puddle!
This phenomenon was not limited to Asia, however. I vividly recall a hostel in Australia that struggled mightily with this concept - while the showers weren’t located on top of the toilet, the stalls were sink-toilet-shower in a row with a curtain to separate the shower. You know where this is going, given the above example. The shower drains were higher than the rest of the floor, so whenever someone took a shower it flooded into the hall. Every day. Every bathroom stall. As icing on the cake, the soap holders were slanted so water would drain out of them. Smart, sure, if they had a lip. Lacking a lip, any soap put into the soap holder would simply fall to the floor and, perhaps, wander all the way to the door to the stall.
In the US, especially during rainy or winter weather, it’s clear that we’re not immune from this stupidity. Nearly every crosswalk in Philadelphia turns into a swimming pool during inclimate weather. For some reason it’s expected that every pedestrian should accept getting their shoes wet while crossing the street. Sewer drains are located above street level, curb cuts are lower than street level, and we get pools, slush, or ice rinks at every intersection - including the one in front of Independence Hall. That’s right, if you want to visit Independence Hall and it’s even moderately drizzly, you get to wade through a couple inches of water.
The smallest example of my continued frustration with this concept is the fact that spoons and bowls and cups are concave on one side. The idea that liquid might collect in those low points escapes my housemates - I have had to flip or tilt spoons, bowls, and cups on the drying rack countless times so that they might drain instead of evaporate. Strangely, the most confusing utensil for my housemates is an ice cream scoop. I’ve never seen it placed so that it might drain - it’s always laying so that it has a teaspoon of water in it after washing.
That being said, the spoon thing is not unique to my housemates. The most universal difficulty in understanding the fact that liquid flows down an inclined plane comes with spoons used to stir coffee. I’m unsure why this is the case, but it seems to be the commonly accepted practice that the next person wants a teaspoon full of your coffee in their coffee. Instead of placing a communal stir-spoon “upside down” on a napkin so it might no longer have coffee inside it, it’s left with a little sampling of the previous coffee - with bonus points for when it does eventually dry and leaves an annoying film on the spoon. While I accept that having the spoon “upside down” would still leave a little of the previous coffee on it, it wouldn’t be a spoonful of old coffee / sweetener / cream going in my fresh cup.
We have taken this complaint from Asia to Australia to America. We’ve zoomed in to my city and to my house. We’ve heard yet another complaint about my housemates. We must end in my very own water closet. Every day - every fucking day - I am confronted by human stupidity. I had a contractor quickly and cheaply redo my bathroom after a leak destroyed it (and my dining room below). Unfortunately, the third leg of that triangle is “good” (pick two: quick, cheap, good) - they did a mediocre-to-bad job on the bathroom renovation. I can live with the tiles being wonky, I can live with little unfinished bits, but it’s the sink that drives me nuts. I didn't pick it out. I would have never picked it out. You see, the sink has a flat bottom! The bathroom sink - the sink that gets soap and shaved hair and toothpaste deposited into it - has a flat bottom. Every day - multiple times a day - I have to splash and touch and wipe soap and shaved hair and toothpaste to encourage it to go down the drain because, again, the sink has a flat bottom. Who the fuck designed this? Who looked at every other sink in the world and said “let’s not”? I just simply don’t understand.
I don't have anything else to say - I feel like we have lost the inclined plane and it seems like I’m the only one who cares.
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