THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Friday, July 12, 1996 TAG: 9607110172
SECTION: VIRGINIA BEACH BEACON PAGE: 07 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: Over Easy
SOURCE: Jo-Ann Clegg
LENGTH: 72 lines
I have a gut reaction to the television commercials in which Candice Bergen exchanges information on long-distance prices with a disembodied, brain-dead clerk at a fast-food drive-through.
I think it's called despair.
The story line goes something like this. Bergen places an order, the worker recognizes her as the ``dime-a-minute lady'' from the telephone ad, then asks Bergen if all the states are included in the rate.
Bergen assures her that every state is part of the deal, ``all 50 of them,'' she concludes.
``Wow,'' the voice says, ``we got that many of them now?''
Bergen winces. So do I.
The commercial hits too close to home. I'm convinced that the death of the human brain through lack of use is one of the great tragedies of the last decade of the 20th century.
Witness the conversation I overheard between two supermarket checkers last week.
Clean-cut young guy: ``All you have to remember is that there are 12 ounces to a pound and 16 ounces to a cup.''
His female counterpart: ``For real? I thought there were 8 ounces to a pound and 12 to a cup.''
If you're not shuddering at this point, take a look at a fourth-grade math book or the inside cover of your Betty Crocker cookbook. Both checkers were wrong on both counts.
Later that day, I gave an ice cream store clerk a $5 bill, a quarter, a dime, a nickel and three pennies to pay for a $2.43 purchase.
The young man turned pale. He laid the bill on top of his cash drawer, stared for a long moment at the collection of change, then looked around helplessly.
``It's 43 cents,'' I told him. He flashed me a relieved grin, rang up $5.43, read the amount displayed on the register and handed me $3 in change.
The problem isn't limited to the very young or those working in entry level jobs.
A Navy instructor told me an almost unbe lievable story recently. He was conducting a make-up session for a couple of senior chief petty officers. Both were in their late 30s, one step from the top of the career ladder in highly technical rates.
``I gave them a problem that involved adding 10 percent to 180,'' he explained. ``The first one said, `Sorry, I left my calculator at home.' I thought he was kidding until the second one said, `So did I.' Then both of them just sat there looking at me. I think they expected me to find a calculator and do the math for them.''
Which brings me to another recent experience with the ability to reason - or lack thereof.
I was in the deli department of a grocery store when the man ahead of me asked the clerk for a third of a pound of ham. Considering that she had one of those scales that is accurate to one one-hundredth of a pound, it should have been an easy job. For her, it was impossible.
``OK,'' she told the shopper doubtfully, ``but I gotta warn you. On this scale, it comes up 65. In most places it's 45, but this one overweighs. You sure you still want that much?''
The man and I looked at each other and shook our heads. Then he turned to the clerk and said with a straight face: ``That's all right. Just pile the meat on until it hits 33. That should be about right.''
``Whatever you say,'' the clerk, who appeared to be well into her 50s, said as she began dropping ham slices on her electronic scale, ``but I'm telling you, on this thing a third of a pound is 65.''
I couldn't help wondering if the clerk was the grandmother of Bergen's dime-a-minute clerk.
I also couldn't help wondering if there's anybody left out there who doesn't cease to function when the electricity goes off, the batteries go dead or a transaction requires basic knowledge to be memorized and stored somewhere in the deep recesses of the human brain. by CNB