Before I came out here, I was told never to convert the prices to Indian Rupees when I was shopping, or I would starve myself to death. Why that would be the case can be hard to perceive at times. But here is a simple example of what converting prices can do to you. The price tag on the crewneck tee said it was worth $14. That converts to ₹700 roughly. I could buy 6 crewneck tees at that price! I decided I was going to be a nudist instead. Why I am not allowed to go to the mall is self explanatory now, isn’t it?
Anyway, talking about conversion brings me to something I am constantly annoyed by. Why is there a difference in standards of measurements in the U.S. and why has noone been successful in doing something about it yet?
Having wasted twenty-two minutes just converting units to make my calculations simpler, I can not help but wonder if this is all a grand plot devised to ruin my peace of mind. Understanding physics with imperial units feels like trying to perceive the dimensions of the subject in a neo-cubist painting.
Why is Stone a unit that weighs fourteen pounds, when every stone I have encountered weighs only a fraction of a pound? The last time I checked, a slug was that slimy mollusc I saw crawling on a stone leaving a trail that led to the football field.
I find it ironic that the U.K. has adopted the Metric system, while the U.S. still clings on to the sloppy, impractical Imperial system. Did you know that of the 206 sovereign states in the world, only Myanmar, Liberia and the U.S. use the imperial system?
Infuriated by this gross impudence, I realize I have been scribbling uncontrollably all over my Physics assignment. The alarm goes off. I head to my English class, hoping that not having to deal with feet, inches, furlongs or the unfathomable slug will help me cool off.
My English professor walks in and hands out our assignments. Ninety-one percent on a paper I wrote at 3 a.m. is a score I could live with. I smile. My hyperventilation seems to gradually subside.
“Where did you lose points on your assignment,” the girl sitting next to me asks.
“I don’t really know,” I say, scanning through my paper until I notice that I have been penalized for spelling realization as ‘realisation’.
And that is the true story of how I ended up in anger management.