New Toys And Acceptable Stupidity
This whole thing started as an excuse to play with a new toy. A mental doodle put to pixels to screen. Not meant to be read. Certainly not to be taken seriously.
I needed a place to prop up my brand-new, 7-inch, prison-approved, tablet. I stacked four of the heaviest books I could find on the desk and leaned my new toy against the works of Tim Ferris and Steven Pinker. I plugged in my new rubber keyboard creating my very own Prison PC. I wedged a steel chair in the space between the desk and the bunk and got ready to start my first of two days of LOP (Loss Of Privileges) at my new work station. Somewhere a game was preparing to be changed.
I had been planning, for weeks now, to recommit myself to a more disciplined writing practice. I settled on an output of at least three, one hour writing sessions a week. This new commitment is what all the book stacking and chair wedging is about. At least that's what I told myself. In reality I was just eager to play with my new toy. Either way, for the first time in eight years, I sat down in front of an actual keyboard.
After the initial exploratory mashing of keys, to figure out how the keyboard would interact with the new tablet, I ended up just staring at the significantly larger screen with just over 58 minutes to go without a single pronounceable word written. I typed my name in all caps. I typed my name in all lower case letters. I alternated between caps and lowercase letters. I held down the last letterrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr of my last name untillllllllllllllllllllllllllllll two full rows are nothing but lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllls. Before judging you should know that every word I've written for the last six years has been with two thumbs on a touchscreen no bigger than a 1st-Gen iPhone. Something about sitting here in front of a screen this size is more daunting. But the deal is I have to write something. ANYTHING.
There is this one thought that's been stubbornly interjecting itself as I walk laps on the small yard or sit distracted on the toilet. It's nothing special. Just a throwaway idea. A standup bit about the frustrating nature of stupidity and its limits. I held the down the delete button until all the keyboard doodles disappeared and typed, "Acceptable Stupidity". It took me all of 60 seconds. But it was something at least. That left me with 56 minutes and 980 words left to fill. Instead of simply outlining the comedic premise, like I'd normally do, I thought I might have a better shot of filling my self-imposed quota if I tried to craft it as a sort of persuasive argument or theoretical pitch. So that's what I'm going to do. Here it is, the first thing ever written on my new toy:
THE THRESHOLD OF INFURIATING STUPIDITY
So it goes like this. If interacting with stupidity is inherently frustrating, then it would be reasonable to expect that an increase in stupidity would lead to a proportional increase in one's frustration. Basically, the dumber the dummy you're dealing with, the more infuriating the interaction. Makes sense so far.
But this equation is only reliable up to a point.
Imagine you were asked to complete a set of moderately difficult tasks requiring the cooperation of another person for which you would be timed and paid for each task successfully completed. You would then be assigned a series of partners, identical in every way other than their IQs, which would range from 70 to 130 pts (100-IQ pts signifies average intelligence). At first glance you could expect your level of frustration to rise as the IQ level of your partner decreased in perpetuity. But this is not the case. There is in fact a point of diminishing returns concerning predictable frustration.
This is the interesting part.
Once a person crosses under a certain level of intelligence (usually at the level generally accepted as determining official mental/learning disabilities), I'm guessing around the 70-80 pt mark, our frustration in dealing with them tends to not only plateau but to drop, off almost entirely.
Almost everyone has had frustrating interactions with a below average blockhead pumping ridiculous conspiracy theories at the DMV, or some space-cadet at Walmart unable to figure out how to work the self checkout. But only the rarest of assholes would get genuinely frustrated with a person with Downs Syndrome. As a matter of fact most are a real treat to deal with.
So why is that?
If a lack of intelligence is a predictable factor in evoking frustration in others, what is responsible for the sudden reversal once a person's IQ dips below a certain intelligence threshold?
If I had to hazard a guess I'd say it has something to do with a perception of personal responsibility. It seems that below a certain IQ level we no longer deem a person as responsible for their intelligence or behavior—at least not as much as someone with a more "normal" level of intelligence. However, if a person is even a LITTLE above this invisible threshold we suddenly deem them FULLY responsible for their stupidity. Which triggers a justified anger. And the closer a person comes to the intelligence threshold WITHOUT actually dipping BELOW it, the more frustrating or infuriating their stupidity seems to be. But if it was to dip, even slightly, their actions would swing from maddening to almost endearing.
It shouldn't take too much contemplation (depending on your level of stupidity I guess) to realize the flaws in this way of thinking. Intelligence is either inherent or it's not. Meaning, EVERYONE should be responsible for their level of intelligence, or NO ONE should.
Contrary to my temperament, it seems that maybe no one should be held responsible.
The more we learn about genetics and brain science the more it seems to suggest that IQ is as inherent as a persons eye color or height. So I guess the lesson here is to accept everybody without reacting in anger, regardless of their intelligence level, because it seems that we might not have as much control over our own stupidity as we'd like to think.
That being said, this particular realization does little to stop me from wanting to castrate the guy ahead of me in line at McDonalds who doesn't understand how the Dollar menu works...''Stop asking the prices!!! It's called the DOLLAR MENU FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!!!''
Now I don't claim to know where the actual threshold of stupidity is that switches from inspiring murderous rage to inspiring a tickled acceptance of someone with a mental disability, but like a Supreme Court Justice once said, when asked to define what porn is: I know it when I see it...or hear it (as a uninterrupted string of guttural vowels). I added that last part.
So there it is. My theory of Infuriating Stupidity.
Another lesson to be learned here, about fury and stupidity, might have something to do with giving more thought to the shit you decide to commit to words, even if it IS just an excuse to play with a new toy in a desperate attempt break up the monotony of a life dwindling away in a prison cell.
Either way, I am an unadulterated asshole.
This is your proof.
For this I should apologize.
I'm sorry...
...stupid...
...but I will NOT.
That was my hour for the day!