Schrodinger's Cones

There is a mystery outside. Not quite Agatha Christie, but, in my mind, worthy of that descriptor nonetheless. I bless the situation with that word because it has disrupted the norm for a large amount of time without explanation. Its initial appearance was a puzzle, but now, with the days that have passed, it has landed in the realm of mystery. Let me explain.

The window in my lounge reveals a walkway below. It’s one on a waterfront, with the river (for me) on its left side, and some apartment blocks (for me) on its right. These elements aren’t truly vital for the Mystery, but I’d like to influence the image in your mind a little more. This walkway is primarily for pedestrians - those who wish to get from one corner of the edge of the town centre to the other corner of the edge of the town centre with a lovely view to distract them - but there’s also space for cars to move, in the very rare case that they are permitted through.

These walkers, and cyclers too actually, come in many forms and sizes and shades. Some in smart clothing, definitely heading to offices, others in casual, possibly heading anywhere. There are joggers and couples and kids and dogs. And every now and then a delivery person or a protester or someone singing a song.

I’m digressing. The Mystery. There’s a series of bollards that split the main pavement and the “road”. They’re short little things and sit a few metres apart from one another. They’re a blackish-grey, some find them ugly, others think nothing of them. But all agree that they are ordinary, innocent bollards. And they also happen to be key characters in the Mystery.

Three days ago I entered the lounge after a lovely night’s sleep (in the bedroom). I pulled open the blinds. I looked out the window. My eyes were drawn to the bollards. No eye is ever drawn to the bollards! On top of one of these bollards was… a cone. A cone! One of those iconic red and white cones with the black base. Why was there a cone on this bollard? That is a mystery, and a fragment of the Mystery.

The usual commenced. People walked, cyclists cycled. Some of them glanced at the cone. The regulars probably had the same question that I had. They kept coming, the hours passed, the cone remained still.

Nighttime. I was thinking about the cone a lot. Who placed this cone? Why had they placed it there? How long until someone removed the cone and freed the bollard? My theory: the night before a drunkard had picked up the cone from another location, probably to impress his friends who then began to goad him on. The drunkard was then carrying the cone for so long that all the humour of the situation had died. He was approaching this bollard. A bollard the perfect size to hold a cone. He calls for his friends’ attention. He shall toss the cone onto the bollard. He does. Victory.

And then the cone will sit there for many days, for no one interacts with cones, unless drunk. That’s what I thought. I was wrong.

I woke the next day with a curiosity for the cone already in mind. I looked out the window. There was change. The cone had been moved! But it hadn’t gone, no. The cone had been moved to the next bollard! I was electrified. This was such an exciting change of events, I never would have anticipated it.

A plethora of new ideas and questions and theories entered my mind. A few: who moved the cone? Was it the same person who deposited the first cone? Why would they come back? Was this a cult thing? Was it a religious thing? Was it an alcohol thing? A peer pressure thing? Political? The Tories? The Labour folk? The Satanists? The Nihilist? The neighbours?? My thoughts only escalated.

This riveting storyline entertained me through a dull day of work. I sat these and worked on my theories, honed them, refined them. And before I knew it, I was being shouted at for attention by my boss. A terrific day.

The next day, yesterday, I galloped to see my newfound obsession. I was in high anticipation. Would another thing happen? Or was this cone now in its rightful place? You would not believe it. Two. Changes.

There was now a second cone. One cone, I couldn’t tell if it was the original or the new, was sitting atop the original bollard. The other cone was sitting right next to the newer bollard. I was bouncing. Once again, I could not have predicted this occurrence. It was a spectacular development. This narrative was immense.

It’s bizarre, isn’t it. These are just cones. Cones are such an ordinary and common object, no matter if you live in a city or a village you will encounter a traffic cone. But in this situation they had become a game, become a story. All it took was a change in the norm. A twitch to the common had summoned an entire new offshoot of life. All breaks from the equilibrium are potential tales. Normality becomes absorbed. The stationary merges with your perspective. A spin to your view invents a fresh idea. Everything can become fun again with a little observation.

And so, it is today. I haven’t looked out the window. I won’t. Not for a while. I’m having too much fun. My thinking about the cones, the story of the cones, the stories behind the cones, is enough for me. I’m thinking so many different things because of this silly little situation. It’s so stupid, so funny. And I am content. Have the cones changed or have they not? I won’t look. Both are true.