A Quantum Mechanic's Observation: the Collapse of Screwdriver Probability Fields
Tesseract'ion at a Distance: SPOOKY!
Quantum mechanics is spooky, Einstein said, about quantum entanglement: a particle, observed, determines the status of another it's entangled with.
It's a quantum world for screwdrivers, too!
Trust me, I'm a quantum mechanic.
Consider my escapade involving leaky Jacuzzi pipework:
I needed to tighten screws under my Jacuzzi, a sophisticated machine, access certainly requiring the sophistication of Phillips screws, the upper class of threaded fasteners.
You'd think.
I grab my Phillips screwdriver, sitting--ironically--alongside the flathead I summarily spurn. I stoop the stoop that traditionally engenders butt-cracks for cackling children everywhere. Alas, the screws I see, the ones I must unscrew--flatheads!
Looks like the screwdriver probability field collapsed. Zigs became zags--that’s how the quantum cookie crumbles.
THE SCIENCE, THE SCREW-JOB:
We quantum mechanics use quantum toolboxes. Once the screwhead type's observed, the probability field containing vacillating dualities, i.e., flathead-vs-Phillips, collapses the entangled screwdriver, many quanta away, into a single type.
Then, observing the panel screws and the screwdriver needed--left behind in the quantumized toolchest--I'm cursed with the wrong one. Probably every time? Probably? Possibly? Screw me!
Yes, Schrödinger, your cat's dead. Screw you!
Is it really dead? (Meows waft in the æther...)
I go to retrieve the flathead. There t'is, in all its flathead eventuality. So, quantum mechanics is merciful:
Once I left the vicinity of entangled Phillips screwheadness, a forgone screwdriver should collapse into a different type. Or at least resume a quasi-status, [flathead+Phillips], in simultaneous shimmering duality, awaiting my retrieval.
I risked damnation to a Hell of reaching, forever, for the wrong screwdriver! (A true quantum uncertainty: damned if I do; damned if I don’t.)
Why wouldn't I just grab both? any woman might ask?
My Y-chromosome forbids such foresight. It represents the same mutated allele that forces me to skip assembly directions for toys on Christmas Eve. Or worse, ask for directions. (Gender crisis averted--I have GPS now.)
But I wasn't damned (if I did[n’t]) to a Hell of reaching, forever, for the wrong screwdriver. Quantum mechanics strives to get along with us. With the right screwdriver I walk back, without any further entanglement, and righty-tighty those little fellas home.
So quantum mechanics learned!
It established a path of least resistance after it misstepped. Quantum says, "Fool me once, shame on me; fool me twice, shame on Einstein."
Translated,
You merely chose the wrong screwdriver, quantard!
Now, screws are just one less challenge in life--thanks to my inescapable partner in life, the ol' probability cloud granting me a Mulligan. On to the next entanglement! (Will she or won't she?)
And don't worry about feeding the cat.
I think.
Me: “Yes, Schrödinger, your cat's dead.”
Schrödinger: “Yeah, I know. The Haitians ate him!”