Please just bear with me on this one– why is it that when I am in the shower, I am the most profound thinker of the generation and now that I am asked to articulate just about whatever I want, I come to a blank?
Loofah in hand, I am a modern day Einstein. As soon as I step onto the bath mat, all my brilliance disappears with the steam into the vents. I call this effect the “Squeaky Clean Genius Phenomenon” (I’m still working on something catchier). Perhaps it is the water jolting the cells of my body from lazy inactivity; microscopic laborers in my mitochondria begin extracting the nutrients from the Ramen Noodles I ate for dinner. The nutrients then mix with a dash of fairy dust and some guarana to make ATP. The ATP then boards a train in my bloodstream with a one-way ticket to my brain:“Mister Brain” as I like to call him.
Mister Brain lies dormant most of the time. He likes to take strolls down Imaginary-Conversations Street, maybe taking a left onto The-Comebacks-I-Came-Up-With-Ten-Minutes-After-The Fight Lane, and then eventually heading home on What-If-Babies-Were-Born-With-Moustaches Path. Whoever was the city planner in Mr. Brain’s neighborhood must have been a raving eccentric. But sometimes-just sometimes-he hears the sound of metal squeaking on metal and the familiar CCCCCCSSSSSHHHHHHHHH of high-pressured, steaming-hot, shower water and I can nearly hear the Scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz’s voice in my head “Oh Joy, Rapture! I’ve got a Brain!” You know, maybe there are some chemicals in my shampoo that slide down my hair follicles and diffuse into the synapses of my cerebral cortex. Or maybe being confined to the coffin-sized cell that is my shower, my brain switches into survival mode, firing neurotransmitters at full throttle.
So maybe I don’t know exactly what it is that superpowers my thought processes, but that’s probably because I’m writing this from outside my optimal think tank. Perhaps I should meditate on this phenomenon during a shower and have a scribe sit outside the curtain to note my dictations. Anyway, that’s enough about me; let’s move on to the well-being of the human race. I assert-with utmost confidence-that if all the world’s best thinkers were put in non-stop showers, they could solve societies problems within twenty-four hours. Poverty, famine, war, AIDS, the mystery of Amelia Earhart, time travel, and what to do about the cheese residue that comes after eating Cheetohs would all be solved. Easy. You may not believe me now, but soon enough you’ll lather, agree with me, rinse, repeat.