Ripping Down the Curtain, Or Anamolies in Natural Environs

Human perception grows used to environments that are chaotic, random, unstructured.

A human wakes, Drives to the coffee shop, May or may not see a few regulars, a few randoms, the regular staff and maybe a new employee or two. This is their routine.

Everyday this happens for one year. Then one day the espresso machine breaks while the barista is making their grande latte. This event is perfectly acceptable to the human. Things break. Things sometimes break at inopportune moments in life. There is nothing unusual about this. The human orders a regular coffee. Black. And leaves.

The next day the espresso machine works fine while the human waits. The human then orders a grande latte. The expresso machine breaks while the barista is making the latte. There is nothing unusual about this. Coincidences occur in everyday life. The human again orders a regular coffee, black, and leaves the coffee shop.

The next day the expresso machine works fine until the human orders. The human begins to notice an anomaly in this environment.

The next day the same thing happens again. The day after it happens again. The human rules out coincidence and begins to turn over the week's circumstances in his mind while he is at work.

Objective, quantifiable evidence proves that the human is not wrong in his observations. The one espresso machine breaks precisely when he orders, not before, not after.

The human decides to ask one of the long time regulars to observe the goings-on in the coffee shop, specifically what happens to the espresso machine before he arrives, while he is in line (he being the human), and after he leaves.

The regular tells the human that the machine works perfectly right up until he orders, breaks during his order, and then oddly begins working a few orders later... after the human has left the shop.

Sometimes a few very observant (intuitive) humans notice things about their surroundings that most humans overlook. Most humans overlook these little things because of a little thing called environmental sensory adaptation. That and a combination of other rare-ish human characteristics.

The asks himself, "should I continue to talk to humans, or should I proceed with my listening to the old trees, the slow cold rivers, and the animals? Should I rip the curtain down, or continue counting geese on an old spillway? Should talk to strangers, go feed the turtles in the lake at the park, or send smoke signals to the dead? Should I tell the barista not to worry with the espresso machine, that it's all my fault, not to worry... I'm sure it will be up and running a few moments after I leave the parking lot?"

I repeat to myself: I used to notice every little noise the espresso machine makes; now I drink regular coffee, black.