What a world

I am urinating. Indoors. Into a waist high receptacle. It’s white and clean. When I’m done I pull a lever and the urine goes away.

I turn around, take a step and lift a handle. Fresh clean water runs over my hands - for as long as I want. I reach up to pull another lever. A fresh, clean, never used before towel unrolls. I use it to dry the hands I just washed in the clean water. I stick my foot out and gently apply pressure to another small lever that lifts the lid off of a matte finished waste receptacle. Later today someone will remove all the fresh clean never used before towels moistened by hands that were washed with fresh clean water that forever runs out of the wall.

I take another step. Reach out my hand and take hold of a round, polished knob. The handle of this indoor-bathroom door. I twist. Gears inside the door slide a latch out of the way to let the door - fitted perfectly to its frame - open. I pull. The door smoothly swings open on perfectly engineered, well oiled, metal hinges that barely make a sound. The indoor-bathroom door will close itself. I don’t even think about that part.

I step into the hallway. It’s a room that leads to other rooms. I marvel at the faux wood floor. Illuminated by fluorescent lights in the ceiling. Somehow a mixture of mercury vapor trapped in a tube can light up a room when the magical electricity pumped into the building from who knows where comes in contact with it. I step lightly over this magical surface in comfortable shoes that just a century ago kings could only dream of. With laces that have become so cheap they are almost disposable. As I walk down this hallway I let my hand slide against the lightly textured papered wall. I note to myself that this same pattern continues for several floors below me. And a bunch more above me.

None of this blows my mind.

That’s the part that blows my mind.