My eldest child sent me a text message that showed a picture of a math problem. It seems that Jane bought two books in a book shop, and the second book was $10 less than three times the price of the first book. Which poses the question: how much was the bread on aisle 13?
I am famous with my two oldest grandchildren for my inability to “math.” When Lisa was in grade school, she once came to me with a math question and immediately realized her error. “You’re not the math parent” she murmured and turned to her mother to pose the problem. I was “English Dad,” and her mother was “Math Mom.” When Lisa was gracious enough to present me with the first two of my three grandchildren, she taught them that, in all matters of English — language, reading, writing — I am to be trusted. In matters of math, don’t ask. My grandson, who is now 17 years old, took that admonition to heart, and amuses himself by sending me math problems, knowing that I will not even attempt to solve them.
When I managed an office for a small-loan lending company, I was given a handy chart that I used to quote payments to customers. The chart listed the loan amounts, number of months to repay, payment amounts, annual percentage rate (APR) and total of payments. A computer spat out loan documents for the customer to sign. The small loan lending law was modified after some shenanigans by lenders to require employees to conspicuously point out the APR, but most customers were transfixed on the check next to the documents, signed quickly and bolted from the office. Without the chart and computer, I could not have calculated anything on any of those loan documents, but each office had a cash drawer to accept payments in the office, and that drawer had to be balanced each night. Cash in the drawer had to match payments recorded on accounts and the amount the drawer started with. Each evening at closing, a deposit was prepared and taken to the bank. I can count by 10.
I have corrected salesclerks as to the amount of change owed to me; I’ve also returned money that cashiers have given me in error. (To date, I have received exactly zero words of gratitude for not having taken money to which I was not entitled.) In many of the convenience-style stores that I patronize, the clerks and cashiers round off the change to be tendered. Apparently, the amount of the sale and the amount collected do not have to “balance.” I just claw the change from beneath the window and stuff it into my pocket after giving the bills a cursory count.
When I went to college as an adult, I was given some credit for having lived on earth for thirty-four years, but I still had to pass Algebra 1. I failed the first time, then passed with a “D.” I was satisfied. I majored in English with the assumption that there was to be no math. In my daily life I have zero instances that require that I calculate what the price of an item would be if it were $10 less than three times the price of previous purchase. The tag gives me a number and if I want the item, I pay that amount. With a piece of paper, a pencil, and a few hours of undisturbed concentration, I can calculate the 7% Indiana sales tax, but I have no reason to do so: Math magic is made by the machine.
cjon3acd@att.net