Occam’s Razor states that
“Among competing hypotheses, the one which makes the fewest assumptions should be selected”
Occam’s Razor
In other words, the simplest answer is usually correct.
On my way into work this morning, I stopped for gas and as I was driving in, I slowly became aware of an ominous clunking sound coming from the back of the car whenever I made a turn or went over a big bump. My first thought, of course, was that the rear axle has become separated from the car and fiery death was imminent.
Luckily, a somewhat calmer rationale presented itself soon after: maybe there was something wrong with the rear suspension? I proceeded to take a few more turns relatively quickly to make sure I was indeed hearing a clunking, and it was indeed coming from my car.
Fuck.
I have a flash of inspiration! Maybe it’s just something in the trunk, rolling around! Maybe?
I pull into the garage at work and in the quiet of the garage I think I hear it again. My stupid brain is in overdrive now and the only thing I can think of is that I’m about to park the car and will be unable to do further driving tests to see what the hell is wrong. It better be something in the trunk. Something obvious. I park the car and open the trunk. Everything seems fine. I push on the trunk lid to simulate the motion of the car going over a bump.
Nothing.
Well, I feel like an asshole bouncing my car in the garage at work, but nothing useful. I scan everything in the trunk, looking for loose items. A couple bottles of oil? Could they make that sound? How about the big bottle of washer fluid? Sure, it could make the sound I was hearing, except that it’s in a box surrounded by two footballs and a bag of rags. I doubt that it had that much room to bounce around.
Double Fuck. What am I gonna do now?
Realizing that my entire day is about to become focused around what might or might not be happening to my car, I do the only thing I can do. I leave work.
Only moments after I entered the garage, I leave the garage. My destination? Firestone. I’ve got less than an hour. I make the turn at W 3rd and Lakeside and hear it again. Oh boy, I hope that whatever is wrong doesn’t incapacitate me on the Shoreway.
Driving down the Shoreway, I hit upon another idea: maybe it’s the spare tire in the wheel-well under the trunk? That certainly can make the sound I’m hearing, right? I determine that I’ll stop at the first safe place and check out the spare.
The first safe place turns out to be the gas station at Clifton and 117th. I pull in and start extricating boxes from the trunk and stacking them on the ground. I rip up the trunk carpet and immediately notice that the spare tire bolt is secure. Very secure. My heart drops a little bit, but I undo the bolt anyway and check the tire. It seems fine. I jiggle the jack a little and while it makes a sound very similar to the sound I was hearing, the bolt holding it down is tight. It seems unlikely that the jack was the source of the noise. What makes me say that? I have no idea.
I start repacking the trunk. I pick up the big box full of oil bottles and washer fluid and footballs. The bottom of the box gives way and spills its contents all over the ground.
Perfect. This is my morning.
So I get back in the car and start heading toward Madison. Traffic is swelling. I start to become aware of the fact that I have to pee.
I start cutting through side streets and looking for a McDonald’s or any place that has a bathroom. Almost imperceptibly at first, I start to notice that I haven’t heard the noise. I still have to pee.
I get on Detroit. Traffic sucks. I have to pee.
Finally, I get all the way almost home before my bladder gives me the ultimatum: stop at Panera Bread or my morning’s about to get way worse.
I stop.
I pee.
I get back in the car and proceed to drive around the abandoned Target parking lot where I taught Ashley how to drive. I take hard left turns. I take hard right turns. I drive in a circle. I slam on the brakes. I look like a lunatic but I don’t hear anything like the sound I heard a hour ago coming from the trunk.
I consider my options. I could still take it to Firestone, but at this point it would certainly not be free (they’d have to put it up on a rack and maybe take it for a drive). I would tell them that I heard a noise this morning on the way to work, and after I removed everything from the trunk and repacked it, the noise stopped.
They’d probably smile and watch me to see if they could actually see the light over my head turn on. While the possibility still exists that something is wrong, the possibility that I was hearing something moving in the trunk is greater.
I could assume that after driving to work and hearing a noise I was unable to re-create the noise by driving some more, or I could assume that something I did in the trunk stopped the noise.
Occam would be proud.