The Discounting Machine

Be honest.  When you read the title to this blog, did you think of coupons? A special cash register that discounted purchases?

In Maria Semple’s national bestseller Where’d You Go,Bernadette? the main character’s father explains to her that the human brain is sometimes referred to as a discounting machine because it discounts our previous experiences so that we can focus on the next relevant event.

There is some neuroscience to back this assertion.  The human brain receives all incoming sensory stimuli simultaneously through the five senses.  Through the complementary processes of integration and inhibition, it sorts the stimuli and ‘discounts’ those that are not immediately relevant based on its recognition of having previously experienced it.  This is why novel stimuli demand attention and why you are able to ignore the low hum of the fluorescent light, the sound of the heater or air conditioner, the cricket chirping in the background, and the feel of the seat cushion beneath you in order to read this post.  Its also why there is a common misperception that children with Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) are constantly “over-stimulated.”  We tend to think that with all of the competing stimuli incoming, the ASD child who is throwing himself on the floor, kicking and screaming inconsolably because he was served brown gravy on White Wednesday (Jodi Piccoult’s House Rules treats the subject of Asperger Syndrome veritably)  is suffering from an onslaught of too many sensations at once, what we label “overstimulation.”  In truth, the ASD brain is largely under-stimulated; that is, in our auditory culture where there exists a mismatch between the dominant culture and the linguistic capability of the visual learner, there is an absence of meaningful stimuli to create integration of neurons at the level of the cortex, which results in a lack of feedback to the peripheral nervous system, in turn causing a lack of inhibition of competing stimuli.  So instead of putting a weighted vest and a chew toy around the neck of a 13 year-old with Autism, try changing your language instead. But that’s a whole other subject and a soapbox for another time.

My brain as a discounting machine seems to be wired backward.  Without conscious control, I remember largely insignificant details but frequently miss the big picture.  For instance, a few weeks ago I saw a picture of the University of Portland’s French Professor in a Facebook album showcasing back-to-school fashion trends.  A lady of advancing years, she was dressed in such a fashion that she could have taught a class, boarded an airplane, entered the Temple or appeared before the Queen of England.  Her cream dress-suit, tailored with pastel yellow accent panels, a matching cream and pastel yellow purse, pastel yellow heels of modest proportion and a strand of pearls to match the pearl buttons on her suit jacket and earrings.  I was immediately reminded of a conversation with my Middle/High School BFF, Barbie, in which she talked about her Grandfather’s cousin visiting at her Grandma’s house in a matching yellow outfit and how her dream closet would include a purse, shoes and accessories for every outfit.  Barbie contends that this conversation took place over 13 years ago and was amazed that I remembered such a thing.

I can also recall the exact tone of voice, posture and words that my History of Architecture professor used as she lectured us on completing the weekly reading assignments on the day she apparently told us that that the chapter summary assignments were mandatory and would be graded.  When I got a “B” in the class (gasp), I realized I never heard the part about them being mandatory or graded.  I have literally stored up dozens of such experiences over the years, most especially around significant events such as tests, extra assignments, and special instructions.  Yes my brain is like a steel trap for auditory details… as long as they are interesting and of no particular relevance. 

Another caveat of my working brain is its propensity (actually a lack thereof) to embody the principles of common sense.  In my family we refer to any such foh-pah such as returning the Orange juice to the cupboard and the dirty cup to the refrigerator as a “Nanny moment.”  Nanny, my maternal Grandmother, experienced her first “Nanny moment” as a new wife in her early 50’s when she lost the vacuum cleaner.

Unsuspecting of the mental anguish about to descend upon her, Nanny was vacuuming her bedroom when the telephone rang.  Back in those days, telephones were attached to walls and most households had only one, which was located in the kitchen.  She went to answer the phone and when she returned to her bedroom, the vacuum had disappeared!!  Nanny searched her bedroom, then the rooms surrounding, and eventually widened her search to the entire house.  She thought she was losing her mind and was terribly embarrassed to tell her new husband, but by the time he arrived home she was so befuddled by the mystery that she admitted the loss and asked for help in locating it.  Ascertaining that she had least seen the vacuum in their bedroom, her husband (Poppy) went into the room and walked directly to the electrical outlet, whereupon he proceeded to follow the cord to where it disappeared under the bed… and retrieved the “lost” vacuum. 

The first indication that I may have inherited “Nanny moments” came when I was 17. I was taking a correspondence course for my early graduation from high school (back then it was by paper and pencil) and wanted to make copies of my work before mailing it in.  Being in possession of a car and independent-minded, I headed to the neighborhood Kinko’s.

Since replaced by credit card machines, at that time there existed “counters” that tracked how many copies a person made and were used to access the copy machines.  A metal tree of counters greeted me at the entrance and visually ascertaining their use (apparently I have a common sense quota and it was about to be exceeded), I proceeded to insert one into the copy machine and make my copies.  When I finished, I returned the “counter” to a branch of the tree, nestled against the its fellow blue bricks on chains of plastic and surveyed the hanging signs declaring the purpose of each desk around the open concept workspace where a hive of Kinko’s employees scurried to and fro attending to (as I read on the banners) “printing,” “design,” “signs & posters” and other such tasks.  Since none of them said “cashier” I naturally concluded that it was through these other franchises that they made their money and that printing was offered as a free service.  If it wasn’t, I was sure, somebody would stop me before I walked out the door.

It was at the dinner table that evening as I related what a nice perk it was that Kinko’s had free printing, and how I had never before been aware of this, that my sibling and step-sibs (all younger, I might add) erupted in laughter and my parents informed me I was now, however unwittingly, a thief.  Yes, my ears can burn as a bright as a 100-watt crimson bulb, thankyouverymuch.