BRAINS BEFORE BRAWN - SOMETIMES BEING SMART IS BETTER
"Excuse me, sir, but could you help me?" I was drinking coffee at my local java spot when the gal from behind the counter came toward me clutching a jar of pickles twice the size of my head. I sensed a Fox reality show physical challenge coming on.

Just as I feared, she couldn't get the top off the new jar and thought I might have an answer, based on nothing more than the fact that I was a male and therefore genetically adapted for jar opening.

Wrong! Five foot six inches and 160 lbs of wiry muscle, padded generously at the waist with some extra carbohydrate reserves, doesn't qualify me for any task that requires strength, stamina, or agility. Sure, as long as I keep my balance on my motorcycle I can look like some macho biker dude ready for a bar fight, but if the damn thing was ever to fall over, I'd be the first to shout for the help of a cheerleading squad to pick it back up.

Needless to say, I responded as any insecure weakling would - "Sure, no problem, let me have a try." My mighty left hand gripped the top tightly, my right held firm the jar, and the beads of sweat rose to my forehead like a soggy mark of shame.

"Mmmh," I said, "This is on pretty tight. Maybe it's stuck."

Yeah, and maybe you're a pussy, wimp boy!

Clearly brute force was not going to get me out of this situation. Maybe I should have simply feigned a heart attack when she asked the question in the first place. No, what was needed was charm, wit, charisma, and intelligence. And I was worried that all of these were inside the jar.

"Try running it under hot water - that will help loosen it."

Physics, when used properly, can certainly help. Many times at school I asked myself, "Who the hell cares about coefficients of expansion? Will that help me buy a motorcycle, score with a chick, or get a free trip to Los Angeles?" Well, here was a chance to test the theory - and if not exactly helping me score with a chick, I might at least get a smile of appreciation.

As she ran the water, I dredged up another piece of physics trivia from my moribund mind - the reason the cap wouldn't turn had something to do with friction. Somehow I had to apply more force than my twisting wrist was able to do. But how?

"Give me a lever," said Archimedes, "and I will move the world." Moving the world is one thing, but I needed to move a jar lid, something a little smaller but at this point, much more important.

Aha! The idea hit.

"Any luck? I asked, glancing over to the counter after the sound of running water had stopped?

"No, it's still stuck."

With that air of confidence only the truly egotistical can exhibit, I strode across to the counter and began removing my belt.

"What we need," I explained, "is something that can grip the jar and then let us twist. And this belt is just the thing."

I looped the belt over the top and pulled it tight so that the leather and jar seemed stuck together. I wrapped the free leather around my left and and began to twist. As I pulled, the belt tightened, increasing the friction, and thus providing more force.

Pop. The lid gave and air was released. A couple more tugs and the reluctant lid gave in to the leverage and opened.

Maybe I hadn't dragged a baby from a burning building or saved a basket of kittens from being drowned in sack - both of which can have women blubbing at 20 paces - but it was close.

"Oh my goodness, I've never seen that before! You are so smart!"

Ego stroked. Masculinity restored. Intellectual judo at its best.

"You're most welcome, ma'am," I said as I headed jauntily back to my coffee, "Most welcome indeed."