Cheese Thumping Serendipity

I am of the firm belief that it is essential to heed these quiet testimonies and seek out the clues to the subtle means by which the true agency that governs this universe moves and works.

During a break in my undergraduate senior year at a top-tier engineering university, the student union hosted a quirky contest designed to entertain and challenge the students. The task? Determine the weight of a massive block of cheddar cheese prominently displayed on a pedestal in the main student union concourse. A large sign announced the contest, and by the time I first stumbled upon it—while heading through the union building to check my mail—dozens of engineering students were already swarming around the cheese, tape measures in hand, eagerly attempting to estimate its weight.

The next day, I returned with my own flexible measuring tape in hand. I carefully took dimensional measurements of the cheese—height, diameter at various angles, and so on. To further refine my estimate, I bought a small wedge of the same cheddar from a local store and measured its density using a water-displacement beaker and a digital scale. That evening, I calculated the cheese’s estimated weight, treating it as a perfect theoretical cylinder.

But then, the thought struck me: What if a large wholesale block of cheese had a lack of homogeneity or differently quality as compared to the finer cheese sold in stores? What if the base was asymmetrically wider than its top? The next day, as I made my way across campus, I took some time to improve my measurements and thump on the block in various spots, hoping to detect any density variations in its structure. My fellow engineers, busy with their own measurements, gave me some perplexed and amused looks.

While performing my thumping on the cheese, I happened to notice something interesting on the back: a small purple stamp shaped like the state of Wisconsin, along with some letters and a serial number tucked away and almost disappearing under the bottom of the cylinder. I quickly sketched the stamp and jotted down the details. The next day, I called the Wisconsin Chamber of Commerce and tracked down the manufacturer most likely responsible for that block of cheese, based on the stamp.

When I called the company to inquire about the “shipping weight of a block of cheese,” the receptionist immediately recognized the logo description and, without hesitation, transferred me to Earl in the Warehouse. When Earl picked up, he confirmed that the block, with serial number XX-XXXXX, was indeed theirs. So I asked, “Earl, what was the manifest weight of this block of cheese?”

Without missing a beat, he replied, “291.62 pounds. It was supposed to be a 300-pound block, but it came up short, so we sold it as a promo.”

I then asked Earl, “Has anyone else called to ask about the weight of this particular block of cheddar?”

He responded, “Not to my knowledge, and I’m the one who keeps the shipping logs.”

So, I made a final request: “Earl, could you make a note in the log that says, ‘Do not give the weight of this cheese out to anyone until XX/XX/XXXX’—a date placed suitably past the contest’s end.” He chuckled and agreed.

I submitted the weight in the contest, and three weeks later, the contest manager called me. “Congratulations Mr. TES! You won The Big Cheese contest—amazingly your submission was exactly right at 291.62 pounds.”¹

As my reward, I won a shopping credit at the student bookstore and used it to buy the new and much-coveted HP-15C calculator—a device that, as a broke student on a budget of pork & beans and crackers, I could never have even come close to affording otherwise.

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I’m particularly fond of this calculator you see, as it also played a role during my time as a ‘wet behind the ears Ensign’ Navy officer in the Persian Gulf. One night, while sitting duty in the combat center of our vessel, I had some time on my hands during a long night watch. I decided to familiarize myself with the documentation for our Harpoon Missile fire control computer. Just for kicks—and because I had my trusty HP-15C with me—I created a program in its memory that emulated the coding used in the Harpoon Missile system. Out of curiosity, I tested a couple of complex executions of the program that were called ‘simultaneous time-on-top’ engagement solutions to see if my algorithm worked. To my bored pleasure, it did.

The next day, during an exercise, our unit received orders from Flag Command to interdict a target using a simultaneous time-on-target firing solution with Harpoon Missiles. The tactical action officer directed the fire control team to develop and enter the firing solution into the missile fire control system. However, the fire control tech reported back that the system appeared to be malfunctioning and couldn’t produce the necessary firing solution. As we neared a ‘weapons free’ order, the tension in the combat center quickly escalated to a fever pitch. The tactical action officer was furious. The captain, in his general quarters battle gear on the bridge, growled over the 21MC, “Get your shit in order gentlemen, and it had better be fast.”

Reluctantly, I offered to the TAO, “Sir, I have the Harpoon Missile fire control program entered into my calculator.”

The tactical action officer shot back at me with an abrupt, “Bullshit.”

“No, sir. I replicated the algorithms into my HP-15C last night. I can go get it if you want.” The TAO, still skeptical, agreed, and I sprinted from the combat center to my stateroom to retrieve the calculator. I returned quickly and we entered the HP-15C firing solution into the missile fire control system, transmitting the solution to the on-scene commander.

I can still vividly recall the TAO’s scowl as he keyed in the data, muttering, “This better fuckin’ work, TES, or we are in a world of shit.” By means of a simple whisper and using a device obtained on a lark, we were able to develop a successful engagement solution when it mattered most. Afterwards, the TAO just glanced sideways at at me, chuckled, closed his eyes, and shook his head.

This must have had some kind of indirect effect, because several months later I was notified that I had been selected to serve as Flag Lieutenant to that same on-scene commanding admiral. The detailer who informed me of my pending orders made it clear that while the position was going to be demanding, entailing years of separation from my family, it was also a significant honor.

I’ve kept that calculator ever since, and it now sits on my desk as I write this entry for The Ethical Skeptic—a reminder of the night events escalated from curious cheese thumping to a vital tactical engagement in the Persian Gulf. To me, it stands as a quiet testimony to the subtle ways in which the true agency that governs this universe works.

The Ethical Skeptic, “The Big Cheese Serendipity”; The Ethical Skeptic, WordPress, 24 Oct 2024; Web, https://theethicalskeptic.com/2024/10/24/the-big-cheese-serendipity/