Put a Lid On It

ANCORA IMPARO BY RICK RADER, MD ■ EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

There is a lesson to be learned and, in the best tradition of cross-technology, there is a place for a revised version of the “programmable content demarcated styrene lid.”

I recently hosted a meeting. I am particular to the term “hosted” as related to meetings. I hate the idea of my “holding” a meeting, “convening” a meeting, “conducting” a meeting or “taking” a meeting. If truth be known, I particularly hate “attending” a meeting – but they seem to be here to stay. I give Dave Barry the nod on the nature of meetings with his observation, “If you had to identify, in one word, the reason why the human race has not achieved, and never will achieve, its full potential, that word would be “meetings.”

So I favor the default phrase, “hosted a meeting.”

It was a relatively small meeting for six participants. And although it was a “meeting,” it was one of the few meetings that I look forward to and leave invigorated. It was the irregularly scheduled meeting of the “Gail Puckett Group for the Study of Joy in People with Intellectual Disabilities.” To the best of my knowledge this is the only group in the world dedicated to looking at joy, thinking about joy and applying joy to the lives of people with intellectual disabilities.

Gail was a nonpareil, unrivaled in capturing and expressing joy. She was an individual with Down syndrome supported at Orange Grove until her untimely passing several years ago. We passed on the usual remembrance plaque, the tree and the stone marker and opted to create a living, dynamic cadre of people who benefited from knowing her, or would have benefited from knowing her, in the hope that we could decipher and apply her boundless thirst for joy. So I hosted a meeting. The Study Group is unique to Orange Grove; but then Orange Grove is unique.

Part of “hosting” is feeding and I stopped off at local Donuts A Go Go to grab some donuts and coffee, thus insuring 100 percent attendance. I ordered a dozen assorted donuts and a variety of coffee concoctions. I was pretty familiar with their coffee preferences and I rattled off the details to the “barista-donista.”

I carried the tray with the six coffee cups to the prep-counter faced with the challenge of identifying which was the cup with the “decaf/skim milk/raw sugar” and which was the cup with the “French roast/half and half/honey,” and which was the cup with the “Hazelnut/soy milk/Sweet ‘N Low.” This needed to be perfect as to avoid the histrionics of someone expecting a Pumpkin Spice White Mocha and getting a Cinnamon Dolce Latte (heaven forbid).

I looked down at the six plastic cup lids and realized I could pull this off. The faces of the lids were reminiscent of the instrument panel of an F-16 fighter jet or a McLaren Formula 1 racing car. It had every conceivable option for every conceivable variety of coffee. There are literally hundreds of variables in coffee drinks. The lid had numerous “descriptive” formulations that you simply had to indent with your finger. “R” for regular, “D” for decaf, “S” for sugar, “M” for milk and so on and so on. I finished “inputting” the coffee’s DNA on the lids and felt confident in “hosting” the meeting.

The very earliest patent for a lid you could drink through was filed in 1934 (“Roy Irvin Stubblefield’s Cap for Drinking Glasses”) and was intended for cold beverages. The idea for a coffee cup cover with a “tearable vented plastic lid” appeared in 1967. According to Nicola Twilley writing in The Atlantic, “It wasn’t until 1975 that Walter Elfert and James Sruggs came up with the fold-back tab that could attach itself to the lid to stay out of the drinker’s way.” There have been designs with anatomical cut outs for the drinker’s nose and the appearance of the McDonald’s lid featuring Braille markings for “decaf” and “other.”

Louise Harpman, who claims to have the world’s largest collection of disposable lids (yes Virginia people do collect everything) remarks, “The true efflorescence in drink through lid designs and production can be traced to the 1980’s, when we, as a culture, decided that it was important, even necessary, to be able to walk, or drive, or commute while drinking hot liquids.” The lid provides access to the coffee but certainly doesn’t protect the drinker from the hot liquid it contains. Just ask Stella Liebeck, who scalded herself in 1992 while prying off the lid of A McDonald’s coffee  cup. She sued and was initially awarded $2.86 million in damages.

So Americans need to carry their coffee; and before the globalization of Starbuck’s, we were the only culture that was ever seen walking and drinking coffee at the same time.

So how does the story of the modern coffee lid find itself in America’s most widely read publication in the field of disabilities? There is a lesson to be learned and, in the best tradition of cross-technology, there is a place for a revised version of the “programmable content demarcated styrene lid.” If we can designate the unique and novel contents of any coffee drink by markings on the lid, we can use it to describe the nature and complexity of a person’s impairment profile.

So educators will no longer walk into an IEP meeting with little knowledge or recollection of the person they are assigned to create a meaningful plan of support and sensible goals and objectives. The educator simply sits down at the table and looks down at the coffee cup lid and says, “So what’s in the best interest of this student who is  nonverbal, seizure prone, oxygen dependent, tube fed, non- ambulatory, trisomy 13, coupled with a severe combined immunodeficiency and has otospondylomegaepiphyseal dysplasia.” No longer will educators be embarrassed for not knowing the individual they are entrusted to assist; or for not familiarizing themselves with vital information that would help identify the needed level of supports to reach the goals and objectives suggested by the Circle of Support. All they would have to do is surreptitiously and skillfully look down at the coffee cup and be prompted by the markings on the lid. Finally modern technology finds a way to serve the needs of individuals with “special needs,” and all for the price of a cup of Joe.•
ANCORA IMPARO
In his 87th year, the artist Michelangelo (1475 -1564) is believed to have said “Ancora imparo” (I am still learning). Hence, the name for my monthly observations and comments.

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— Rick Rader, MD, Editor-in-Chief, EP Magazine Director, Morton J. Kent Habilitation Center Orange Grove Center, Chattanooga, TN

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