Roadkill. Car crashes. Sickening news stories. Talking about death. Even doomscrolling endlessly. Many of us find that it’s the most unappealing sights and topics that pique our interest the most.
It’s a phenomenon called “morbid curiosity,” and even though it’s perfectly natural, it’s a source of shame for a lot of people. It’s easy to feel like there’s something wrong with you for not being able to resist reading about a murder or craning your neck to look at roadkill. Psychologists say otherwise.
Morbid curiosity has been studied for decades
Morbid curiosity has long been understood as an evolutionary mechanism. But our grasp of its function, and where it comes from, has evolved over time.
In 1986, one of the first published papers on morbid curiosity introduced a scale known as CAME: Curiosity About Morbid Events. Early research like this study focused on the kinds of people who were interested in death and things that can lead to death, rather than the why. It was viewed as a trait of people who sought thrills and stimulation.
Later theories began to link morbid curiosity to our will to survive. Some researchers posited that morbid activities—say, watching a violent horror film—were a way to “practice” the act of being mortal while still being safe. In other words, it’s a rehearsal or a test-run that prepares us for more life-threatening situations.
Later still, psychology began to understand that morbid curiosity could be related to our ancestors’ need for threat detection. A dead animal could indicate that there’s a predator nearby, for example, so it would make sense that we’d be drawn to look at it and not away for our own safety. Scientists were interested in how this mechanism could override our natural sense of disgust.
But there were gaps in all of these theories that couldn’t explain all the different forms morbid curiosity can take.
New paper makes key distinctions about our morbid fascinations
A paper in the Psychological Review builds on previous research through an evolutionary lens.
David S. March argues that morbid curiosity isn’t just about thrill-seeking, fear management, or even survival. It’s a combination of many of these things; a concept he calls “resolving ambiguity.”
Simply put, when something is related to death or danger, we want to know more about it. It could mean that a predator is nearby, but it could also be an opportunity: a dead animal, to use the example again, could also have been a food source for earlier humans.
It’s a theory that helps unify all the ones that came before, and it helps explain why our morbid curiosity takes many forms. It’s not just roadkill and horror movies; it’s also doomscrolling and true crime. It’s natural, and evolutionary, for us to be interested in anything that might contain survival-relevant information.
One study referenced in Psychology Today found that true crime listeners, for example, were adept at paying attention to and remembering tricks potential victims used to escape or spot a threat before they got hurt. That’s the kind of survival relevant information we can glean by not shying away from things that would otherwise trigger disgust or fear.
March’s new theory has yet to be put to the test. It’s a new theoretical model rather than a revealing new dataset. But it changes the way we think about our own morbid curiosities and, hopefully, helps reduce any feelings of shame we might experience.
Being drawn to murders and roadkill and the worst news stories imaginable doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you. It’s just your brain seeking to make sense of all the information available, reduce ambiguity, and find any and all information that might later help you survive.
An Operation Smile volunteer reverses an oxygen mask so a child with a cleft condition can blow a bubble for the first time in Guadalajara, Mexico. (Operation Smile Photos)
For thousands of children born with cleft conditions, Operation Smile provides simple, playful tools—like bubbles—to strengthen the skills they need to speak and thrive.
While a bottle of bubbles might seem out of place in a hospital setting, you might be surprised to learn that, for thousands of children around the world born with cleft lip and palate, they can be a helpful tool in comprehensive cleft care. Lilia, who was born with cleft lip and palate in 2020, is one of the many patients who received this care.
As a toddler, Lilia underwent two surgeries to treat cleft lip and palate with Operation Smile’s surgical program in Puebla, Mexico. Because of Operation Smile’s comprehensive care, it wasn’t long before her personality transformed: Lilia went from a quiet and withdrawn toddler to an exuberant, curious explorer, babbling, expressing herself with a variety of sounds, and engaging with others like any child her age.
Lilia is now a healthy five-year-old, with the same cheerful attitude and boundless energy. Her progress is the result of care at every level, from surgery to speech therapy to ongoing support at home—but it’s also evidence that small, sustained interventions throughout it all can make a meaningful difference.
Lilia at age 1, before surgery, and at age 5, 4 years post-surgery
Cleft Conditions: A Global Problem
Since 1982, Operation Smile has provided cleft lip and cleft palate surgeries to more than 500,000 patients worldwide with the help of generous volunteers and donors. Cleft conditions are congenital conditions, meaning they are present at birth. With cleft lip and palate, the lip or the roof of the mouth do not form fully during fetal development. Cleft conditions put children at risk for malnutrition and poor weight gain, since their facial structure can make feeding challenging. But cleft conditions can have an enormous social impact as well: Common difficulties with speech can leave kids socially isolated and unable to meet the same developmental milestones as their peers.
Surgery is a vital step in treating cleft conditions, but it’s also just one part of a much larger solution. Organizations like Operation Smile emphasize the importance of multi-disciplinary teams that provide comprehensive, long-term care to patients across many years. This approach, which includes oral care, speech therapy, nutritional support, and psychosocial care, not only aids in physical recovery from surgery but also helps children develop the skills and confidence to eat easily, speak clearly, and engage in everyday life. This ensures that each patient receives the full range of support they need to thrive.
Marie, 11 months, with her mother at Operation Smile Madagascar before her cleft surgery (Operation Smile Photos)
A Playful (and Powerful) Solution
Throughout a patient’s care, simple tools like bubbles can play a meaningful role from start to finish.
Immediately before surgery, children are often in a new and unfamiliar environment far from home, some of them experiencing a hospital setting for the first time. When care providers or loved ones blow bubbles, it’s a simple yet effective technique: Not only are the children soothed and distracted, the bubbles also help create a sense of joy and playfulness that eases their anxiety.
Milagros Rojas, a volunteer speech therapist in Peru, using bubbles in a screening with a patient. (Operation Smile Photos)
In speech therapy, bubbles can take on an even more important role. Blowing bubbles requires controlled airflow, as well as the ability to form a rounded “O” shape with the lips, which are skills that children with cleft conditions may struggle to develop. Practicing these skills with bubbles allows children to gently strengthen their facial muscles, improve breath control, and support the motor skills needed for speech development. Beyond that, blowing bubbles can help kids connect with their parents or providers in a way that’s playful, comforting, and accessible even for very young patients.
Finally, bubbles often follow patients with cleft conditions home in the “smile bags” that each patient receives when the surgical procedure is finished. Smile bags, which help continue speech therapy outside of the hospital setting, can contain language enrichment booklets, a mirror, oxygen tubing, and bubbles. While regular practice with motor skills can help with physical recovery, small acts of play help as well, giving kids space to simply enjoy themselves and join in on what peers are able to do.
Bubbles at Home and Beyond
Today, because of Operation Smile’s dedication to comprehensive cleft care, Lilia is now able to make friends and speak clearly, all things that could have been difficult or impossible before. Instead of a childhood defined by limitation, Lilia—and others around the world—can look forward to a childhood filled with joy, learning, discovery, friends, and new possibilities.
CTA: Lilia’s life was changed for the better with the care she received through Operation Smile. Find out how you can make an impact in other children’s lives by visiting operationsmile.org today.
Since the dawn of man, right-handedness has reigned supreme without much intel as to why. While our ape brethren also develop strong preferences toward one hand over another, there is generally an equal number of left- and right-handed individuals. Conversely, 90% of humans are right-handed. And now, scientists think they have discovered when this prevalence developed.
A new study led by researchers at the University of Oxford suggests that it went hand-in-hand (pardon the pun) with two other major evolutionary shifts: walking on two legs and developing much larger brains.
Thousands of primates helped narrow the possibilities
The research, published in PLOS Biology, analyzed data from 2,025 monkeys and apes representing 41 different primate species. All the evolutionary factors tested—tool use, diet, habitat, body size, social structure, brain size, movement patterns, etc.—seemed to match human data, leaving no real clues as to why our species decided to become almost exclusively right-handed.
However, that changed once researchers added brain size and the ratio between arm length and leg length to their analysis. Suddenly humans, with their larger brains and legs much longer than their arms (a hallmark trait of bipedal walking), stood out from an evolutionary standpoint.
These factors, along with other fossil records, help us imagine a timeline that looked something like this:
Human ancestors (Ardipithecus and Australopithecus, respectively) began walking upright, allowing one hand to become specialized over the other. At this point, there would likely be an equal number of left-handers to right-handers.
As our brains grow to incorporate more complex activities like using tools, communicating through a wide array of gestures, and participating in complex tasks like cooking and performing rituals, so too does our right-hand bias. In fact, the same 90% right-hand dominance is already present around 2.6 million years ago…before Homo sapiens and Neanderthals entered the scene.
One side of the brain might hold an important clue
That third factor (complex tasks) is particularly interesting. Sequentially organized behaviors, also known as hierarchical action, are often believed to be something managed by the brain’s left hemisphere. The left hemisphere also controls all the motor functions and movements on the right side of the body. That said, all three elements, along with the fact that humans learn by imitating their parents, likely played equally important roles in the evolutionary narrative.
Ancient “hobbits” added another intriguing clue
Backing this theory is the “hobbit” species discovered in Indonesia. This ancient humanoid species maintained smaller brains and the ability to climb while also walking. Conversely, it did not have nearly the same amount of right-hand dominance.
There are, of course, more mysteries to unravel. Why some of us are still left-handed, for instance. Or whether the limb preference of other animals suggests a similar evolutionary pattern. But, regardless, the study reminds us that even the most seemingly simple quirks that make us human actually tell an incomprehensibly vast story of how we came to be in the first place.
Many of us have walked into an old building and felt some kind of eeriness. Depending on your own personal beliefs, you might be inclined to attribute this feeling to the presence of something supernatural. But science has found another culprit that haunts our psyche in these places, and it’s not ghosts.
Researchers at MacEwan University in Edmonton, Canada, found that when people were exposed to infrasound, which is typically imperceptible to humans, they still experienced a rise in cortisol levels and irritation.
“In an old building, there is a good chance that infrasound is present, particularly in basements where aging pipes and ventilation systems produce low-frequency vibrations,” noted senior author Rodney Schmaltz.
Therefore, many people who notice a mood shift in a place regularly defined as “haunted” might attribute that agitation to something supernatural. In reality, the infrasound waves are to blame.
How the study worked
The study, published this year in Frontiers in Behavioral Neuroscience, randomly assigned 36 participants to one of four groups. Each group would listen to either “calming” meditative music or “unsettling” horror-themed ambient audio. Each group would also be near hidden speakers playing infrasound between 75 and 78 decibels, a range consistent with what mechanical systems commonly produce inside buildings. These speakers were turned off and on once throughout the study.
Each participant provided saliva samples immediately before the music started and again 20 minutes later, which were analyzed to measure cortisol, the hormone the body releases under stress.
Researchers found that, regardless of which type of music they heard, the participants showed a notable increase in salivary cortisol when exposed to infrasound.
And while anecdotal, participants in the infrasound condition rated themselves as more irritable, less interested afterward, and even described the music as noticeably sadder.
Interestingly, what people didn’t seem to feel when exposed to infrasound was anxiety or fear, but rather irritability, disinterest, and a low-grade emotional discomfort…all of which correlate to a spike in cortisol.
Infrasound in nature
The researcher explained that in the animal kingdom, some species (such as elephants) use it to communicate with one another over great distances. Others, like some birds, detect coming storms from infrasound.
Others still have an aversion to the discomfort it causes. Some fish have tiny stone-like organs in their inner ear that help them stay away from it and remain balanced and upright in the water.
Humans happen to have similar structures, and researchers theorize that this balance system, which connects to brain regions involved in emotion, may register infrasound without conscious awareness.
Still, given the small amount of study participants (as well as the lack of diversity, most were female undergrad students), no major conclusions can be drawn. So ghost hunters, fret not!
Whether you lean paranormal or skeptical, the science does confirm that humans are more sensitive to unseen forces than we realize, whether those forces come from vibrations in the environment or something we simply don’t yet understand. Either way, our minds and bodies seem capable of picking up signals long before we consciously recognize them.
Ever heard of “highway hypnosis”? If you never went over it in American Driver’s Ed, it’s the phenomenon during which we tend to zone out while driving on long, repetitive stretches of highway or on routes we’ve taken a thousand times. It’s that feeling of pulling into your driveway and having very little recollection of actually getting there.
Suffice it to say, going into pure autopilot mode on the road isn’t ideal. It’s not safe, and we tend to ignore important signage, like speed limits.
One high-traffic area in Wisconsin just debuted a new, eye-catching speed limit
The Outagamie County Recycling and Solid Waste facility in Appleton gets a lot of through-traffic. Big trucks, commercial haulers, and plenty of civilian cars make their way through the facility on any given day.
Keeping a low posted speed limit helps keep everyone safe. Usually, in places like this, you’d see speed limits of 15, 10, or even 5 miles per hour.
Outagamie County went in a slightly more offbeat direction: 17.3 mph. No, it’s not a typo. See for yourself:
The sign isn’t just for laughs. It’s not a temporary fixture meant to get a few likes on social media or encourage people to stop for photo ops.
Its purpose is far more important: to get people to pay attention. The unusual number causes people to do a double-take. Instead of eyes glazing over at yet another 15 mph limit, the 17.3 sticks out like a sore thumb and makes drivers’ brains perk up—and hopefully, their feet ease off the gas.
Kraig Van Groll, the site’s solid waste superintendent, said the sign is working, per Supercar Blondie:
“We’ve definitely seen positive engagement and behavior changes across the site. That includes residents using the site daily, people visiting on tours, and commercial users operating here regularly. If nothing else, it’s really opened the door for more conversations around overall site safety and awareness for all users of the site.”
Jordan Hiller, recycling and solid waste program coordinator, told WBAY-TV that the sign has caused a bit of an “uproar” on social media—in a good way. People get a kick out of it, and it has ultimately done its job: drawing more attention to road safety around the facility.
Not just Wisconsin: Odd speed limits are becoming more common
While major roads and highways will probably stick with nice, round speed limits, smaller areas—shopping centers, parking lots, private facilities—are turning more and more to eye-catching numbers like Outagamie’s 17.3.
A shopping center in Colorado Springs, Colorado, features an 8.2 mph speed limit:
Some areas are resorting to even more unusual and eye-popping methods, with speed limits that include fractions. This one was featured on Denver local news: a parking lot with an official posted speed of 6 and 7/8 mph:
Safety officials have all kinds of methods to try to keep distracted drivers focused
The science of being behind the wheel is fascinating and often studied. Tons of experiments and studies were conducted on how to get drivers to slow down in certain areas before we came up with radar signs that tell drivers their speed in real time, for example. That visual feedback has been shown to be effective at reducing speeds.
Roads in America are also full of speed bumps, rumble strips, and reflectors designed to break drivers’ autopilot patterns.
It’s part psychology and part neuroscience; a big reason we slip into autopilot mode, or highway hypnosis, has to do with the way our brain waves work. According to Radar Sign, “Shifting a driver from a Theta ‘autopilot’ state to a Beta ‘engaged’ state requires a trigger, identified by the Reticular Activator (RA), responsible for categorizing sensory input.”
Simply put, one of the best ways to keep drivers safe on the road is to present them with something unusual: an input that disrupts the expected pattern. It could be a radar sign, a strip in the road that causes your tires to gently buzz, or now, a speed limit sign so bizarre you can’t help but look twice.
You get tickets to visit the local natural history museum, and you’re psyched to spend an afternoon learning about ancient artwork, the evolution of local species, and seeing lots and lots of dinosaur bones. However, after 30 minutes, you start to yawn, look for a bench to sit on, and realize you’re not exactly stoked to walk through the next long corridor to see the buffalo exhibit.
What happened? Are you really just fooling yourself when you say you’re into an afternoon of culture? No, not at all. The reason you got exhausted so quickly was first identified 110 years ago by Benjamin Ives Gilman, secretary of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, who called it “museum fatigue,” and it’s a real phenomenon. Gilman outlined it in a paper for The Scientific Monthly.
What is “museum fatigue”?
“‘Museum fatigue’ is an admitted evil, hitherto tacitly accepted as admitting only relief. May not a study of how it comes about suggest some means of prevention?” Gilman wrote. He introduced the topic in The Scientific Monthly through a series of photographs showing how people had to stand in uncomfortable positions to study artwork.
Even though a stroll through an art museum seems like a great way to relax on a weekend, it’s actually a physically and mentally exhausting experience.
1. Displays aren’t at eye level
Since Gilman’s original piece, curators have worked to place more exhibits at eye level for the average person. However, museums have become increasingly immersive, and patrons are often required to crane their necks upward to see bones suspended from the ceiling or lean in close to ancient hieroglyphs to see the details. This can create physical strain throughout the body.
A museum can be mentally draining because your brain, which uses up to 20% of the body’s metabolic energy, is busy soaking in new information. After 30 minutes, the brain can enter cognitive overload, where taking in new information becomes increasingly difficult. It’s like sitting through a college lecture where, toward the end, you just can’t retain any new information.
3. Repetition
If you walk into a room of art from a particular era, you may see the same themes repeated over and over again, whether it’s another depiction of war or another ancient statue of a woman carrying a large pot of water. After a while, it becomes harder to pay attention.
Museums are often dimly lit to help create a relaxing atmosphere and preserve the artwork. However, this lack of exposure to natural light can make people feel sleepy.
5. Hard flooring
Museum floors are designed to handle thousands of people walking through every day, so they are often made of marble, polished concrete, or dense hardwood. There is little to no shock absorption on these surfaces, so throughout your visit, your body receives countless micro-jolts through your skeletal system. After half an hour or so, this can turn walking through a cavernous museum into a slog.
Next time you plan to visit a museum, think of it as an intense mental and physical experience and plan your day accordingly. Understand that you may need to take a few breaks or split the experience into multiple visits to get the most out of it. Also, wear comfy shoes.
An itch on the tip of your nose can feel different from one on your rear end—and possibly a bit more painful. Why is that? Shouldn’t your body treat an itch like an itch, no matter where it pops up?
According to a new study from North Carolina State University, your body treats itches on your face much differently than it treats them on the rest of your body.
The study found that your body sends itch signals from the face and the rest of the body along different routes to your brain, where they are processed. It’s as if your body has two different “itch phone lines” communicating with the brain—one from the face and another from the rest of the body.
Itches travel to your brain differently throughout the body
An itch on your arm starts with irritation of the skin—perhaps from dryness—then travels through the dorsal root ganglia, the spinal cord, and finally to the brain. An itch on your face goes from the spot of irritation to a different system called the trigeminal ganglia, and then to the brain.
“You can think of itch being transmitted from the skin to the brain as a series of switches that get flipped,” Santosh Mishra, associate professor of molecular biomedical sciences at NC State, said in a statement.
“On the body, itch signals go from neuronal projections in the skin through the dorsal root ganglia (DRG) – which are clusters of sensory cells located at the root of the spinal nerves – then to the spinal cord. But on the face and head, those signals travel to the trigeminal ganglia (TG) – which are clusters of sensory cells located in a small structure below the brain where it sits atop the skull,” Mishra added.
The researchers also discovered why an itch on your face may feel different from one on your torso. Studies showed that when histamine, an itch-inducing substance, was applied to the neck and cheek, the cheek itched less than the neck. Researchers initially assumed this was because there are fewer nerves in the cheek, but they were wrong: the cheek actually has far more. Instead, the face sends itch and pain signals simultaneously, and pain often overrides the sensation of itching. In the rest of the body, those signals are separated. That’s why an itch on your face feels different and may even be more painful than one on your arm.
Now that we know why an itch on your cheek feels different from one on your stomach, researchers can work on therapies that better address skin irritation on different parts of the body. One day, you may have a separate cream for a facial itch and another for one on your torso—not because of marketing, but because of real science.
“Understanding how itch perception in the face differs from itch perception in the body could give us better molecular targets for future therapies,” Mishra said.
To your left, the self-checkout area: a collection of blinking, beeping, whirring, computer-speaking machines with bright LED screens and audible prompts to “please select a payment type.” To your right, a single lane with a human cashier…and a line that snakes into the next aisle and out of sight.
You look down. You have six things; the math is obvious. The kiosks will be faster.
But somehow, you and your little basket find yourselves at the back of that winding line.
What’s going on here? If you have ever steered your cart away from self-checkout, even when it is the faster, more efficient option, you are not alone. It may seem like a simple preference on paper: You’re either a “kiosk person” or a “not-kiosk person.” Optimized or old-school. But for many shoppers, that choice is rooted in a human desire for connection and emotional safety, and a small, stubborn refusal to do more work under cameras.
A ritual quietly disappears
Within a single generation, grocery shopping moved from “you hand your stuff to a person” to “you become the person.” For most of the 20th century, buying groceries meant interacting with at least one other human: You chose the lane, loaded items onto the belt, and handed your entire life—cloves of garlic, wine that costs $2, strawberry ice cream, tissues infused with lotion and Vicks VapoRub—to another person. They scanned, bagged, and told you, “Have a good night.”
Today, 40% of checkout lanes at major U.S. grocery chains are self-checkout. They are everywhere: In 2026, 96% of grocery stores in the U.S. offered self-checkout technology, while 86% of consumers claim to use it. You scan. You bag. You look up codes for organic green onions. You do all this on camera, with a disembodied voice ready to tell you about an “unexpected item in the bagging area.”
There was a time when a “full-service checkout” meant that someone else—a trained professional—handled everything. They asked about your day, made sure that egg cartons never wound up at the bottom of your bag, and sometimes carried everything out to your car. It felt like being taken care of.
Self-checkout machines didn’t just replace a series of tasks. They erased the human at the end of a grocery trip.
The importance of “weak ties”
So, you avoid self-checkout lines. Psychologists say a few different things are going on here.
Researchers use the term “weak ties” for the small, casual relationships we maintain with people we don’t know well: the kind cashier who always smiles, the guy behind the fish counter who saves his best salmon for you, and the bus driver who recognizes your face even if they don’t know your name.
Weak-tie connections make you feel important in the world. Photo credit: Canva
Brief, ordinary, easy to overlook—and, for many people, irreplaceable. Toni Antonucci, a professor of psychology at the University of Michigan, explained the significance to the Daily Mail: Weak ties are “somebody who makes you feel important in their world—somebody who makes you feel human.”
When self-checkout replaces the cashier, it eliminates one of the last reliably recurring weak-tie interactions in many people’s daily lives.
Studies on social connectedness show that these fleeting moments play an important role in our day-to-day lives and measurably improve our mood and sense of belonging, particularly for people who otherwise move through their days in relative isolation.
Imagine the person who works from home or whose apartment falls quiet by 9 a.m. When that cashier remembers something they mentioned weeks ago, they experience the “weak-tie connection.” It’s not friendship. But on certain days, it’s the only exchange that reminds them they exist outside their apartment. It’s a microdose of belonging: proof that they still live in the minds of others.
When habits don’t meet expectations
Researchers who study checkout behavior note that many shoppers—particularly older ones—carry a strong expectation that being served by a person is simply part of what it means to be a customer. It is not entitlement in the pejorative sense. It is a social contract that made sense for decades: You bring items to the cashier, and they handle the transaction. When a kiosk breaks that contract and hands the transaction back to you, it is not just inconvenient; it feels like a small breach in the way the world works.
If you have spent 50 years handing your groceries to a human, your nervous system quietly codes that as “how this is supposed to work.” A touch screen, no matter how “user-friendly,” does not feel like a convenient feature. It makes many older shoppers ask, “Wait, why am I suddenly doing this part myself?”
“These systems aren’t really about innovation or collaboration between companies and consumers,” said Mathieu Lajante, a business management professor at Toronto Metropolitan University. “They’re about maximizing profits while weakening social norms of reciprocity and responsibility.”
Layer tech anxiety on top of that—worrying about “doing it wrong,” getting stuck in the bag selection menu, holding up the line—and the kiosk feels antagonistic. It is an intrusion into a ritual they have followed for decades.
“Am I supposed to be doing this? Really?”
People who do not like self-checkout often hold a strong sense of how labor should work. They remember when a grocery trip included a checker, a bagger, and sometimes even someone who walked your cart out. In their mental contract, paying for groceries includes paying for human help: people who do the things you’re bad at, like the game of Jenga happening in your brown paper bag.
Handing that job to a machine—and, by extension, back to them—can feel like a tiny erosion of what they’re owed as a customer.
When they say, “I’m not doing that—that’s not my job,” it’s not “self-entitlement” or brattiness: it’s a fairness instinct kicking in. They’re refusing to do unpaid work.
All the small stuff in between
Research shows that people who prefer human lanes are often at least partly extroverted: They get energy from small talk, feel safer in familiar social scripts, and like the feeling of being known in their regular spots. Even if they’re shy in other areas of life, the grocery line gives them a structured stage where they know their role and the beats.
And for some, there’s a softer motive: protection. They want to preserve human workers and, by extension, a way of life. They’ve watched their local supermarket cut hours, close lanes, and replace faces with screens. Choosing a cashier feels like a tiny act of solidarity: “If I keep standing here, maybe this job doesn’t disappear as fast.”
3 big reasons you might be right
Then there are the people who see that same setup—self-checkout kiosks to the left, a single checkout lane, and a long line to the right—and make the opposite call.
You know them: the person who snakes past the full‑service lanes and beelines for the one open machine. They move at their own pace, bag their groceries the way they like (frozen together, produce on top, no smashed bread), and skip the part where they talk to a stranger. They can buy late‑night junk food, an embarrassing product, or six cans of cat food and wine without bracing for a comment.
“When you’re at a cashier register, the cashier sees everything you purchase. When you’re at self-checkout, you can control what others see, so you might be more likely to buy embarrassing items.” – Becca Taylor, University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign
Plenty of introverts and people with social anxiety describe kiosks this way. They don’t hate people; they have a limited social battery, and they’d rather use it for work, friends, kids, or a long Lyft ride to the airport. A machine that lets them coast through in near‑silence feels like mercy.
1. You’re doing unpaid labor
Here’s where the research complicates the convenience story. Across four separate experiments, researchers found that shoppers using self-checkout felt less rewarded, less satisfied, and less likely to return compared to those who used a staffed lane.
According to these studies, when you do everything—scan, bag, troubleshoot—this extra effort can shrink the feeling of reward. That means dollars saved and loyalty points don’t hit the same when you’ve had to work for them. You feel like you’re owed something.
Santiago Gallino, a professor at The Wharton School of the University of Pennsylvania, states this plainly: “For retailers, it’s a combination of cutting labor and adding flexibility. It’s not to make checkout more efficient. They are basically transferring the labor to the customer.”
Self-checkout didn’t show up because shoppers begged for more chores; it showed up because it lets stores shift paid labor onto us without lowering prices. We didn’t vote for fewer workers; we voted for the only thing the store put in front of us.
2. It’s possible you’re being watched while you work
Self-checkout stations rely on a kind of slightly menacing, almost dystopian level of ambient suspicion: overhead cameras, weight sensors that double-check every bag, pop-ups that demand an attendant’s key before you can move on. AI-based loss-prevention systems increasingly use computer vision and facial recognition to flag suspected shoplifting.
Retailers say this is necessary—theft occurs at a much higher rate at kiosks than traditional lanes—but the solution includes treating everyone like suspects. When you use a self-checkout kiosk, you can see yourself on a little security screen in the corner. So can their security team, and they’re watching closely.
Psychologists would call this a fairness gap: doing more work while being trusted less. Investigations have found that these cameras and the AI systems running them mis‑flag people of color more often, which makes every beep feel a little more loaded.
“AI technologies frequently mirror existing inequalities as they are developed by individuals in environments lacking diversity, which prevents the technology from being fair. If the same stereotypes that are used to profile Black individuals in daily interactions are integrated into algorithms, the resulting facial recognition systems will perpetuate those stereotypes as a human would.” – Shaun Harper, Forbes
3. The plight of the kiosk keeper
Meanwhile, the workers who once stood at a single lane are now sent to babysit the self-checkout kiosks, responsible for eight machines at once. They half‑jog from flashing light to flashing light while a walkie‑talkie crackles in their ear and apologize for errors they didn’t cause. Helper and hall monitor, all in one fluorescent vest. The employee who runs the self-checkout corral holds an impossible dual role: be warm, be helpful, and also watch for theft while fielding the frustration of kiosk users who all think their machine is broken.
Research from the Harvard Shift Project, which surveyed tens of thousands of service-sector employees, found that stores with self-checkouts were more likely to be chronically understaffed and that understaffing drove higher rates of customer hostility aimed at the employees who remained.
Let’s be clear: self-checkout lanes aren’t evil. But when we reduce everything to “convenience,” we miss what’s really at stake.
That little fork in the floor—screens on one side, a person on the other—has become one of the everyday places where we decide how much work, how much watching, and how little conversation we’re willing to accept in exchange for speed.
Astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson is seemingly driven by an endless amount of curiosity. Whether it’s the tiniest sea quark or the biggest black hole known to astronomers, he wants to dig in and make it make sense. And what’s especially unique is his need to not only understand the science around us, but to make us understand too.
In a recent clip posted from the account of Tyson’s popular podcast StarTalk, we see Tyson giving a quick rundown of where “energy” goes when we die. With a chyron reading, “You don’t disappear. You transform. Some of you returns to Earth. Some of you travels the universe,” Tyson leans in and speaks directly to the camera. “In death, you’ve got pretty much two choices in modern society.”
When we are buried
He makes a case for being buried, as we see a traditional coffin being lowered into the ground. “You can be buried. That’s my choice, so that the energy content of my body—which is still there when you die—your molecules were built up from your lifetime of eating and exercise, and the building of your organs and your muscles and other tissue. In death, those molecules still contain energy.”
The clip cuts to a graveyard as Tyson continues. “If I’m buried and I decompose, all that energy gets absorbed by microbes, by flora and fauna dining upon my body the way I have dined upon flora and fauna my whole life. And that way, giving back to the Earth.”
When we are cremated
We then see a fire moving in warm yellow, orange, and red tones. Tyson explains what happens during cremation. “If you’re cremated, the energy content of those molecules doesn’t go away. It gets transferred to heat that then radiates infrared energy that was once the molecules of your body. It radiates it out into space, moving at the speed of light.”
He adds a most intriguing thought, which is that one could conceivably track that energy after cremation. “After somebody has been cremated, you can keep a timeline.” A photo of an AI-generated video of a milky, gaseous star system swirling around a bright light is shown. Tyson continues, “Where has their radiant energy been by now? If they were cremated four years ago, they would have reached the nearest star system, Alpha Centauri. So that, in a way, you’re still a part of the universe, just in a different form.”
In his piece, “What Happens to Your Atoms After You Die?” chemical/mechanical engineer Arvin Ash gives a specific step-by-step as to what happens to our atoms after we pass on. In cremation, he explains, “What are these ashes composed of? Phosphate and calcium make up your bones, so that’s where these atoms come from. What happens to these ashes? These ashes are likely to make their way eventually to soil, where they will be incorporated into the structure of plants. These plants will be eaten by animals and humans, and end up back in your body. Eventually, tiny bits of you will end up in your great-grandchildren’s morning cereal or hamburger.”
And he too believes that some of our atoms will reach the farthest corners of the universe. “Your body also has a tiny amount of radioactive elements. Tiny amounts of thorium and uranium will eventually become lead. But along with this decay, some atoms of helium will also be formed. Earth’s gravity isn’t strong enough to hold helium to our planet, and so tiny bits of what once was you will float off into space. So some of your atoms are in for a fantastical and exciting journey, forever floating to the farthest reaches of the universe until the end of time.”
On the Facebook, where this clip was also posted, this received over 3,000 comments, many of whom seemed fascinated by the cross-section of science and spirituality.
“Green burial”
Many had their own two cents to add. “Cremation, but then the ashes are used in a bios urn to plant a tree. You get a twofer… radiant energy from cremation to travel the universe, and then your ashes are used as nutrients for the tree.”
Some note that even though the video clip showed a coffin, they believe Tyson was most likely referring to a “green burial.” After one Facebooker asked, “How does your ‘energy’ get out of that sealed coffin to feed flora and fauna?” another answers, “That is exactly the point—in a traditional sealed casket and concrete vault, it doesn’t… at first. It actually delays that natural cycle for decades. That’s why there is such a growing interest in green burials or human composting; they remove those barriers so our nutrients can actually rejoin the ecosystem and support new life immediately. Over a long enough time, the coffin will probably decay too. Most things do.”
There you are at the grocery store check-out, tempted to buy a bouquet of roses. They’re beautiful and cheery and so easy to grab and go. Only, you opt out. Sure, they’re beautiful, but they don’t usually last more than a week, making it tough to rationalize the spending. But what if that weren’t true?…
There you are at the grocery store check-out, tempted to buy a bouquet of roses. They’re beautiful and cheery and so easy to grab and go. Only, you opt out. Sure, they’re beautiful, but they don’t usually last more than a week, making it tough to rationalize the spending.
But what if that weren’t true? The popular social media handle known as Jeff & Lauren (@Jeff&Lauren) have a clip making the rounds wherein Jeff shows that something magical can be done with a single “store-bought” rose. By simply using a few household food items, he is able to turn one rose into an entire rose bush.
Honey, potatoes, and water
In the clip, we see Jeff dipping a bright pink rose into a jar of honey. The top chyron reads, “I did this for my wife.” He then takes the honey-dipped flower and sticks it firmly into a pre-cut hole in a russet potato. He takes the entire potato/flower hybrid and buries it into a potted plant. Lastly, he cuts the bulb and leaves off, leaving just the stem, and waters it heavily. In time (at least according to the simulated video), it re-grows into a rose plant.
On the YouTube account My Garden Channel (which is self-described as a channel that “focuses on houseplants and gardening, run by a team of experienced gardeners and horticulturists”), they note a super interesting tidbit. The flowers and the spores of the potato are in direct competition with one another. In other words, sometimes the experiment yields, well…potatoes instead of flowers.
To avoid this, the expert in the video suggests shaving the skin off the potato. “The skin of the potato is where the shoots will most likely develop. You’re not trying to grow a potato. You’re simply trying to feed the rose cutting, as it tries to root.”
How to do it
Under the clip, they explain how it’s done, and they spare no detail. “Rooting roses in a potato is an unconventional yet intriguing method of propagation. The idea is simple: the moisture and nutrients from the potato can help nourish the rose cutting as it develops roots. To try this, you start by selecting a healthy rose cutting, about 6-8 inches long, with at least a couple of leaf nodes. After trimming the bottom of the cutting at a 45-degree angle, remove any leaves near the base.”
Now it’s time for the potato. “Next, you poke a hole in a medium-sized potato, just large enough to insert the cutting without wiggling. Push the drill bit through the potato to make sure the stem comes out of the bottom of the potato just a little bit. The potato acts like a natural nutrient sponge, keeping the cutting hydrated. After placing the cutting into the potato, you can plant the entire potato in soil, burying it a few inches deep in a pot or directly in the garden. Keep the soil moist but not waterlogged, and cover the cutting with a plastic bag or bottle to create a humid greenhouse effect.
Over the next few weeks, with care and patience, roots may form as the rose cutting absorbs moisture and nutrients from the potato, potentially growing into a new plant. While not guaranteed, this method combines natural elements in a creative attempt to root roses in a novel, supportive environment.”
In an article for The Spruce, author Ashlyn Needham explains why, in fact, a potato is used. “In essence, you’re using the potato to speed up the rooting process, which is crucial for producing established roses. It’s important to note that you won’t actually be growing roses in potatoes, just starting the process.”
Does it work?
Commenters have weighed in. Under Jeff&Lauren’s Facebook post, there are over a quarter of a million likes and thousands of comments. One shares, “My grandmother did that. Back in the seventies, she came for a visit. I had many different rose bushes. She cut stems from every bush. She wrapped them in damp paper towels and then wrapped them in plastic. She flew home to Oregon and planted the stems. She had rose bushes the next year.”
Another wound up with what we knew could happen: “I tried this… and I wound up with potatoes.” This comment alone got a lot of support.
This Facebooker gives the surprising tip that, perhaps, you don’t even need the potato, writing, “I just cut off part of a stem and stuck it in the dirt. Then watered it regularly. I have several new rose plants from doing just that. They took almost immediately.”
