Schrödinger's Radio Shack

I'm not even going to pretend to understand physics -- heck, I can barely handle experiencing them -- so the concept of Schrödinger's cat* pretty thoroughly eludes me. Which I will likely illustrate by saying I understand Schrödinger's cat to refer to outcomes not being fixed until observed. For my purposes, that's what it is.

[Let's go wiki for a summary of Schrödinger's Cat: A cat, along with a flask containing a poison and a radioactive source, is placed in a sealed box . . . If an internal Geiger counter detects radiation, the flask is shattered, releasing the poison that kills the cat. The Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics implies that after a while, the cat is simultaneously alive and dead. Yet, when we look in the box, we see the cat either alive or dead.]

To my reductivist mind, this live/dead cat in a box notion also applies to a lot of the simple binary outcomes in my daily life: as I approach the intersection, that idiot will/will not run the stop sign; when I open the icebox, the leftover fettucini will/will not sport green fuzz; when I need a specialized piece of gear, I will/will not find it at a tiny, small town Radio Shack.

A few weeks ago, I had a gig with the (cover) band I play with, and went to the local 'Shack to pick up an SC card for my recorder. I'd been having trouble getting a sustain pedal to work with one of my keyboards, and was on the verge of ordering a pricey one from the manufacturer, Korg. The only pedal I'd used with success with this instrument was, inexplicably, one made by Yamaha, and I had to use it with my other instrument.

Perusing the clearance shelf, there was a dusty box, priced at $5, that promised to contain a sustain pedal, for use with RS or Yamaha keyboards.

Until I entered that store, it was equally likely, Schrödinger would say, that the pedal was, and was not there waiting for me.

Wouldn't it be something if I opened the box and there was a dead cat inside?