I find it amusing that disciplines of education and professions in the modern world are not perceived as more absurd than they appear to be on the surface of things. Take the best San Jose chiropractor or any chiropractor! They’re men and women who have devoted years of education solely to the study of human pain and bones. In another time, at another place, they might have been considered mystics consorting with the divine itself or maybe even those of below. They could have been treated with something of awe and even a little bit of fear for the knowledge they possess and for the instruments they wielded in their pursuit of that craft. It’s very much like it is today; it seems as if everyone has heard at least one story about some friend-of-a-friend’s cousin who lost his life at the hands of a chiropractor. Bone adjustments, they’ll say in a hushed whisper, can kill you.
It all seemed absurd to me. Then again, living every day in the year before I visited the chiropractor, I was (badly) coping with a perpetual pain in my lower back. I could pinpoint the cause easily enough thanks to my employer practically enslaving people to their chairs as we pound out lines of code. It doesn’t help that I do much the same when I return home. The chiropractor could gleefully twist my spine into a pretzel if it meant stamping out the pain. It was awful. A couple of my friends thought I was foolish for the visits and despite how many times I reassure them that his ‘adjustments’ were nothing more than relieving pressure of built up gasses in my back and helping improve my posture, they were certain that I was going to die after every visit. Humans are a strange lot.