Every trip abroad sets me to questioning something about our way of life. Okay, this isn’t Europe and we aren’t Europeans but darn it, some of the ways they handle problems do make a lot of sense.

Take repairs for instance. Stryker Brothers, Maier Automotive, Suburban Subaru and other Marysville auto repair shops depend on cars being imperfect. Stuff happens to them. Things fall apart. Computer techs and plumbers couldn’t make ends meet if computers didn’t fail or pipes didn’t leak or get plugged up now and then. A big part of our economy depends on repairable things breaking down. But that’s nothing compared with Cuba where mechanics manage to keep fifty-year-old taxis running.

The yellow pages were once thick with ads for television repair but no longer. Television circuitry has become so technically mysterious that when a set malfunctions it gets tossed into the waste stream. I recently bought a new thin-screen set that whispers when sound is cranked to maximum. Not repairable, said the vendor. The same is true for cell phones and a whole raft of new-fangled un-repairable gadgetry that is made to work until next year’s all-new model supersedes it. Not much we can do about that. It’s called progress. It’s not so big a problem in Europe where people don’t own so much stuff that ends up needing fixing.

But what about public stuff needs fixing? We like to think that public things like streets or sidewalks should be held to a higher standard of maintenance than our homes. Then when bad stuff happens it is the city’s fault. Expecting perfection, pedestrians throw caution to the winds, saying, “It’s not my fault if, when breezing along with my mind a million miles away, an unexpected ankle-twister throws me onto my nose. The city was supposed to keep me from tripping. It’s the fault of a public works department that let imperfections go un-fixed. I’m gonna sue.

But can walkways, stairs, roads or workplaces ever be perfectly safe? Until we can keep surfaces as smooth as billiard tables there will always be the possibility that an incautious person might catch a toe and fall. Yet if I go walking with music blasting in my ears while I’m texting a friend, I trust that the city has made sure that every foot-fall will be a safe one. Not my fault if I take a tumble. Not my fault if I get knocked over when crossing a road in the dark while a sound system loaded my ears with booming sound that obscured the sound of an approaching vehicle. Not my fault if I tip over a cup of hot coffee that’s resting in my lap. Not my fault if I poison myself with insufficiently cooked meat. If I think long enough about my mishaps, nothing will ever be my fault.

The smoother the way becomes, the less watchful we become. Walking, driving or working, we trade away a healthy self-protective watchfulness for an expectation of perfection. Marysville’s street crews work endlessly with grinders to knock off edges of mismatched slabs of sidewalk but thanks to eroding fill or swelling tree roots, new trippers will always be popping up.

The expectation of perfection opens the door to what’s called Moral Hazard. Moral hazard is defined as the prospect that I might behave differently if I’m led to believe I’m protected than if I accept that I’m exposed to risk. It’s why insurance companies are convinced that owners of accident policies throw caution to the winds once they know someone else will pay the bill for carelessness.

The Moral Hazard conundrum makes me love the cobbled streets of Europe. Aside from the simple practicality of being able to pull up and replace stones when pipes need work, they keep walkers and drivers on their toes. Nobody dares to relax their vigilance so nobody tumbles. Imperfect surfaces keep people perfectly attentive to what their feet might land on.

With senses alert, walkers and bicyclers don’t fall into European construction pits that are seldom guarded by barricades. Backhoes and dump trucks go about their work without needing backup beepers or flaggers because people are habitually watchful.

Compare this with the inattentive stupor of many American pedestrians and drivers. Distracted and preoccupied we pay scant attention to what’s happening around us and under our feet. Not so on imperfect foreign roads. Lanes are narrower, shoulders may be non-existent, curves are tight. Tunnels may be so narrow that side-mirrors must be pulled in when two vehicles meet. So drivers are cautious.

Europeans have no tolerance for driving with impaired senses due to alcohol or drugs. While we slap DUI drivers with fines or suspended licenses, European courts may pull driving privileges for life. They don’t mess around. Europeans expect themselves and others to be 100 percent alert and unimpaired when on the streets. Less-than-perfect systems work just fine for much of the world. When everyone is alert to danger, few get injured. Lawsuits and ambulance-chasing attorneys are rare.

If I ran the zoo I would put two new laws on the books. The first would mandate that new products should be repairable and if they weren’t, there would have to be very good reasons for it. The second would test each accidental injury suit to determine whether the injured party’s senses were alert to whatever hazards lay ahead.

If we could just accept that it is an imperfect world we wouldn’t waste so much time, expense and emotion in foolishly acting like it was.

Comments may be addressed to: rgraef@verizon.net.