Left is Hot; Right is Cold

These are conventions that we accept and/or live with. Some are total facts that are unquestionably true such as 'the sun rises in the east and sets in the west.' Others--as evidenced by the reality of my own life--can be altered by the ignorance or caprice of a hands-on person such as the man who put my garbage disposal on the left when everyone else's is on the right.
The only other similar thing that comes to mind with these tidbits of information is 'leftie loosey/leaky, rightie tightie.' Imagine the man (or yes, woman) who decides to change the threading of a screw to that the directions would be changed.
These conventions are established as ground rules and they don't need to be told to the players each time they occur. In my job, for instance, I weigh people and measure their height. It's done with everyone who is able to stand up straight on a scale. The paper on which I write the information, has an underscore next to the word height and next to the word weight.
_____ HEIGHT _____ WEIGHT
Since I live and work in the USA, the metrics are set for the country's accepted standards which are inches and pounds. (Of course, when one is asked, "How tall am I?" I would be required to convert the inches into feet and inches... another convention).
I, however, am not conventional. I measure height in centimeters and weight in kilograms. When I am asked, "How tall am I?" or "How much do I weigh?" I generally pull the ruler back to the measurement and read the inches markings or I hit the RECALL button on the scale and convert the metric back to pounds.
I also do not write the metrics' name next to the number that I scribe. That always throws people off. The height is listed as 172.7 and weight is 74.8... it's mind-boggling!
This past weekend was a long and I made it even longer by taking the preceding Friday as a vacation day. I decided to drive to Northern California (435 miles) to take care of some business and then visit with a childhood friend of mine. Well, he's not from my 'childhood' but we did meet during the mid-80s which were quite formative years for me.
I was bombarded by a sad experience that was supposed to have been a delightful highlight; tea at a tea room. The room was full, but they had an enclosed seated area with tables on the curb. I enjoyed high tea alone, but was sitting across from a table of about a dozen Indian women who were shouting at each other at the table. I likened it to a person behind home plate yelling at an outfielder. I have no idea what brought them together (end of term? end of exams? end of visa?), but they were raucous and I certainly would have enjoyed a quieter ambiance.
I guess I mentioned this because I was thinking of conventions. There are things that you just EXPECT when you take tea in a tea room. Etiquette and decorum are among the expectations. <SHRUG>. I guess some folks were/are just better mannered than others.