I just went through an all-too-common scenario for me. I needed to measure an item I'm knitting and I could not find a tape measure. It's a ridiculous situation because I must purchase two or three of those flexible plastic-coated tape measures per year. We've lived in this house for eight years and I've never thrown out a tape measure, my kids claim they've never taken any (though they do like to mess with my mind so I take their denials with a grain of salt), my husband knows better than to touch any of my needlecrafting paraphernalia, and to my knowledge none of the pets have eaten any. We've never been burgled so none have been stolen by a thief with a measuring fetish. By rights there should be at least 15 tape measures in the house, but I can never lay my hands on one when I need one. Hundreds or perhaps a few thousand years from now a group of archaeologists excavating where my house used to be are going to come across all those tape measures I wasn't able to find before the house had crumbled to dust many, many years earlier. The sheer number of tape measures they find will puzzle them and lead them to believe that they must hold some religious significance and that I was some kind of grand priestess of something much greater than just continually misplacing the damned things and having to buy replacements. How could the hypothetical archaeological remains of your dwelling confuse future archaeologists? Do you also consistently lose items, or do you have lots of a particular item (lost or otherwise) that would confuse people who don't have a context for them?
Future archeologists will sift through a small mountain of crushed Diet Dr. Pepper cans and will ponder the religious significance of the strange, rectangular blue box that is found in multiple locations in my dwelling. They'll probably assume it's related to some ritualistic police-loving cult, since the words "police box" appear right at the top. Unless, of course, Doctor Who has finally become a recognized religion by then, in which case, they'll know exactly what it means.
They will be perplexed by the function of the remote controls and wonder why we required thirteen. My collection of the stud tighteners for cross country shoes may also offer them pause. Also perhaps at least a bakers dozen.
Rubber ducks, glass/crystal figurines, and knitting nancies. There will probably think all three had a religious significance. My books and soft toys (including those of famous scientists, writers, artists) will all have rotted away and won't be preserved.
In my place they'd find scraps of paper that used to be a several-thousand-volume book and fanzine collection, scraps of other collections of ACEO art cards, Scrabble tile art and other odd assortments of jewelry, and my grandmother's paintings, etc. My coin collection and a few dishes might survive. If more things survive, who knows what they'd think of a place that contains items based on everything from prehistoric humans to the far future? I've never been able to settle down to just one or two time periods. And maybe they'd find my missing pens, nail clippers (never any around when the cats' claws need trimming). As for my TARDIS stuff... well, there's the cookie jar, the piggy bank, the various ornaments and jewelry, and the blankets. Oh, and my Fourth Doctor hat and scarf. If they could be preserved, future archaeologists would conclude that I had an odd preference for penguins, Benjamin Bunny, and Fuzzy Knights (a webcomic in which real stuffed animals play Dungeons & Dragons; I've tracked down authentic copies of two of the four main characters, minus the proper costuming).
If my husband's DVD collection survives archaeologists of the future will know all about British Rail from the 1950s to the 1980s, which is the diesel era with which my trainspotter husband is obsessed. I don't think his large collection of "rail of yesteryear" books will survive for long enough, though. Oh, and his model train set may survive as well.
They might find assorted, old video game consoles (in probably surprisingly decent condition), meticulously, lovingly stored in non-degradable plastic storage boxes.
they arrive at Earth these future archaeologists and find us all dead and the only thing left is copies of a series of sharknado movies extending in an endless list of releases and versions,.. [yt]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fWY4-u9Ewdc[/yt] these future archaeologists from that other planet realize what happened to all of humanity ,,, eaten by sharknado's gone wild.. ...
They'll find my desk full of tangles of cables and connectors, and speculate that they must have been important implements in some ancient ritual, in which the worshiper wraps himself (or herself) in the wires while performing a ceremonial dance to please the ancient god known only as "Internet."
"But on eliminating every other reason For our sad demise, They logged the only explanation left: This species has amused itself to death..." This song goes through my mind every time I see this thread...
It's going to be tagged as the majority religion as they'll be hard pressed to find a house in the current developed world that doesn't have a drawer full of cables. What will puzzle them is that a large chunk of those cables will not fit any of the electronic items they'll find in the same location, and they will fail to comprehend our inability to throw out cables belonging to items we no longer own as these cables might come in "useful" (please, please tell me I'm not the only person who does this!). You're a deeper thinker than me, Digits. I just want my damned tape measures back.