The load that will not hold still — page 7
The weight that lands somewhere else
A beam that yields under a falling weight takes a permanent set from every drop, and if the weight always lands in the same place the set grows by the same amount every time. Let the weight land somewhere different each time — rocks on a canopy, crates on a deck — and the set still grows: the weight's energy fixes how much plastic work every drop does, wherever it lands. What the landing point decides is where the work goes. Half of every drop's hinge rotation goes under the weight and half to the supports, so wandering drops spread the first half along the span and leave the second half where it always was: the worst hinge turns half as fast, and it is at a support.
The floor that cannot keep up with the column
A column whose hinges ratchet under an earthquake shortens every cycle, and in a frame it does not shorten alone: the floors it carries bend down towards it and lift its load onto the columns beside it. That ought to slow it and speed them, until every column shortens together. It does — over hundreds of cycles. Over the ten or twenty of an earthquake, the floors of a six-storey frame lift an eighth of the load off the interior column, it shortens nine tenths as far as it would alone, and the floors carry the whole difference as bending. The frame equalises its columns eventually, and pays for it in its floors.
The floor that twists in its own time
Seismic design standards flag a twisting floor by the ratio of its worst edge's movement to the average of its two edges', and a static push saturates that ratio. Give the floor mass and shake it, and it sways and twists in two modes that share the motion. A response-spectrum analysis then reads the same ratio from combined peaks — and gives a different verdict on a third of the plans tried. Floors torsionally stiffer than they sway read worse than a push says, because the coupled modes put twist at the edges. Floors torsionally flexible read better, because combining the modes keeps how far each edge moves and forgets which way, so a twisting floor's two edges both look large.
The survey that arrives after the floors
A tall building's lower storeys start shortening months before its upper floors are cast, so a survey every ten floors should tell the creep the building really has and let the floors still to come be set for it. It does tell it, to a millimetre's precision, after the twenty-fifth floor. By then most of the floors whose height it was meant to correct are already set, and the floor that ends furthest from level is the one no survey can help.
Taking hold is harder than letting go
A tuned mass driven by a law that cancels its spring is safe to let go of: the transient is the same whenever the switch falls, and the passive mass takes over. Switching the law back on is the reverse operation and behaves nothing like it. The mass the spring was holding is thrown up to three times past its stroke limit, by an amount that depends on the instant, and a switch that is allowed to come back in a storm near its threshold comes back hundreds of times.
The drain that fails a season at a time
A basement held at its design head by drains and a pump can fail suddenly, when the pump stops, or slowly, when fines settle in the drains and the head under the slab creeps up while the pump keeps running. The slow failure gives a standpipe read once a year a decade of warning, in its own time constants — if it is read in the wet season. And long before the silt floats the building on its own, it has made every stop of the pump more likely to.