Watched

Passing the third checkpoint, the third smiling [sic] state policeman, a fellow by the name of R. C. Anderson, raises his big silver-watched wrist and touches the brim of his gray felt Stetson (yes, he does) as one faintly remembers Wendell Corey once doing from high on a Canadian Mountie snow peak overlooking something like a distressed Linda Darnell.

You would certainly think the watched quantum pot would also boil. It turns out, because of the vigilant observations, the transition never occurs; the watched quantum pot never boils.