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Pettiness: Prelude
I've been getting double spoonfuls of late in lessons on the perils of pettiness. (I actually considered spelling it "Pettyness" in the title just to see if anyone would take the bait. But not today.)
I say I get a double helping of lessons on this particular issue because, here, I have two subjects in the grand experiment of Life, instead of the usual one. I of course observe, reflect, and no doubt also ruminate, on the effects of pettiness in my own life, but I have also been watching a friend repeatedly fling himself voraciously onto the spikes of the gates of Hell with a recurring theme of pettiness.
Under the guise of "being a perfectionist", "being detail-oriented", "being anal-retentive", and even joking about it as "being OCD*", I have until recently managed to dodge any sense that there might be a notable downside to being picky.
I don't actually know how or when I started realizing that being petty was getting in the way of getting things done. I'm an engineer; I look at things through an engineer's eyes. Chasing after perfection is part of what makes me good at what I do.
My mistake was trying to make the rest of the world fit into those rules of perfection I had presumed to exist around me. "If only everyone would follow the traffic rules, the trip to Denver would take 15 fewer minutes for everyone. Everybody wins!"
I have come to terms with the observation that the bulk of society doesn't live in an engineer's world. They don't, by and large, demand perfection. In fact, it's been my observation that most people scoff at attempts to achieve perfection; it's a waste of time in their eyes.
And they're the majority.
Now, that doesn't make them right. Leastwise, not in all areas. But when it comes to the subject of dealing with humans, it does actually bear serious consideration. It's one area where operable truth is often actually quite democratic.
Because, in the end, if we are to be social creatures, we have to work together sociably. And since we are all so very different, this working-together thing demands a set of tools with what engineers refer to as a "tolerant design". That way, fewer of the differences jam up the works, and we get a lot more stuff done because less is getting in our way.
Communication is an easy place to spot the breakdown.
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| PettyMan: |
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How are you today? |
| NormalPerson: |
I'm doing good. |
| PettyMan: |
Ah, well, I'd hate to think you're doing evil. But how are you? |
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Now, I use this particular tool with my daughter, to ensure she grows up understanding that "good" is either an adjective or a noun, and "well" is either an adverb or a noun. If she knows the difference, she can employ the tool in either direction; to sound more eloquent during a job interview where the interviewer might be a language snob; or to sound more casual, to place others more at ease. If she is ignorant of the difference, she can only proceed with what she thinks she knows, and she might unwittingly limit her own options.
But with a normal social encounter, the only thing Mr. PettyMan really accomplishes in the above conversation is waste time, interfere with efficiency of communication, risk irritating others in the conversation, and worse, risk causing the other speaker to lose their train of thought, exacerbating most of the other weaknesses already inherent in this jackassery.
When I was a young lad in the military, I once overheard a Master Sergeant chastising a younger chap. I've forgotten the actual objects of reference, so I am using "pitcher" and "carafe" in the exchange below. It gets the point across.
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| MasterSergeant: |
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Make sure you fill the pitcher on his table with water. |
| PettyMan: |
You mean the carafe? |
| MasterSergeant: |
How many items do you see on that table whose primary purpose is to serve a liquid? |
| PettyMan: |
Only one. |
| MasterSergeant: |
So when I said "the pitcher", how many possible meanings could I have had? |
| PettyMan: |
One. |
| MasterSergeant: |
So you understood what I meant. In fact, you understood me well enough to be able to correct me. Therefore, there was no failure to communicate. Therefore, there was no need to correct me. |
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The Master Sergeant had a lot to get done. And he was short-staffed, as always. So he didn't have time to deal with piss-ant, self-righteous pricks. And he made that perfectly clear. He wanted to give the directions, and he wanted to trust they would be followed. I found that when I actually needed clarification, he was always quick to give it, and without any condescending attitude. But I never forgot how he put Mr. PettyMan in his place that day, with a piece of logic I tried for 28 years to debunk.
I've finally given up. He's right. The goal of the order was to convey an instruction. If there was no actual ambiguity, he had succeeded, even if his words were not precise.
I still prefer to speak with precision, and it continues to stress me somewhat that the trend in the United States seems to be slipping toward imprecision. "Insure" and "ensure" are listed as synonyms; "momentarily" is listed as synonymous with "presently". "His", "hers", and "its" do not have apostrophes, but go ahead and try to explain that to half the population here.
But I've also learned that if you speak with mathematical precision, you risk boring your audience. Which is as good as getting up and saying, "blah, blah, blah....blah, blah" for twenty minutes. You actually FAIL at the primary mission -- to communicate -- if you try too hard to be too precise in most forms of conversation.
There are times and places -- yes. But for the most part, it is much more efficient, and much more effective, to get enough meat into the communique and count on the intelligence and cooperation of the other party to sort out your actual meaning.
More on that in the next installment.
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*O.C.D. = Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder
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