Commentary: Bridging the Gap between Intent and Perception!

I feel a bit small and boring when I begin almost all of my posts with a gripe from work. However, I think about it, and, if it weren't for work, I wouldn't have anything about which to complain. Imagine that. So, I won't begin with an anecdote from work. I'll talk about my shower this morning.

I woke up around noon, (Ah, how the summertime sloth has taken hold of my being--its claws are a bit sharp, though, and begin to sting when I sleep later than 11:45) and stepped into the shower, and then turned the water on. Believe it or not, I prefer to be in the shower as the water regulates. Gives me a bit of a jolt to wake me up and, hopefully, kickstart my metabolism. I'm not a fan of green tea or the elliptical, so I get my help wherever I can find it. Does it work? I doubt it.

Anyway, as I'm sitting in the shower, washing my face with my Noxema (yes, I sit in the shower, I have since I was little, I call it a "shath." Deal.) the warm drops of renewal granted me an epiphany in addition to clean and eucalyptus-scented skin:

We, as human beings, only have a 25% chance of being understood by a person with whom we are interacting!

How did I come to this conclusion, you might ask?

(Now is the point in time where I must delve into a Paul's work story, my sincerest apologies for my predictable blog patterns)

So, yesterday was quite crowded. I stupidly chose to wear long sleeves and pants as my work garb (Oh, how I rue that decision), and suffice it to say I was quite pink and miserable. As was everyone else in the hothouse. A woman comes in, with a very large proverbial bun in the oven, very porcine and glistening in her own sweat. She drops a package of green beans on the steel counter. "These," she gestured down, "I bought on Friday. They're all brown, and just not looking very good."

I'm polite (as usual, mind you), and proceed to say the usual "that's not a problem blah blah blah." Remember, given that she is not old and yellow, I am more inclined to be amiable. And to be honest, I knew if I committed a faux-pas, the result could potentially be fatal. In my nineteen years I have learned two things: always show your work, and never upset a hormonal pregnant woman.

A few minutes pass, and she returns to the counter. As usual, we're swamped, and I'm trying to help the fossil with a walker remember to sign her name on the credit receipt. She begins to speak, "I'm the woman with the beans."

Growing rather red at the decrepit miser's pace, I don't look up to her. I just say, "I know."

Looking back, I think I recall her muttering something under her breath, however I was unable to hear her, thanks to the noxious noise of the B-52's "Loveshack" playing in the background. I finally am able to look up, and I'm surprised the store sprinklers haven't turned on. She is seething, smoke piping from each ear. Her eyes turn blood red, and her ponytail turns scaly, two horns grow exponentially from the crown of her head. And then she opens her mouth, and I am scorched by her fiery tongue, and also the fire emitted from her throat. Ah, the joys of pregnancy.

None of that actually happened, but she did call my manager. And I received a "talking to." Stupid excessive fuck takes me outside, and tells me that we "rely so heavily on our customers," and that I should be more polite. Oh, really? Wait, I thought we relied on someone else to be successful. Certainly it's not the people who buy our products.

I was hot, miserable, and moody, and just generally tired of seeing his wrinkled countenance. I explained to him the situation, and his sage advice was "Well, next time you should say 'I remember.'"

What the fuck?

Being a spineless and lowly peon, I lowered my head in shame and returned to the hothouse. And then I got to thinking. I didn't intend to be rude by my apparently "short" and "rude" 'I know,' but she perceived it as such. And then I began to mull over all of my other moments of misunderstanding, and realized that I am misunderstood more than I am understood, especially by strangers.

My theory: if you think about it mathematically, there are exactly four possibilities of being understood, and conversely, misunderstood.

The first: Your intent is A, and it is perceived as A
The second: Your intent is A, and it is perceived as not A
The third: Your intent is not A, and it is perceived as A
The fourth: Your intent is not A, and it is perceived as not A

So if you look at it, the chances of you being understood by someone point-blank is only 25%. Granted, there are certain situational factors, like familiarity, tone of voice, etc, however the point remains the same. Scary? Yes. A little liberating? Of course.

In this situation, I didn't intend to be rude, but she perceived me as being rude. And really, neither of us are at fault; I made the choice in my intent, however she chose to perceive it oppositely.

The question is, then, what is there to do about the numerous options in this veritable punnet-square of intent and perception? After talking with my hairdresser today (I was getting my roots done), I came to the conclusion. We need to be more direct. I used to be infatuated with the mystery and ambiguity of the word "maybe," but "maybe" does nothing except catapult one into this awkward limbo of uncertainty.

You see, Amy (my hairdresser), has recently taken up a hot summer romance with a man named Jay. He came in one day to get his chest waxed, and she had the pleasure of doing so. He came in a few more times, and then, just very straightforward, direct, honest, asked her to go to dinner with him. And, she responded with a very matter-of-fact and emphatic "yes." No beating around the bush, no sweet nothings (although I admit I am quite skilled in the art of being coy), just honesty. Less room for errors, misunderstandings, and broken hearts. And guess what? They've been together a month now and he makes her pot roast. I don't like it, but they take time to make; and hey, you have to admire a man who will deign to wear an apron.

An ENTJ, I don't have a too-tumultous time being blunt; however for my sake, I think I should do so with a bit more tact. Everyone else, though? Stop worrying about beating around the proverbial bush; speak up, and say your mind. If you're scared, don't be--chances are you won't be understood anyway. It is all up to you.