Daily Reflections

01/07/2022

Of The Straws that Didn’t Break the Camel’s Back

There are days when things go wrong. No doubt. There are days when things go wrong tragically. There are also days when only little bits go wrong. Any one of these little bits might constitute a minor annoyance in and of itself. A blip. Yet, when a few or a lot of these little blips seem to pile up, it can make for a kind of slow building crescendo of frustration.

I am speaking to these days. The truly tragic days where our very core beliefs are shaken, and sense of purpose or place is shattered I shall leave for another time. It is the days that would otherwise be bland or even pleasant and uneventful if not for the steady staccato of minor frustrations to which I refer. As the larger bad days reveal our character (as all tragedy does) it is these other days that reveal our discipline and self-control.

The way in which these days creep into your mind and slowly, almost methodically dismantling your patience and calm is insidious. Again, only minor annoyances. The first few, a dish being executed poorly or a team member complaining… easily dealt with. One might even convey to the mirror a sense of pride in handling it so seamlessly. “See, if I just remain calm, I can handle anything.” But this is a trap.

It is almost as if you are daring the gods of chaos to visit again. And as these first few moments have gone, you still have a fair measure of calm left. So much so that you don’t notice the few bits they absconded with. Enter more frivolous happenings. A lid, not screwed on right causes a spill.

“It’s fine. Just a mess.”

But then, the paper towels were not refilled by the last to use one.

“It’s fine. They were probably rushing and didn’t notice. We’ll find out who and calmly remind them to pay more attention.”

And the moments tick by. Still good. Still somewhat serene. But thirsty. And look here, no one replaced the jug in the water cooler after emptying it.

“It’s fine. But honestly, how hard is it?”

Maybe you grab a new jug and hoist it up to replace it too quickly. Not really acknowledging in your growing fluster that five gallons of water is a good bit of weight. Re-aggravating that sore shoulder from a particularly tough workout this morning.

“It’s fine. It’s not their fault, but I bet it was the same thoughtless staffer that doesn’t know how to change paper towels. I need to train them better.”

Of course, new water jug means the water hasn’t had a chance to cool yet.

“it’s fine. That’s supposed to be better for you anyway, right? Some bullshit about wasting calories heating the water back up in your digestive system or some such.”

Never mind the fact that you have now forgotten completely whatever you were in the middle of. Either lost count of something or can’t remember what you were supposed to grab. Screw it. It’ll come to you. Back at it. Breathe. Water tastes good warm.

At that moment, someone comes up with a question they asked you thirty minutes ago, and you completely spaced on finding out what they needed to know to help them finish whatever they were working on. So, what the hell have they been doing all this time? Waiting for you? Certainly not changing the paper towels or the damn water jug.

“it’s just fine! I’m sure they were helping somebody not do those things while waiting for me. Where the hell are we at on today’s prep work? Start there. No. No. No. find out the answer to their question before you forget again.”

You haven’t yelled at this point, by some subtle miracle. Haven’t even raised your voice. However, your lips are starting to purse, and their color has gone as a result. You realize for the first time that your bloodless lips are actually an indicator bar for your patience level. Simultaneously, you acknowledge that your moods are often as transparent as that indicator bar. And the funny thing about knowing your own mood. It doesn’t always make it better. Nor is there any communal comfort to be found in being seen and understood by your tribe right now.

“It’s fine, just breathe. Breathe into it, like you tell everyone else to do when you are calm. Remember calm? That thing you were a little while ago. Let’s get back to that.”

Funny thing about shifting moods. It is often the precise moment when you are climbing back out of a foul one that your grip is most tenuous. Your balance, thinnest. And it is on this crux of the day’s journey where those trickster gods of chaos have been perched since you prematurely congratulated yourself for being so calm.

While you are trying to regain your internal composure, a snack seemed in order as you realize you haven’t eaten all day. One fucking Frito corn chip in… your permanent retainer pops loose from behind your teeth.

“This is not goddamn fine! That stupid piece of steel has been glued to those teeth since 1995. What the actual….calm down, its fine. Call a dentist. They can just glue that little metal bastard right back on. Hell, it would be good to get out of the shop for a moment anyway.”

Except. It’s Friday. As luck would have it. Dentist hours are much like Banker hours only shorter. 7 calls later you find a dentist that is open and explain to them what you need. Then you explain that you don’t remember who put the damn thing in because not only were you a little too high for the experience (Which, by the way, is not as pleasant as what they give you there, so you don’t freak out at having someone using power tools in your mouth) Plus, it was in 1995. They have long since closed and whatever records there are of it predate the interweb. So, you must insist that you are not making it up and if they would just let you go to them, you can prove that there is indeed a piece of metal that needs to be glued behind your face.

Now, what the very nice (and you warily congratulate yourself for being cordial to her) receptionist lady should have led with is the fact you don’t need a dentist, but an orthodontist. Only these worthy specialists are allowed the honor and title of ‘Keepers of the glue’. You would learn later from one of those ‘can’t let it go’ Google searches that said glue is called ‘amalgam’ and be forced to admit that ‘Keepers of the Amalgam’ sounds like an ancient order of fringe monks in an R.A. Salvatore novel.

As luck would have it, (by now you are sure that this spot of luck comes from that second pat on the back you gave yourself just a minute past), there are four orthodontists in your town. One of which was open. Until 25 minutes ago, which, by a staggering coincidence is about when you started calling every dentist in town.

You, see. Any of these incidents, by themselves—easily managed. But on this day. This strangely convoluted conflux of circumstance created a game of Jenga out of your will to persist and the patience required to do so. The last block of gratitude before the tower collapses was offered up to the fact the staff finished cleaning and left before you finished all your pointless phone calls. And you realize just how close you came to losing your composure in front of everyone.

The lesson herein is not to take the small blips too seriously, obviously. But, by extension, one should not stitch them together and try to reason out their connection. Such efforts are good mental gymnastics, but poor productivity partners.