Broken Megaphone
Week 34 of 2024 teaches that, when errors of communication lead to snowballing catastrophes, often the best thing to do is watch ‘em roll by...
To see how Sam Pepys spent this week 364 years ago, follow this link.
Here in the UK, the US game ‘Broken Telephone’ is known as ‘Chinese Whispers’. Searching online, I couldn’t confirm whether the British name is now considered politically incorrect or not. Some believe the game originated in China, while others suggest it’s a slur on Asian culture.
Given it’s a game about messages getting confused in transit, that’s kinda apt innit.
For this week, though, it was the ‘Whispers’ part that I would object to. It seemed this week’s wires got crossed, thickened, knotted, and ultimately melted down into one big molten mess.
It actually began a couple of months ago, when the Boss said he was planning to take some annual leave “in the middle of August” and leave me as his Number 2. More recently, my request for annual leave in the middle of this week was approved by that same Boss – who then told me, last week, that his annual leave would be from 19 August for two weeks…
Luckily, though, no urgent work issues arose on Wednesday morning, which I’d wanted off to attend our cousin’s wedding. Instead, Ermma received a rather panicky call from Mummy Sutcliffe along the lines of,
“The bridal couple have nothing! No decorations, no tablecloths… not even a table for the cake! Your uncle has asked us to help…!”
The next few hours were spent frantically cleaning the House ready for our wonderful neighbours who were to feed the kittens in our absence, smartening ourselves ready for the wedding, and gathering as much partyware as we could.
This included a faux candle lantern to fit with the ‘rustic’ theme mentioned on the invite, near enough a hundred sets of disposable tableware (napkins, paper plates, etc), and a jar of ‘Wedding Preserve’ that I crafted especially that same morning to collect messages from guests.
Finally, we heaved our old dining table into the car.
As we set off, Ermma phoned Mum and DadDad to find out how they were getting on. They were on their way too, having stopped off to buy helium balloons, tablecloths… and near a hundred sets of disposable tableware.
The happy couple would have enough for two weddings.
Or rather, as it turned out, three. When we arrived, the venue was decorated, with drapes, paper lanterns, faux candles, a selfie frame, real tableware, tablecloths, multiple options for guests to leave messages… and even a varnished tree-stump table for the cake!
The wedding was as gorgeous as the bridal couple themselves, with our cousin’s arrival in her wedding dress prompting one 7-year-old to exclaim, “Oh wow!”
When we had a chance to chat with our uncle, we discovered the original ‘whisper’: our cousin’s mum had expressed surprise to him that the pre-newlyweds hadn’t arranged tablecloths, and so she was having to supply some last minute. He passed this message along with a tone of incredulity when calling Mummy Sutcliffe, which had morphed into the impression that the wedding would be bare unless we could save it.
Fortunately, the second half of the day was as relaxed and fun as it was full of love.
Towards the end of the day, I had a message from Freelancer 1 asking me to confirm what he was getting told by Freelancer 2: that the Boss didn’t need him to visit our storage unit on Thursday ‘coz the job was enough for one. Both these freelancers worked with us regularly, and I had no reason to doubt FL2, so agreed that FL1 could stand down.
Early on Thursday, though, as I was arriving to provide storytelling for a young carers’ charity in Cambridge, FL1 messaged to say the Boss had confirmed he did need to go, just in case FL2 ran into issues. Fair enough, I thought, albeit a little miffed that FL1 had gone behind my back to interrupt the Boss on his holiday with doubts about my confidence in FL2.
Turned out he was right to do so, though, because one thing the Boss hadn’t told any of us was that an important courier collection would take place while the freelancers were there. Consequently, FL1 and the courier arrived to find the unit inaccessible, FL2 having taken the key and gone AWOL.
This was a big issue, as the company would receive a hefty fine if the courier couldn’t get certain items to Heathrow that same day. It was such a large fine that, when I found myself at the end of an afternoon of multiple anxious phone calls and messages with no choice but to call the Boss about the issue, he calculated it would be cheaper for FL1 to break into our unit and get it repaired immediately after.
Yet another example of a dilemma that would’ve rolled along to the same conclusion even without my involvement – or my stress…
I’m pleased to say, though, that Friday through Sunday gave us a fully recuperating break: celebrating Mummy Rose’s birthday with her, our family, and the Pandemic Pluckers; a comfy coastal hotel stay; popping in on Gaggy’s resting place; and returning home in time to welcome our Hampshire family over for the Sunday night.
So… What moral can we draw from all this?
Should we always try to dial back the panic in the tone of those relaying the messages of others? Or is it safer to go all out with your reaction, on the offchance the stress will be worth it?
I’d love to discuss your thoughts with you, so please shoot me a reply. $:-)
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Should we always try to dial back the panic in the tone of those relaying the messages of others? Or is it safer to go all out with your reaction, on the offchance the stress will be worth it?