| Mar112008 | Moral of the Story |
Once upon a time, there were two workers, Anthony and Brendan. They had both joined the company at exactly the same time but after 12 months, Anthony had risen a few ranks while Brendan remained at his original position of a lowly grunt worker. Brendan became angry about this and brought this matter before their boss, Carol.
Carol considered this and said to Brendan, “You want a promotion? Fine, I’ll give you a chance. Go to market and tell me which stalls are open today.”
Brendan jumped at the opportunity and rushed out and returned within a half hour. “Just the one stall today.”
Carol asked, “What are they selling?”
Brendan ran out again and returned, “Apples.”
“How much are they selling for?”
As Brendan began to head out the door, Carol stopped him. She called in Anthony and made the same request of him, “Go ot the market and tell me which stalls are open.”
Anthony walked out and returned two hours later with a bag filled with apples, “There is only one stall open today, it is the apple store owned by Mrs. Kim. The red apples are $2 per kilo and the green apples are $1 per kilo and they have run out of Golden Delicious but she said there will be a new shipment tomorrow morning.
Carol smiled, turned to Brendan and said, “This is why I promoted Anthony.”
Nice story, huh? This story helps me to sum up exactly where I get my passive aggressiveness from. Allow me to explain: this story comes from an email from my mother. I’ve changed the story to punch it up a bit but the one-dimensional moral, tactless preaching and rewarding of the lazy kiss-ass remain intact.
Yes, one of my faults is that I tend to do things half-assed, especially when its things I don’t give a shit about. If you told me to go to Pike Place Market and find out what stalls are open today, I’d just tell you, “Probably fish and fruit and stuff.” My mother is fully aware of this fault because she has spent a lifetime sending me out on grocery-related errands.
So I can’t help but ask, why send me this parable that leaves a bad taste in my mouth and why not just say, “Hey, I hope you work harder at your job than you ever did for me.” Sigh, mothers.
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