Those People Again...

I am looking for those people. 

You know; ‘those ones.’

 

The ones that everyone seems to know about; but nobody actually knows.  You know; those people.  Surely somebody should know someone.  You hear about them all the time.  Always less sophisticated than the people who talk about them.  Always never like us.  They are all the same.  Those ones.  

Maybe its time to be asking... does anybody have something new to say?  Does somebody actually know what they are talking about? 

   

So I am looking for those ones to find out if it is true.  Could there really be a population of people who are really all the same?  Not like ‘my own people’ to whom the grace of individuality has been extended to explain away our own ‘bad apples’.  You know; ‘those ones’.  “They’re all like that.”   

And so when asking around if anyone knows anyone from ‘those ones.’  The answer is always the same.  ‘No, we don’t actually visit those ones.  We don’t communicate.  We don’t get along.  We don’t talk.  We don’t even associate with those ones.  And so if you don’t talk, communicate, get along or associate for that matter, I think it is most reasonable to be asking - how is it that you think you know so much about those ones that you actually do not know? 

Not sure about you..., but I am confused.

My diversity of life experience has destroyed any illusion that I can claim to know anything about ‘those ones’.  I’ve lived in too many places; have too many people I care about, crossed to many cultures to know that ‘those ones’ are always very much like me.  That ‘those ones’ are me and I am ‘those.’  And any of ‘those’ are likely to be in my direct family or circle of friends. 

The luxury of ignorance is not in my corner on this one.  As soon as someone starts talking about ‘those ones,’ I know they don’t know what they’re talking about.  What becomes abundantly apparent is that they know so little about their own humanity that they can look at other people and convince themselves that they have nothing in common.  They’re not like them.  They’re better.  That is a lie.  It is really too bad that they’re simply human too and are unaware.   

      

And as long as we continue to dialogue about ‘us’ and ‘them’, we lose touch with our humanity and grieve our Creator.  

And so while I continue to hear so much about ‘those ones’, about how they are and what they do, for the life of me, I cannot seem to figure out, who the hell are “those people” anyway?

Does anyone actually know them?

- END -

Obtuse Patron Postulation Disorder (OPPD)

We are creating a new culture.  I refer to it as Obtuse Patron Postulation Disorder.    

What on earth is that?  You’re wondering.  Let me use some illustrations to describe it.    

I took my car in a few months back, and the light for the airbag indicates that there is a fault as the fault light switches on and off depending on what is shoved under the seat.  Clearly the wire is loose.  According to the car service centre however, I need a whole ‘new passenger seat.’  Yes, I kid you not.  I was quoted for the whole seat; ‘9000 Rands’.  What the seat and the wiring have to do with each other, the jury is still out on that one on my side too.  Let me know if any of you can come up with the explanation other than the car dealership thinks; ‘I’m an idiot.’

I went to the bank to open another account recently and needed to bring my divorce certificate to verify my name change, as my country issued identity documents were not ‘legal enough’.  Yes, the exact phrase was ‘legal enough’.  If the country official documentation is not legal enough, I’m lost, what is more legal than that? 

And finally, my personal favourite: We went through the passport control at the Johannesburg airport and the woman at the counter thought it appropriate to share with all who would listen (talking to the woman across the aisle): “Ngifuna ukuchama”.  Yep.  Thanks for sharing.  We had to pretend that we could not understand a thing.  What else could we do: “Tell her to go ahead and pee, we can wait?”    

‘Welcome to South Africa’.  I want to go and pee.  Seriously?       

I am sure that I can come up with many more examples, as can you.  There seems to be a lot of that going around.  I call it Obtuse Patron Postulation Disorder (OPPD – I enjoy my thesaurus); alternatively known as the idiot client assumption syndrome.

It directly impacts human being’s ability to relate and interact due to perceived and delusional superior intelligence factors that human beings wrongly assume they are in possession of and seems highly prevalent in customer service environments.   

It’s a disease that infects the minds of people.  It’s contagious and its frequency appears to be on the rise.   

But it seems somewhat short-sighted to me. 

If you regularly ‘screw over’ your clients, people do know that eventually you will not have any left... right?   Shouldn’t this be common sense?   

But instead of applying rational thinking, it would seem that the country has become one big laboratory whereby we are out to prove that money can be made, by regularly screwing over our clients.

And short-term it does sometimes work.  Long-term, it is usually paid for by the company (and country) itself.    

That Darn Dash

 
On the same trip to the Netherlands, we went to see the gravesite of my Oma and Opa (grandparents).  The funny thing about standing there was that everything they had done, worked on and built during their lifetime came down to a dash.  A birth date, ‘a dash’ and a date of death.  

Lives complete.  Totally summed up in a dash.    

The farm they built up and left behind – which is no longer in the family “-“. 

The crops they planted and harvested “-“. 

The life they lived “-“. 

How many of the things that we do on a daily basis are going to leave something of value behind?  That ten million Dollars which cost every hour of everyday of a lifetime turns into a “-“ (which if that is all you have done becomes what the family fights over).  Incidentally it doesn’t even get you a longer dash, or a curvy one or one that says anything about what you accomplished.   

If I look at the contribution I made at a previous workplace, much of what was built has already been turned into something else or taken apart again.  I find it disturbing that despite all the effort and work that we do, how little of it actually has meaning and can continue contributing to the world.  Will the world know that I was in it and left it better than it would have been if I had not been here?  So when I leave, what will I have done that stayed beyond that darn dash? 

In tribute to those same grandparents are almost 100 (94 and counting) descendants of children and grandchildren still left behind (3 others have also subsequently passed including my father).  Additionally there are a number of other families that also survived the war as a result of the efforts of my grandparents.   

A well raised family goes beyond the dash.  So here’s to all you parents who take your commitment and roles as parents intentionally and seriously.  The efforts you are putting in right now in your families last beyond the dash.  So take heart and do it well and take note; it’s the people that count.    

So if there is going to be a birth date, a dash and a death date, I would like an additional phrase on my tombstone.  “She died at 29”.  At least, if nothing else, those who see it will look at the dates do the mathematics and scratch their heads asking; “Why 29”? 

At least let the ‘why’ continue...