Too Many Cooks Spoil The Broth

Too Many Cooks Spoil The Broth

Give Three Examples:

Cooking with Love:
She salted the meat. I salted the meat. Later, she wasn’t sure if she salted the meat so she salted the meat again. We went out to dinner.

Spatial Relations:

I was helping my sister move for the umpteenth time. We’d rented a medium-size moving van for the purpose. The neighborhood from which she was moving was duplex crowded and parking was always at a premium. It was already late evening when we finally got the first full load into the van. I slid the moving van’s rear loading ramp into its stowage place beneath the box and secured it. I pulled down the overhead door and latched that. As I was designated driver I walked quickly forward and got in the cab.

I started the engine and noted my other sister had parked her little pick-up truck tight to the front of the van. As I had only moments before been standing there in that great empty space just behind the van where the ramp used to be I assumed I had way to back up several feet to pull the van away from the curb. Checking my mirrors I backed up a bit and pulled away from the curb. I felt a little bump but figured I’d just brushed the curb.

After unloading the truck I returned to the scene. Someone handed me a business card (which I still have) and said I had to call the police. After some excited gibbering I came to understand what had happened and called to explain the accident to the officer over the phone.

As I said, parking in that neighborhood was at a premium, so much so that, unbeknown to me, my sister had sent her son to ask a neighbor lady to “save the space” for the moving van’s return. In the amount of time it took me to close up the van, walk forward, climb in and start the engine the woman had pulled her car up tight behind the van. She parked so tight to the rear of the van her car was invisible, there was no way for me to see her in the mirrors. Pinned as I was between the pick-up in front and the car I couldn’t see in the rear, the little bump I’d felt backing up was the van riding up slowly onto the suddenly-there car, onto and over the hood – right up to the windshield.

The cop on the phone was laughing his ass off.

The truck rental insurance covered the damages and there is, in point of fact, a law forbidding parking too close to a “working vehicle”. But if the neighbor woman had given me just ten seconds more the accident would never have happened. I’m not one to point fingers and lay blame readily, but much later that night, when the moving was done, I was still pissed, tired, and embarrassed about my otherwise impeccable driving record being so tarnished; so much so I had the beginnings of a screaming headache. I swore up and down I’d never help my sister move again.

Over the years I’ve learned that when far too many people are independently engaged in thinking and doing on the same project and there is no clear communication between them – well, shit happens.

Assume Nothing:

Joe volunteered to help me with my pre-flight.

I thought he checked the turret guns.

He thought I checked the minigun and chunker.

Carlos thought I checked the weapons systems.

Carlos flew into combat with his ammo belts dangling.

Too Many Cooks Spoil The Broth

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About The Twentieth Man

Age 67
This entry was posted in Dirty Words, Humor, Personal History, Plain English, Short Stories and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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