Army of Tiny Frustrations
When I opened my work emails Friday morning, I hit a hard stop at the first one.
“Good morning,
Upon checking for your vendor file, it was discovered that you don’t have one. Therefore, in order for me to proceed with this procurement, I need you to fill out and return to me the attached Vendor Qualifications Form and a copy of your W-9 form as quickly as possible.
Thank you in advance for your cooperation.”
Michael J. (he/him)
You can call me: Mike
Procurement Officer
XYZ Organization
It was a minor purchase and we had already confirmed our vendor registration online. But, curious, I clicked on the attachment. It turned out to be a nine-page form requesting our company’s:
Corporate history
Bond obligations
Certified financials for the last three years
Business credit report
Name and home addresses of all corporate officers
Insurance certificates
Related Project Experience form detailing past jobs of similar magnitude with photos, organization chart, project duration, and price justification.
Are you kidding me?
I’d already spent several days crawling my way through a landmine of partisan legal contracts. Now I was pure kindling, dry as August chapparal and poised for a match strike.
I wanted to grab the phone and tell “You-can-call-me-Mike” what he could do with his vendor form. Instead, I vented to my sales partner,
“I’ve had it with these tiny little people, desperate for control, whose tiny little world is filled with minutiae that they deploy like an army of red ants!”
Can you relate?
Ridiculous processes and requirements are on the uptick, devoid of common sense and whittling us down bite by tiny bite. Nail clippers confiscated by TSA. Drinking straws forbidden but needles for free. Tech support phone trees, tangled as Florida mangroves.
The small-minded officials responsible for creating and enforcing these pointless systems seem determined to make life difficult, clearly missing the forest as they stare myopically at the trees. Jesus even called out the religious elite who inflicted their impossible standards on others: “You blind guides, who strain out a gnat and swallow a camel!” (Matthew 23:24)
The battle is real. But I get into trouble when I start taking it personally as if it’s me against them. Because if I’m honest, sometimes the real problem lies with the woman in the mirror.
Oh, I understand a desire for control in a world that’s caroming drunkenly. I’ve experienced anger, laser-beamed into minor infractions because they’re the only ones in reach. And I’ve harbored fear that a lapsed technicality would be an invitation to anarchy.
I felt all of that back in Mrs. Casserly’s fifth-grade class. She’d assigned several of us to work together, coloring a picture of the Pilgrims. One of the boys, a budding rebel (and now internationally known Christian ministry leader), refused to color the fingernails pink. I can still recall the outrage.
As a young adult, I remember pulling up behind a car at a red light to see the driver flick a cigarette butt out the window. It was all I could do to restrain myself from getting out, picking it up, and tossing it back in.
I better understand now the tectonic forces that collided in my life, giving rise to such fear and fury. I became a consummate rule enforcer, and it gave me structure, security, and strokes.
I became tiny.
In the recent Tom Hanks movie, A Man Called Otto (based on the Swedish novel, A Man Called Ove), the main character is a curmudgeon, fiercely committed to maintaining order and routine at his housing development—his tiny domain. Violators are condemned as “idiots.” But as we get to know his story, we understand the pain that drives his behavior. It was the flagrant violation of safety measures that led to the death of his unborn son and the crippling injury of his wife.
Rules can be vital, lifesaving. The Old Testament Law defined God’s exquisite holiness and matchless standard for the Jewish nation. Without a fair legal system, civilization crumbles like biscotti in espresso.
But people who are hurting can take it to an extreme, clinging to policies and protocol like a life preserver in a sea of chaos and change. They may wield their mandates like a weapon to ward off a sense of powerlessness. Others may be obsessed with doing things just right when they are very young, very old, or have a disability that leaves them with few other tools to protect a tender psyche.
And sometimes, they’re not tiny at all. Just ordinary people doing their job. Deserving of the same charity I’d hope for in return. (Sigh.)
So, Mike, forgive me for targeting my frustration at you. God bless you, brother, and have a good day.
Sincerely,
You can call me: Leslie