About Masters and Professionals with a capital M and P : )
I’ll be honest, I laughed until I cried… some of these quotes will stick in my arsenal for a long time. Happy Sparkling Laughter Day, Dear Readers!
The Meeting
Petrov came to the meeting on Tuesday. They took his brain out, laid it out on little saucers, and started eating it, smacking their lips and expressing general approval. Petrov’s boss, Nedozaitsev, thoughtfully handed out dessert spoons to everyone present. And so it began.
“Colleagues,” says Morkovyeva, “our organization is faced with a large-scale task. We have received a project for implementation, within which we need to depict several red lines. Are you ready to take on this task?”
“Of course,” says Nedozaitsev. He’s the director, and he’s always ready to take on a problem that someone on the team will have to carry. However, he immediately clarifies: “We can do this, right?”
The head of the drawing department, Sidoryakhin, nods hastily:
“Yes, of course. We have Petrov right here, he’s our best specialist in the field of drawing red lines. We specifically invited him to the meeting so he could give his expert opinion.”
“Very nice to meet you,” says Morkovyeva. “Well, you all know me. And this is Lenochka, she’s a design specialist in our organization.”
Lenochka blushes and smiles shyly. She recently graduated in economics and has as much to do with design as a platypus has to do with designing airships.
“So,” says Morkovyeva. “We need to draw seven red lines. They all must be strictly perpendicular, and furthermore, some need to be drawn in green, and some others need to be transparent. What do you think, is this realistic?”
“No,” says Petrov.
“Let’s not rush to answer, Petrov,” says Sidoryakhin. “The task has been set, and it needs to be solved. You’re a professional, Petrov. Don’t give us a reason to think you’re not a professional.”
“You see,” explains Petrov, “the term ‘red line’ implies that the color of the line is red. Drawing a red line in green is not exactly impossible, but it’s very close to impossible…”
“Petrov, what do you mean ‘impossible’?” asks Sidoryakhin.
“I’m just outlining the situation. Perhaps there are people who suffer from color blindness, for whom the color of the line truly wouldn’t matter, but I’m not sure that the target audience of your project consists exclusively of such people.”
“So, in principle, it is possible, we understand you correctly, Petrov?” asks Morkovyeva.
Petrov realizes he overdid it with the imagery.
“Let me put it more simply,” he says. “A line, as such, can be drawn in absolutely any color. But to get a red line, you should only use the color red.”
“Petrov, please don’t confuse us. Just a moment ago you were saying it was possible.”
Petrov silently curses his own talkativeness.
“No, you misunderstood me. I only meant to say that in some, extremely rare situations, the color of the line wouldn’t matter, but even then, the line still wouldn’t be red. Do you understand? It wouldn’t be red! It would be green. And you need a red one.”
A brief silence falls, in which the quiet, tense hum of synapses is clearly audible.
“What if,” says Nedozaitsev, struck by an idea, “we draw them in blue?”
“It still won’t work,” Petrov shakes his head. “If you draw it in blue, you’ll get blue lines.”
Silence again. This time, Petrov himself breaks it.
“And I still don’t understand… What did you mean when you talked about lines of a transparent color?”
Morkovyeva looks at him condescendingly, like a kind teacher at a struggling student.
“Well, how can I explain it to you?.. Petrov, don’t you know what ‘transparent’ means?”
“I do.”
“And I hope I don’t need to explain what a ‘red line’ is either?”
“No, you don’t.”
“Well, there you go. Draw us the red lines in a transparent color.”
Petrov freezes for a second, thinking the situation over.
“And how should the result look, could you please describe it? How do you picture it?”
“We-ell, Petrov!” says Sidoryakhin. “Come on, let’s not… What is this, kindergarten? Who’s the specialist on red lines here, Morkovyeva or you?”
“I’m just trying to clarify the details of the task for myself…”
“Well, what’s there not to understand?..” Nedozaitsev butts into the conversation. “You do know what a red line is, right?”
“Yes, but…”
“And you’re clear on what ‘transparent’ means too?”
“Of course, but…”
“So what is there to explain? Petrov, let’s not stoop to unproductive arguments. The task is set, it’s clear and precise. If you have specific questions, then ask them.”
“You’re a professional,” adds Sidoryakhin.
“Fine,” Petrov gives in. “Forget the color. But you also had something about perpendicularity?..”
“Yes,” Morkovyeva confirms readily. “Seven lines, all strictly perpendicular.”
“Perpendicular to what?” Petrov clarifies.
Morkovyeva starts looking through her papers.
“Uh,” she says finally. “Well, like… To everything. To each other. Or, well, however it goes… I don’t know. I thought you knew what kinds of perpendicular lines there are,” she finally finds her words.
“Of course he knows,” Sidoryakhin waves his hands. “Are we professionals here, or aren’t we?..”
“Two lines can be perpendicular,” Petrov explains patiently. “All seven cannot be perpendicular to each other at the same time. That’s geometry, 6th grade.”
Morkovyeva shakes her head, shooing away the looming ghost of long-forgotten school education. Nedozaitsev slaps his palm on the table:
“Petrov, let’s do without this ‘6th grade, 6th grade’ stuff. Let’s be mutually polite. Let’s not make insinuations and stoop to insults. Let’s maintain a constructive dialogue. We’re not a bunch of idiots here.”
“I agree,” says Sidoryakhin.
Petrov pulls a sheet of paper towards him.
“Alright,” he says. “Let me draw it for you. Here’s a line. Right?”
Morkovyeva nods affirmatively.
“Drawing another one…” says Petrov. “Is it perpendicular to the first?”
“We-ell…”
“Yes, it is perpendicular.”
“Well, there you go!” Morkovyeva exclaims joyfully.
“Wait, that’s not all. Now let’s draw a third one… Is it perpendicular to the first line?..”
Thoughtful silence. Not getting an answer, Petrov answers himself:
“Yes, it is perpendicular to the first line. But it doesn’t intersect the second line. It’s parallel to the second line.”
Silence falls. Then Morkovyeva gets up from her seat, walks around the table, comes up behind Petrov, and peers over his shoulder.
“Well…” she says uncertainly. “I suppose so.”
“That’s exactly the point,” says Petrov, trying to solidify his success. “When there are only two lines, they can be perpendicular. As soon as there are more…”
“Can I have a pen?” asks Morkovyeva.
Petrov hands over the pen. Morkovyeva carefully draws a few uncertain lines.
“What about this?..”
Petrov sighs.
“That’s called a triangle. No, those aren’t perpendicular lines. Besides, there are three of them, not seven.”
Morkovyeva purses her lips.
“And why are they blue?” suddenly asks Nedozaitsov.
“Yes, by the way,” Sidoryakhin chimes in. “I was going to ask the same thing.”
Petrov blinks several times, examining the drawing.
“My pen is blue,” he finally says. “I was just demonstrating…”
“Well, maybe that’s the issue?” Nedozaitsov interrupts impatiently, in the tone of a man who has just grasped a complex concept and is eager to share it before the thought slips away. “Your lines are blue. Draw them in red, and let’s see what happens.”
“It’ll be the same thing,” Petrov says confidently.
“Well, how can it be the same?” says Nedozaitsov. “How can you be sure if you haven’t even tried? Draw them in red, and we’ll see.”
“I don’t have a red pen with me,” Petrov admits. “But I can absolutely…”
“Why weren’t you prepared?” Sidoryakhin says reproachfully. “You knew there was going to be a meeting…”
“I can tell you with absolute certainty,” Petrov says in despair, “that in red it will turn out exactly the same.”
“You yourself told us last time,” Sidoryakhin retorts, “that red lines should be drawn in red. I even wrote it down. And now you’re drawing them with a blue pen. Are these supposed to be red lines?”
“Yes, exactly,” Nedozaitsov notes. “I also asked you about the blue color. What did you tell me?”
Petrov is suddenly saved by Lenochka, who is studying his drawing with interest from her seat.
“I think I understand,” she says. “You’re not talking about the color right now, are you? This is about that… how do you call it? Perpen-something-or-other?”
“The perpendicularity of the lines, yes,” Petrov responds gratefully. “It has nothing to do with the color of the lines.”
“That’s it, you’ve completely confused me,” says Nedozaitsov, shifting his gaze from one meeting participant to another. “So what’s our problem? With the color or with the perpendicularity?”
Morkovyeva makes confused sounds and shakes her head. She’s lost too.
“Both,” Petrov says quietly.
“I can’t understand anything,” says Nedozaitsov, staring at his interlocked fingers. “Here’s the task. We just need seven red lines. I understand, if there were twenty!.. But here there are only seven. A simple task. Our clients want seven perpendicular lines. Right?”
Morkovyeva nods.
“And Sidoryakhin here doesn’t see a problem either,” says Nedozaitsov. “Am I right, Sidoryakhin?.. So. What’s stopping us from completing the task?”
“Geometry,” Petrov says with a sigh.
“Well, just don’t pay any attention to it, that’s all!” says Morkovyeva.
Petrov is silent, gathering his thoughts. One vivid metaphor after another is born in his mind, metaphors that could convey the surrealism of the situation to those around him, but as luck would have it, as they take shape in words, they all invariably begin with the word “Fuck!” which is completely inappropriate in a business conversation.
Tired of waiting for an answer, Nedozaitsov says:
“Petrov, just answer me simply — can you do it or can’t you? I understand you’re a narrow specialist and don’t see the big picture. But it’s not hard — drawing some seven lines? We’ve been discussing some nonsense for two hours now, and we just can’t come to a decision.”
“Yes,” says Sidoryakhin. “You just criticize and say: ‘Impossible! Impossible!’ You propose a solution to the problem for us! Because anyone can criticize, excuse the expression. You’re a professional!”
Petrov utters wearily:
“Fine. Let me draw you two guaranteed perpendicular red lines, and the rest in transparent color. They’ll be transparent and won’t be visible, but I’ll draw them. Will that work for you?”
“Will that work for us?” Morkovyeva turns to Lenochka. “Yes, that works for us.”
“Just at least a couple more in green,” adds Lenochka. “And I also have a question, if I may?”
“Yes,” Petrov allows in a dead voice.
“Can one line be depicted as a kitten?”
Petrov is silent for a few seconds, then asks again:
“What?”
“Well, as a kitten. A little kitty. Our users like animals. It would be really great…”
“No,” says Petrov.
“And why?”
“No, of course I can draw you a cat. I’m not an artist, but I can try. Only that won’t be a line anymore. That will be a cat. A line and a cat are different things.”
“A kitten,” clarifies Morkovyeva. “Not a cat, but a kitten, a small, cute one. Cats, they…”
“It’s all the same,” Petrov shakes his head.
“Not at all, huh?..” Lenochka asks disappointedly.
“Petrov, you should have at least listened to the end,” Nedozaytsev says irritably. “You didn’t listen, and you’re already saying ‘No.'”
“I understood the idea,” says Petrov, not lifting his gaze from the table. “Drawing a line as a kitten is impossible.”
“Well, don’t then,” Lenochka allows. “And a little bird — that wouldn’t work either?”
Petrov silently lifts his gaze to her, and Lenochka understands everything.
“Well, don’t then,” she repeats again.
Nedozaytsev slaps his palm on the table.
“So where did we stop? What are we doing?”
“Seven red lines,” says Morkovyeva. “Two in red, and two in green, and the rest in transparent. Right? Did I understand correctly?”
“Yes,” Sidoryakhin confirms before Petrov can open his mouth.
Nedozaytsev nods with satisfaction.
“Excellent then… Well, that’s it, colleagues?.. Shall we wrap up?.. Any more questions?..”
“Oh,” Lenochka remembers. “We also have a red balloon! Tell me, can you inflate it?”
“Yes, by the way,” says Morkovyeva. “Let’s discuss that right away too, so we don’t have to meet twice.”
“Petrov,” Nedozaytsev turns to Petrov. “Can we do this?”
“And what does the balloon have to do with me?” Petrov asks in surprise.
“It’s red,” Lenochka explains.
Petrov is blankly silent, his fingertips twitching.
“Petrov,” Nedozaytsev asks nervously. “So can you do it or can’t you? It’s a simple question.”
“Well,” Petrov says cautiously, “in principle, of course I can, but…”
“Good,” Nedozaytsev nods. “Go over to them, inflate it. We’ll issue travel expenses if needed.”
“Can it be tomorrow?” asks Morkovyeva.
“Of course,” replies Nedozaytsev. “I don’t think there’ll be any problems… Well, is that everything now?.. Excellent. We worked productively… Thank you all and goodbye!”
Petrov blinks several times to return to objective reality, then gets up and slowly shuffles toward the exit. Right at the exit, Lenochka catches up with him.
“Can I ask you for one more thing?” Lenochka says, blushing. “When you inflate the balloon… Can you inflate it in the shape of a kitten?..”
Petrov sighs.
“I can do anything,” he says. “I can do absolutely everything. I’m a professional.”
via Elephant on a Wheel