A fable

Once upon a time, there was a cafeteria. Now, this cafeteria had been in existence for decades, and for a long time it was the habit of the people who worked there to actually put bugs in the food. Sometimes they said it was because the customers deserved to eat bugs. Sometimes they said that it was good for the customers to eat bugs--extra protein, extra crunch, and hey how was it any different from lobster? They only wished they could have so many bugs for lunch! Because, of course, when they made their own lunches bugs were conspicuously absent. And some workers didn't really ever wonder why, it was just how they'd always done things.

After a lot of noisy and sometimes violent protest, the cafeteria workers stopped deliberately putting bugs in the food. Some resented this and felt they ought to still be able to, but many had realized that, in fact, finding half a roach in your chicken caesar salad wasn't actually much like a lobster dinner. Many had come to the realization that putting bugs in people's food was really a pretty nasty thing to do.

So that was good. But because for a long time nobody had really cared if bugs accidentally got into food (because they were already putting them there on purpose) the workflow in the kitchen included lots of points where bugs could crawl into that day's turkey sandwich. And the kitchen was, in fact, densely populated with bugs. Because until recently, it hadn't bothered anyone, it had just made it extra handy when you wanted to pop a couple more into the soup.

The cafeteria workers were very focused on avoiding the deliberate act of planting bugs in the lunch. And that was good. It improved the cafeteria a lot. But there were still a lot of bugs in the food. So the customers went to the manager and complained.

This angered the manager a great deal. Were the customers saying she was the sort of person who would put bugs in people's food? She most certainly was not! She had never put a bug in anyone's food. And neither had any of her staff. How dare the customers complain? Surely being accused of bug-planting was just as bad as--perhaps worse than!--eating a few roaches. She certainly felt it was. (Of course, she had never put a forkfull of mashed potatoes in her mouth only to discover they were suspiciously, horrifyingly crunchy, so she really had no basis for comparison.)

The customers explained that actually, they didn't think any of the staff was deliberately planting bugs. Still, no efforts had been made to keep bugs out of the food. All they really wanted was for the manager to call in an exterminator and then make sure the staff got some basic food safety and sanitation instruction.

But this was out of the question. To do that would be to accuse her staff of planting bugs in people's food, which was obviously a seriously bad thing or the protests that had instigated recent reforms wouldn't have been so loud and violent.

No, the problem wasn't that there were still bugs in the food. The problem was, the customers bringing up the problem. Their complaints were causing the problem. If they would just be quiet and eat, like nice customers, everything would be fine. If there were still problems, customers ought to fill out a special form--seventeen pages long, with lots of detailed questions, ten pages of which were to contain an essay on why it might not be pleasant to find bugs in your food. Because the manager needed to really understand that part of the situation before she could take any action. Bad penmanship, of course, would cause a form to be rejected. Any hint of an actual complaint would cause the form to be rejected. But this form was, the manager insisted, the only viable way to address any problems the customers may have imagined they had with the food. Which couldn't possibly have any bugs in it.

To this day, the manager insists that there are no real problems with the food. Customers who complain are oversensitive, or have a chip on their shoulder, or just hate cafeteria workers. Customers who try to complain with the approved form are brandished as proof there are no actual problems. The food has fewer bugs in it than a couple of decades ago. Which, that's great, but you know, one roach on your pizza is too many.

All it would take to fix things would be some basic sanitation measures. It's almost--almost!--as though the manager and her staff had some kind of investment in not acknowledging the bugs in the kitchen. Maybe that's not fair. Maybe she, and the other workers, can't actually see how bug-filled the kitchen is, because it's been like that for decades and it seems perfectly normal.

Maybe one day the manager and her staff will finally see that the kitchen is crawling with bugs. On that day, the manager will likely cry out, "Why are you making me feel so guilty for being the kitchen manager? I didn't build this kitchen! What do you expect me to do about it?" And she'll sit down and weep bitter tears at being bullied by those mean customers for something that just isn't her fault.

But I won't feel very sorry for her.

A fable

Once upon a time, there was a cafeteria. Now, this cafeteria had been in existence for decades, and for a long time it was the habit of the people who worked there to actually put bugs in the food. Sometimes they said it was because the customers deserved to eat bugs. Sometimes they said that it was good for the customers to eat bugs--extra protein, extra crunch, and hey how was it any different from lobster? They only wished they could have so many bugs for lunch! Because, of course, when they made their own lunches bugs were conspicuously absent. And some workers didn't really ever wonder why, it was just how they'd always done things.

After a lot of noisy and sometimes violent protest, the cafeteria workers stopped deliberately putting bugs in the food. Some resented this and felt they ought to still be able to, but many had realized that, in fact, finding half a roach in your chicken caesar salad wasn't actually much like a lobster dinner. Many had come to the realization that putting bugs in people's food was really a pretty nasty thing to do.

So that was good. But because for a long time nobody had really cared if bugs accidentally got into food (because they were already putting them there on purpose) the workflow in the kitchen included lots of points where bugs could crawl into that day's turkey sandwich. And the kitchen was, in fact, densely populated with bugs. Because until recently, it hadn't bothered anyone, it had just made it extra handy when you wanted to pop a couple more into the soup.

The cafeteria workers were very focused on avoiding the deliberate act of planting bugs in the lunch. And that was good. It improved the cafeteria a lot. But there were still a lot of bugs in the food. So the customers went to the manager and complained.

This angered the manager a great deal. Were the customers saying she was the sort of person who would put bugs in people's food? She most certainly was not! She had never put a bug in anyone's food. And neither had any of her staff. How dare the customers complain? Surely being accused of bug-planting was just as bad as--perhaps worse than!--eating a few roaches. She certainly felt it was. (Of course, she had never put a forkfull of mashed potatoes in her mouth only to discover they were suspiciously, horrifyingly crunchy, so she really had no basis for comparison.)

The customers explained that actually, they didn't think any of the staff was deliberately planting bugs. Still, no efforts had been made to keep bugs out of the food. All they really wanted was for the manager to call in an exterminator and then make sure the staff got some basic food safety and sanitation instruction.

But this was out of the question. To do that would be to accuse her staff of planting bugs in people's food, which was obviously a seriously bad thing or the protests that had instigated recent reforms wouldn't have been so loud and violent.

No, the problem wasn't that there were still bugs in the food. The problem was, the customers bringing up the problem. Their complaints were causing the problem. If they would just be quiet and eat, like nice customers, everything would be fine. If there were still problems, customers ought to fill out a special form--seventeen pages long, with lots of detailed questions, ten pages of which were to contain an essay on why it might not be pleasant to find bugs in your food. Because the manager needed to really understand that part of the situation before she could take any action. Bad penmanship, of course, would cause a form to be rejected. Any hint of an actual complaint would cause the form to be rejected. But this form was, the manager insisted, the only viable way to address any problems the customers may have imagined they had with the food. Which couldn't possibly have any bugs in it.

To this day, the manager insists that there are no real problems with the food. Customers who complain are oversensitive, or have a chip on their shoulder, or just hate cafeteria workers. Customers who try to complain with the approved form are brandished as proof there are no actual problems. The food has fewer bugs in it than a couple of decades ago. Which, that's great, but you know, one roach on your pizza is too many.

All it would take to fix things would be some basic sanitation measures. It's almost--almost!--as though the manager and her staff had some kind of investment in not acknowledging the bugs in the kitchen. Maybe that's not fair. Maybe she, and the other workers, can't actually see how bug-filled the kitchen is, because it's been like that for decades and it seems perfectly normal.

Maybe one day the manager and her staff will finally see that the kitchen is crawling with bugs. On that day, the manager will likely cry out, "Why are you making me feel so guilty for being the kitchen manager? I didn't build this kitchen! What do you expect me to do about it?" And she'll sit down and weep bitter tears at being bullied by those mean customers for something that just isn't her fault.

But I won't feel very sorry for her.