As we proceed through life, minor aggravations are the number one cause of angry outbursts and sleepless nights. Incompetence, bureaucracy, and my favorite recent word, idiocracy, frustrate all of us to no end.
Business, like life, is a process. And like life, business is filled with a seemingly endless scheme of rules and regulations that are ill-considered, antiquated, or downright stupid. These eventually swell to a tsunami of rage that generally leaves an ocean of regret.
As a manager of people and business processes for way too many years, I was obsessed with the small stuff. My goal? Eliminate all the processes (rules and regs) that customers find aggravating, even a little bit, so they and my co-workers could focus on the essential stuff.
“Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff… and It’s All Small Stuff” is a self-help book written in the 1990s by Richard Carlson, Ph.D. The title became a widely known and often-quoted piece of advice for stress management and maintaining perspective. But it’s also responsible for perpetuating unnecessary and redundant aggravations that plague us 25 years later. If more people in leadership positions took the initiative to remove these irritants from our daily lives, we could all enjoy a better, if not saner, existence.
One day near the end of last month, I received a form letter from, let’s say, “my” clinic stating that I would soon be due for my annual physical and should call or go online to make an appointment. The letter urged me to visit the website or call the clinic to schedule my nearly free Medicare annual visit.
Truthfully, I wouldn’t have an annual physical. But because a doctor needs to write three new pre-scriptions each year for the drugs that keep cholesterol and blood pressure in a reasonable range and the durable medical equipment that allows me to function like a normal human, I go.
As a website-savvy patient, I chose to log in and book an appointment. Less-than-clear automated telephone trees, unreasonable hold times, and voicemail are some aggravations that get under my skin. The website presented a two-week calendar from which I could choose. I picked a day and time and hit send.
A few days later, I received a phone call from “my” clinic informing me that the date I chose was unavailable because, under my insurance, Medicare, it hadn’t been a year since my last one, in August 2024. So why aggravate me with a letter about it in May?
Have you been on a visit to a clinic or hospital where you filled out a multipage form asking about all your health issues and history? A minor aggravation worsens when the first professional you see asks you all the same questions. When you become an old man referred for more specialized care, the redundancy of filling out the same form for each clinic puts bellows below the coals of rage smoldering inside.
Another example of the stupidity of small stuff from over 30 years ago. The Bohunk and I were buying a second home in Lutsen. Interest rates were favorable, so we chose to refinance the mortgage on our cidiot house simultaneously. Our financial advisor arranged an appointment for us to apply for two mortgages at his favorite bank. We were ushered into a small conference room with two young banker types, peach fuzz on each chin, dressed in new suits, ready to impress the boss with how well they treated us. They presented two separate application packets that they wanted completed. Having some experience with these things, I noted they also had our complete credit report on the table, which contained all the information they wanted us to transcribe on the applications.
As a hater of redundancy, I explained to these aspiring young bankers that they could take the information from the credit report and put it into the applications. I wasn’t participating in this charade. Although taken aback, they quickly got to work on the two application forms.
All the rage that builds over the redundancy and time wasted with unnecessary BS has a predictable, negative outcome.
In the 1993 Michael Douglas movie “Falling Down,” the scene I remember best is when his character shoots up a fast-food restaurant called “Whammy Burger.” Having built up a healthy rage that morning, he tries to order breakfast but is told they’ve switched to the lunch menu. He then orders a burger, becoming infuriated when the burger he gets looks nothing like the plump, juicy one advertised on the menu board.
When faced with the redundant and unnecessary BS of engaging in life, we are often power-less. When you can chop the redundant, the embers of rage stay cooler.
