If you’re the smartest person in the room, you’re in the wrong room: Difference between revisions
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{{a|maxim|[[File:wrongroom.png|450px|center|thumb|It’s not you. It’s me.]]}}We are indebted to Confucius, or Jack Welch, or Marissa Mayer | {{a|maxim|[[File:wrongroom.png|450px|center|thumb|It’s not you. It’s me.]]}} | ||
We are indebted to Confucius, or Jack Welch, or Marissa Mayer, to one of whom — the smartest? — we can attribute this golden nugget of wisdom: | |||
{{shitmaxim|If you’re the smartest person in the room, you’re in the wrong room}}. | {{shitmaxim|If you’re the smartest person in the room, you’re in the wrong room}}. | ||
At first blush it seems rather appealing | At first blush it seems rather appealing: we should constantly strive: never satisfied with our own size, being relative, as it is, to the pond in which we swim. | ||
Only when you reflect on the downward spiral this aphorism incites does its counsel of oblivion become plain. For if “[[Mayer’s Law]]” reveals true facts about the world — as it may, for that would explain a few things — they are chastening ones for a few constituencies: | |||
''' | '''Clever people''': It is bad news for brain-boxes, who must now continually absent themselves from rooms they probably quite enjoy being in. But braininess, here as elsewhere, is relative: you needn’t be ''that'' much of a brainbox to have to [[get your coat]]. For it follows that ''at least one person in every room in the world is in the wrong place''. Now, since a good portion of the world’s rooms only have one occupant, this is a manifesto for perpetual disruption. | ||
'''Stupid people''': It is no little better for the great, face-slapping mediocrity. | '''Stupid people''': It is no little better for we of the great, face-slapping mediocrity. Even if we are in the right room — and as likely as not, that would be a fluke if so — we must then deal with an insidious brain drain should two or three be gathered together. | ||
'''Teachers''': This news will also be disappointing for teachers, implying as it does that ''none'' of them are where they should be: they disqualify themselves from their surroundings either by being ''too'' smart — per [[Mayer’s Law]] — or not being smart ''enough'', it being a founding proposition that one has no business educating one’s intellectual superiors. | |||
'''Lavatories''': It also means lavatory cubicles, phone booths, priestholes and small apartments are just wrong, on principle.<ref>There may be an exception for those high tech self-flushing ones you find in Japan, for uncommonly dull people.</ref> | |||
From there, readers, it gets only worse. Ms. Mayer seems to urge those in wrong rooms to get out of them. But, since each of the world’s occupied has, by definition, a smartest occupant, ''no'' room on the planet has a stable equilibrium. Occupancy will dwindle, tending quickly to zero. | |||
''' | Indeed, on this topic I have just had an argument with my daughter about who should leave the kitchen. We agreed [[Antagonista Contrariana|Antagonista]] should go. But, dilemma! The minute she left ''I'' became the smartest person in the kitchen, so I had to leave too. | ||
Now I could hardly go into another unoccupied room — what would that achieve? — so, I joined her in the laundry. | |||
I | “WHAT ARE YOU DOING, DAD?" she yelled at me. “Now ''I'' have to leave the laundry.” | ||
Being the stupider one, I don’t see how I was meant to know this? Plus, I don’t think she should have gone in there by herself in the first place, but her presence at least gave ''me'' some cover. But as soon as she left I had to leave as well. | |||
Being the stupider one, I don’t see how I was meant to know this? Plus, I | |||
Just when this was getting really annoying for both of us, traipsing around the house, going in and out of all the rooms, we worked out what to do. (It was my daughter’s idea: she’s the smart one.) Finally, we can sit down. As luck would have it, it is quite a mild evening for December, though it looks like it might rain. | Just when this was getting really annoying for both of us, traipsing around the house, going in and out of all the rooms, we worked out what to do. (It was my daughter’s idea: she’s the smart one.) Finally, we can sit down. As luck would have it, it is quite a mild evening for December, though it looks like it might rain. | ||
{{Sa}} | {{Sa}} | ||
Revision as of 17:55, 16 December 2021
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We are indebted to Confucius, or Jack Welch, or Marissa Mayer, to one of whom — the smartest? — we can attribute this golden nugget of wisdom:
If you’re the smartest person in the room, you’re in the wrong room.
At first blush it seems rather appealing: we should constantly strive: never satisfied with our own size, being relative, as it is, to the pond in which we swim.
Only when you reflect on the downward spiral this aphorism incites does its counsel of oblivion become plain. For if “Mayer’s Law” reveals true facts about the world — as it may, for that would explain a few things — they are chastening ones for a few constituencies:
Clever people: It is bad news for brain-boxes, who must now continually absent themselves from rooms they probably quite enjoy being in. But braininess, here as elsewhere, is relative: you needn’t be that much of a brainbox to have to get your coat. For it follows that at least one person in every room in the world is in the wrong place. Now, since a good portion of the world’s rooms only have one occupant, this is a manifesto for perpetual disruption.
Stupid people: It is no little better for we of the great, face-slapping mediocrity. Even if we are in the right room — and as likely as not, that would be a fluke if so — we must then deal with an insidious brain drain should two or three be gathered together.
Teachers: This news will also be disappointing for teachers, implying as it does that none of them are where they should be: they disqualify themselves from their surroundings either by being too smart — per Mayer’s Law — or not being smart enough, it being a founding proposition that one has no business educating one’s intellectual superiors.
Lavatories: It also means lavatory cubicles, phone booths, priestholes and small apartments are just wrong, on principle.[1]
From there, readers, it gets only worse. Ms. Mayer seems to urge those in wrong rooms to get out of them. But, since each of the world’s occupied has, by definition, a smartest occupant, no room on the planet has a stable equilibrium. Occupancy will dwindle, tending quickly to zero.
Indeed, on this topic I have just had an argument with my daughter about who should leave the kitchen. We agreed Antagonista should go. But, dilemma! The minute she left I became the smartest person in the kitchen, so I had to leave too.
Now I could hardly go into another unoccupied room — what would that achieve? — so, I joined her in the laundry.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING, DAD?" she yelled at me. “Now I have to leave the laundry.”
Being the stupider one, I don’t see how I was meant to know this? Plus, I don’t think she should have gone in there by herself in the first place, but her presence at least gave me some cover. But as soon as she left I had to leave as well.
Just when this was getting really annoying for both of us, traipsing around the house, going in and out of all the rooms, we worked out what to do. (It was my daughter’s idea: she’s the smart one.) Finally, we can sit down. As luck would have it, it is quite a mild evening for December, though it looks like it might rain.
See also
References
- ↑ There may be an exception for those high tech self-flushing ones you find in Japan, for uncommonly dull people.