Recently, I was in line at my law school’s sandwich bar, waiting my turn to get my lunchtime usual turkey, lettuce, tomato, spicy mustard, and mayo sandwich, when I spotted a rarity – a beautiful half avocado was just sitting there beside the deli meats. It still had the pit in it, so I could tell it was chaste. I knew that fate had brought me to that line at that very moment when the avocado was still available, and that a higher power dictated that I eat that half avocado. Waiting behind 3 other people, I prayed that none of them would touch the rare green substance, and I day-dreamed about noming the hell out of it. Finally, it was my turn to order, and no one had taken the avocado, so I said to Ray, the sandwich maker, “I’ll have my usual, with avocado.” He looked at me. He seemed confused. I pointed to the avocado. He said “Oh. Psshh”
About to get offended that he was insulting my California-ness, I realized that something more important was afoot. Ray’s glance indicated to me that he had no previous experience with avocado in sandwiches. “Shit” I thought to myself.
As anyone who’s ever seen me make a sandwich can attest, I’m pretty particular in the way in which I compile the meat-veggie combos, the garnish ratios I use, the bread with which I encase. I am that particular because I have a lot of experience with sandwiches, and I know the way they work. I have experienced many sandwich makers try and fail with avocado. It’s a tricky delicacy, and, when applied incorrectly, like in a sliced or cubed fashion, can lead to a suboptimal sandwich experience – the slimy consistency encourages the meat and veggie portions or the avocado itself to slide out the back and sides of the sandwich. You might think that the same truth applies to any other garnish, and while that’s true, avocado improperly applied especially encourages these problems.
There are ways in which to minimize the effects, specifically by mashing or cutting into miniscule pieces before application directly to the bread, but inexperienced deli artists don’t know these secrets. Ray, was one of these inexperienced artists, which was a problem because Ray makes my sandwiches everyday, and I couldn’t correct the way he was putting this sandwich together because, if there’s one motto I follow closely it’s “don’t eff with the people in charge of your food.” So, I was forced to deal with the complexity of sliced avocados in my sandwich. Everything was coming out the sides of the typically optimal ciabatta roll. I was an unhappy customer, upset because, after the joy I experienced imagining the delectability, my worst related nightmare became a reality.
So, here’s how this is a metaphor for projects and the related lesson I learned. If you don’t know what you’re doing, don’t pretend, don’t say “Psshh.” Ask your customers/end-users questions because, chances are, if they’re asking for certain utilities, they know a thing or two about how they should optimally work. So, while you might have the resource, to make everyone happy, seek out input. Most importantly, don’t worry about looking like an idiot by asking questions because, if you don’t ask questions, chances are you’ll look like a bigger idiot than you would had you asked. Be secure enough in your own abilities to know that the right advice can only help you, that no one knows everything, that the entire world is mostly opinion, but that opinion predicated upon experience is the best that there can be and that it should be sought out rather than insecurely ignored.
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