The food delivery app cowbell sounded, meaning here's an offer to accept or reject. The pickup was at the Brooklyn Pickle. I live close enough to walk there. I often have, even in driving snow. I arrived. I clicked on the "arrived" button on my phone screen. The app didn't respond. A series of prompts in effect said proceed anyway. Then the young woman behind the counter said, "We don't have an order under that name; are you sure it isn't the other Brooklyn Pickle?" Slap of the forehead. Doh moment. Sure enough, looking more closely at my phone screen, it was the sandwich shop on the other side of town.
I assumed it was the Brooklyn Pickle where I had picked up food half a dozen times. I never considered the possibility that it could be the other one.
So much for assumptions.
Good thing it wasn't in Brooklyn.
I had made a realistic and reasonable assumption, given the data available, given the weight of my personal history, my proximity, and the app's fine-tuned propensity to cherrypick close places. They know where I am!
A realistic and reasonable assumption but wrong just the same.
It didn't especially rattle me. It was my first assignment of the day, and I wasn't going to let this assumptive hiccup throw me off stride.
While en route to deliver the next order, small enough to pass up, the app informed be "$0.00 tip." WTF? Cheapskate! As I was driving, I formulated potential responses:
Lose some of the food.
Squash it.
Eat it.
No. None of that.
Try some finesse.
Tell the person: "You better check your app."
Oh yeah, why is that?
"The tip feature must be frozen."
Could I go against my grain and deliver the malfunctioning app line without rancor, with an unctuous and ingratiating smile like Eddie Haskell on "Leave It to Beaver"? Not likely. But worth a try, to make a point
I entered the customer's residential complex, a sprawling mini-campus of four buildings, all with locked sliding intercom-controlled gates.
I called the guy, politely telling him to come on out and meet me by the gate. Since he didn't give me a tip, I wasn't about to ask him to open the gates so I could then conveniently proceed to the front door at the top of the hill. Make him work a little, make him pay for his stinginess.
He sauntered down.
We exchanged cordial greetings.
Just before I was about to hand him the food, he handed me three folded bills, American currency.
We delivered mutual hearty thank yous. They sounded sincere, his and mine.
So much for assumptions, the sequel.
I was relieved I had not impetuously launched into my gift-wrapped rebuke. Plus, I felt kind of stupid, and small.
I readily say that now, in hindsight, but I know what I was capable of, on the negative and on the false-positive side. And it all rode on the train of a false assumption.
Human Assumption Encounters (HAEs) populate my day, every day. I assume:
- they got the text
- they read the text, or understood it they way I intended
- they got and listened to the voicemail
- the driver in the other vehicle saw me or saw my signal
- you heard what I said and got the meaning I was trying to deliver
- you understood my motive and tone
- what the other's silence meant
- what the facial expression signified
- what the tone of voice signified
- why someone did this or that
- why someone didn't do this or that
- why I got no reply
- why the service was slow, incomplete, or in error
- the reason for the long line or the delay
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