Our condo, which shall henceforth be known as “the vessel,” is in complete disarray. It has occurred to me that I need to train David, who shall henceforth be known as “the crew,” in a strategic manner.
This thought first occurred to me, as most great thoughts do, while I was sitting on the latrine. I looked around, and I counted four empty toilet paper rolls. The crew’s clothes were scattered about, and the sink was so dirty that washing my hands became an exercise in dexterity, making sure the only part of the sink my body touched was the faucet. Furious, I began to clean the sink. “CREW!” I yelled out, in vain while scrubbing the sink. The crew, sensing disappointment from leadership, perhaps knew to feign deafness.
Upon completing a cursory sink cleaning, I walked over to the cafeteria, which land-folk refer to as “the kitchen.” Dirty dishes were everywhere, some with food stuck to the plates and silverware. “CREW!” I yelled out again. This time I added context, “What did I tell you about the dishes?! What the heck!?” Overwhelmed with the complexity of the question, the crew responded, “Um…”
“I’m so mad at you,” I stated.
“I’m sorry,” the crew responded, sincerely.
I sighed. Perhaps it is my fault. From this day forth, strategic training begins.
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