For those of us who still find ourselves in the step-by-step process of burger experimentation, I bid you all the luck in the world. It occurred to me today that preparing and consuming homemade meals is a near ideal backdrop for the newlywed game. For the sake of brevity, three steps suffice: (1) Preparation (2) Execution and (3) Evaluation. Early this afternoon, I found myself elbow deep in perpetration and thought while attempting to prepare the elusive backwards blue-cheese turkey burger. The process was straightforward enough:
1. Mix turkey meat with traditional spices; shape patties around blue-cheese
2. Grill; wrap with iceberg lettuce.
3. Enjoy.
Not surprisingly, something was amiss. At some point the cheese instigated a pilgrimage to anywhere but the interior of the burger. By the time it was over, there was no cheese spared. The end result was mediocre at best. Luckily, Courtney had put the finishing touches on her rendition of Slow Cooker Buffalo Chicken Soup which turned out to be as good as advertised, and worth a second tasting. Thus, our Sunday blue cheese duo was not lost in the kitchen. (Her post will follow soon).
However, as a new husband, the incident is not unlike many interactions that I've shared with Courtney over the years. By nature, I'm a planner in the most sincere meaning of the phrase. More importantly, I consider myself to be beyond proficient in my role, and, if James Bond was in a similar business, he would've happily accepted the numbers 000 after my results. Or, at least that's what helps me sleep at night. While reflecting on my role as activity / date / dinner / planner before, I never previously considered how I handled anything less than rousing success. In fact, I'm not even comfortable with the phrase failure.
Which led me to a stark realization: I'm horrible at apologies.
Around the office, the jokes always carried three words at the centerpiece of their humor: "I'm sorry, dear". I used to think, I'll rarely do anything wrong. This afternoon, standing in front of the grill, I realized that the for all the effort I spend preparing and executing, I probably spend an awfully small amount on evaluating. Thus, I'm sure on some level, I'm the classic chest-beating guy who does nothing wrong because of all the things I did right. When, in reality, our marriage is better served by a review of all the things I could've done better prefaced with the age-old humility line: I'm sorry.
So, as I stood there over the grill watching the cheese purge itself from the chains of turkey meat and flax seed I did what I should have been doing long before we said our vows. I apologized, laughed about the outcome, explained what I would do different, and offered to make something else. Luckily, like every great woman on earth, she was eternally kind and patient in her reception.
To further my point, I would like to highlight Joe Queenan's article from the Wall Street Journal entitled "Who's Sorry Now? Everyone, Apparently" discussing Apple's Tim Cook and his recent apology to China. While the entire article is memorable, humorous, and not supportive of anything like a traditional apology the following pokes a bit of fun at the ongoing struggles of the U.S. Postal Service:
Particularly gratifying would be if the U.S. Postal Service posted a similarly worded mea culpa on its website.
"We are aware that a lack of communications…led to the perception that some of our desk clerks are inconsiderate, condescending, unhelpful, incompetent and just plain nasty," the apology might run. "We express our sincere apologies for the perception that we hate it when you losers walk into the building with your big, stupid, poorly wrapped boxes, or when you don't even know the ZIP Code for Richmond, Maine, or when you show up at 5 on Christmas Eve expecting us to still have Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer stamps in stock. We're sorry if we have created the impression that we despise you and wish you were all dead. We will try to do better in the future."
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