<\/p>\n\n\n\n
One of my pet peeves is when customers use the word mechanism<\/em>. I\u2019ve only ever heard it over the phone and in the following context:<\/p>\n\n\n\n Me: What\u2019s wrong with your lock?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Customer: There\u2019s a problem with the mechanism<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Not only is this word only ever used with me in this way, but it\u2019s also only ever used by male customers. And it\u2019s only ever spoken with an unironic air of confidence and expertise. In case you\u2019re not aware, the word mechanism<\/em>, in this context, is a highfalutin synonym of whatchamajigger<\/em>. It\u2019s completely meaningless and it does not convey a single iota of knowledge or understanding about locks and how they work.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It occurred to me recently that I hadn\u2019t heard the word in a long time. I started wondering why that was. Did this have something to do with shifting trends in the lexicography of male overconfidence? I pondered this for a while. It wasn\u2019t until after a phone call with a customer that I realized what it was. Instead of asking:<\/p>\n\n\n\n What\u2019s wrong with your lock?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I instead asked:<\/p>\n\n\n\n What\u2019s your lock doing?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I don\u2019t remember if it was a conscious decision to stop asking the first question and start asking the second, but the subtle change has benefitted me and my customers. The first question was an unreasonable one, which demanded too much of the customer. It asked for diagnosis. It\u2019s my job to provide that, not the customer\u2019s. The other question asks for symptoms. That doesn\u2019t require any kind reasoning or hypothesizing about why the lock is malfunctioning. Indeed, the question discourages the kind of unsupported diagnostic description that might set me down the wrong path in my effort to visualize the problem.<\/p>\n\n\n\n