Normally, our words are intended to be received and
understood by others. If I say “Hello,” “Where is the warthog?” or “You’re
standing on my foot,” I am directing those words at you and have a reasonable
expectation that you will understand them. Exceptions: If I’m writing in my journal
or making a shopping list, the words aren’t intended for others. Same if I’m
singing in the shower or talking to a 3-month-old baby who doesn’t yet
understand words in any language.
But what bugs me is the person whose job it is to
communicate clearly yet doesn’t. Think of those airline gate agents who
announce that “We are now ready to begin boarding flight 646 to Greater
Oblivion. At this time we’d like….” But instead, it comes out as “Wearenowreadytobeginboardingflight 646to
GreaterOblivion.…” And at this time I’m completely lost. Admittedly, my ears
aren’t what they used to be. [Somewhere, a heckler yells, “No, they used to be
your nose…”] But this deluge of sounds, delivered by a champion speed-speaker,
is lost on me. The gate agent thinks his or her duty is done; the message has
been delivered. For all the good it’s done me, this person might as well have said
nothing. Instead, I’m frustrated at having missed what could be important information.
The agent’s made a fundamental mistake: The task is not to speak, but to
ensure that the words were received.
Peter
Ustinov said, “Communication is the art of being understood.” If the speaker won’t
attend to the “being understood” bit, maybe the novelist Nikos Kazantzakis has
the answer. His character, Zorba the Greek, says, “I’ve got a thick skull,
boss, I don’t grasp these things easily.
Ah, if only you could dance all that you have just said, then I’d
understand . . . . ”
[300 words]
