These are the kinds of problems we have at work.
* We have a co-worker who doesn't know our name. He thinks our name is Jeff, which is incorrect. It's not like we work with this person on a daily basis. His cubicle is a few doors down from ours. It's more like a work acquaintance. We could see him every day or a week or more could go by before we see him next. The problem is that we've let the mistake go on for so long that it now seems impossible to correct. The first time he called us "Jeff," we shrugged it off. He must have gotten confused and misspoke, right? He was preoccupied that day. But no. A few weeks later it happened again. We again said nothing. If it's just a "Hey, Jeff" as he's briskly walking past, it seems odd to stop him in his tracks to explain his mistake. By the time our brain registers that he did it again, he's already getting on the elevator or closing the bathroom stall door. Weeks will go by where he doesn't call us any name at all. So that lulls us into thinking he's been set straight somehow. But then he'll drop the "Jeff" again. Now, all these many months later, how could we possibly correct him without seeming incredibly weird to have let it go on so long? Wouldn't any normal, sane person have corrected him immediately and nipped this strange problem in the bud?
* When does a man use an umbrella? This is something they don't teach you in school. It's a tricky line to walk. If you extend an umbrella in drizzly, misting precipitation, you look like a precocious dandy. You just don't look cool. Real men don't care if they're spritzed by a little dampness: "Why is that guy using his umbrella?" But where's the cutoff? At what point does the rain get real enough and heavy enough to force an umbrella extension? We need some kind of umbrella-to-rain differential equation. Because if you're walking around in the pouring gale-force rain carrying an umbrella in your hand, well then you just look ridiculous: "Why isn't that guy using his umbrella?"
* What are the protocols for greeting a coworker in a long hallway where both of you are approaching from more than 20 feet? Do you shout "hello" and wave as soon as you see them? Or do you wait until you're closer for a cool-cat head nod or friendly smile? And if you do wait, what do you do with yourself? He sees you, you see him. Then what? Do you keep staring at the other person like a mental patient waiting for him to come in range, do you refer to the blank pages you're carrying as if you must commit them to memory, do you try and look elsewhere to kill time until the other person gets closer? Our workplace is full of these sorts of long encounter traps. We hate it.
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