Four Favorite Words of Self-Appointed Moralists Everywhere

“I told you so.”

Could it be that our level of human maturity is shown not in our ability to say “I told you so,” but rather in our power to restrain ourselves from saying it? Treating adults like they need a sermonizing morality lesson whenever they make mistakes, misjudgments, or errors of any sort shows a basic lack of respect for the human dignity of others. Among other things, it reveals some unfortunate assumptions which the Tolders (my personal term for those fond of firmly intoning “I Told You So” at every opportunity) are making not only about the native intelligence of the mistake-makers, but also about their own entitled right to correct everyone else who exists in their universe, whether or not the other adult’s mistakes directly impact them.

There was a method of training dogs (popularized for a time) that involved “rubbing the dog’s nose in it” whenever they had a bathroom accident indoors. It was theorized that this helped the animal to not want to ever do that again (no kidding!). Well, over the last couple weeks I have been exposed to several versions of the adult human equivalent of this. You know, where folks feel the need to make certain that other adults clearly understand the error of their ways, especially as those ways might compare to the clearly morally superior ways of the Tolder. As a trained educator, I find the whole process of “tolding” to be somewhat laughable if the intent is truly to see a long-term change in behavior as opposed to just allowing the Tolder to feel a strong sense of moral superiority, and a particular incident just occurred that serves to illustrate my point.

On a recent Sunday morning, I brought my (unprotected) paper cup of coffee into the choir loft with me. Yup…I know I’m not supposed to do that, and nope, I didn’t intend to do it, actually. Here’s what happened: after the recent and unfortunate series of events that occurred in my life regarding (lack of) coffee on a recent Sunday morning (chronicled in this prior post), I determined it would be best if that were not to Ever. Occur. Again.  But since I’d dropped by Starbucks for my coffee on this particular morning, as opposed to making it myself and bringing it in a spillproof cup from home, it was in a (non-spillproof) paper cup. (And yes, you can already see the truly unfortunate direction in which this chain of events is going to lead.) Since I was early, I thought I would go sit in the choir loft (virtually by myself), gulp my beverage, and be done with it…no harm, no foul. This, of course, was Mistake Number One. No defense here except to say that the coffee had hardly been touched yet, and those who know me well know that my rationality is not to be trusted until after I’ve had my Cup of Personality (and thanks, Todd, for the apropos term!).

While I’m sitting there gulping my beverage and about 3 other choir-robed figures are sitting indeterminately around me (don’t know who they were and didn’t yet care, as the coffee hadn’t yet hit the bloodstream), many choristers suddenly arrived at once. This necessitated putting down my coffee (Mistake Number Two! Mistake Number Two!) in order to move my things to make room for them. I had not yet managed to down even 1/4 of the nectar of the gods yet, and…suddenly it’s time to start rehearsing. And I forgot that the Coffee. Was. There. On. The. Floor. (Behind my entirely concealing, too-large, and to-be-blamed black choir folder was the coffee in its non-spillproof paper cup.) Mistake number three, mistake number three, mistake number three…

Of course, during the opening hymn is when it all went down, and if you read my blog even semi-regularly, you know by this point that opening hymns and I have lately not been getting on at all.  As the choir angelically led the congregation in a fine hymn fraught with hundreds of years’ meaning for the devoted faithful everywhere (the title of which I cannot recall because of the horror of what immediately occurred next), I looked down and saw rivers of brown cascading down and around the dress-sandaled feet of the second sopranos. In only a few moments the sopranos looked down in puzzlement and…you guessed it, the next few moments were r-e-a-l-l-y not pretty. Appearing to mouth the words of the aforementioned blessed hymn of the faithful, I leaned forward into the seconds, still smiling through my teeth, and hissed at them that immediately following the hymn I’d clean it up…don’t worry about taking care of it now.

Now as someone who grew up in a stage family (by the most conservative estimates I’ve spent more than 2000 hours on stage and counting), I have learned that it’s never the truth of what’s occurring on stage that matters…it is how we make things appear that matters. But most of the (spilled-upon) seconds have not yet had the opportunity to sing on stage as 1) their youngest brother poops into his diaper while standing in front of them (complete with grunts and accompanying facial expressions) while they attempt to sing like nothing unusual is happening; 2) a very apologetic man spills an entire bottle of Orange Crush on your dress moments before you hit the stage, causing you to spend quite a few moments throughout that concert smiling away as you constantly and discreetly shift your now very sticky red electric bass into yet another uncomfortable position as it insists upon sticking to the skin of your stomach via your entirely-soaked red print dress; 3) for some reason the electrical system that handles all your instruments and microphones hasn’t been properly grounded in this particular venue, and so every time you hit a bass guitar string (about every second), you experience a mild electric shock; 4) on and on ad nauseum.

Therefore, perhaps partially due to this (comparative) lack of far more disastrous stage experiences, the unfortunate seconds hissed, turned, stared, mumbled at each other, and moved sideways while attempting to avoid the brown rivers of (non)blessing. And you guessed it…as their choir-robed backsides turned to face the audience and their unhappy front sides turned to face me while the opening hymn soared on, I realized that “make all things appear normal, even the frantically abnormal” had not yet been a part of their stage-training experience. And as I frantically wondered whether this might not be one of my last moments on earth (judging by the indescribable looks in their eyes…note to the wise: do not arouse the ire of second sopranos! ever!). I also tried to fathom what in heaven’s name could have caused me to forget that I had that paper cup of coffee down there even as I desperately plotted a clean-up course of action that could be executed in record time.

As Mark Twain said of Tom Sawyer at an earth-shatteringly embarrassing Sunday-school recitation moment, let us now cover the events that followed with the curtain of charity, returning a discreet several moments later.

Now some minutes afterwards, while executing my efficient and mostly unnoticed clean-up plan (missed by the congregation and even by a number of choristers, which made me pitifully grateful for at least the small, er, very small positives in life), a chorister became aware that I’d spilled coffee. Scowling at me, she immediately informed me that “coffee isn’t allowed in here, you know!” No kidding…and I’m living proof of why right now. The thing is, though, continuing to sermonize about this topic in the middle of the service while I am 1) on my knees 2) surreptitiously crawling back and forth on the cement floor between the row of second and first sopranos 3) trying to hold my own voluminous 2 pieces of polyester choir robe above the brown-rivered, sticky flowingness while 4) attempting to discreetly mop up 3/4 of a cup of coffee and simultaneously trying to avoid detection while in plain view of the entire congregation isn’t helping the situation one bit. It will not prevent a future occurrence. It does not assist others who could desperately use your help right now in rectifying the situation. Sorting out whose “fault” it might be really doesn’t matter at this moment…you can take care of that later if your Tolder personality insists upon it. For now, pitch in and help first and judge later! This could be a very helpful life motto, if you think about it long enough.

Honestly, the usefulness of this statement (“You’re not supposed to bring coffee in here, you know”) in that exact moment is somewhat on par with telling the captain of the Titanic: “The Titanic is not supposed to sink, you know!” after it’s already hit the iceberg and is on its way down. Announcing what was originally supposed to happen, or what rule was supposed to be applied prior to the error in judgment, is not only worse than useless at that moment, it can actually lead to even greater complications and problems by tying up the necessary energy to quickly, efficiently, and discreetly contain the damage of the aforementioned mistake. In that situation, all the Tolder is really doing is enjoying a moment of pleasurable self-massage on the body of their (self-perceived) superior morality. It hasn’t 1) cleaned up the spilled coffee; 2) helped to insure it won’t occur again; 3) caused the perpetrator to redo their actions (the perpetrator can’t change their prior actions, because what’s been done is already done, period. What is it they say? “Don’t cry over spilled coffee.” I rest my point.)

So what have I learned from this situation? Well, besides the obvious thing, which is: don’t bring unprotected paper cups of coffee into the choir loft. The funny thing is that’s a lesson I immediately and intuitively relearned without the need of any Tolders to stand around and “help” me absorb the lesson more fully, more exhaustively, more completely, and more thoroughly while I mopped the floor on my knees. Perhaps the less obvious thought I came away with through this experience is that I really don’t want to be a Tolder. Ever. I don’t want to be one of those people who is standing around moralizing while the floor is covered with messes that need to be contained and people who are doing everything they can to contain them desperately swab around my black dress-sandaled feet, attempting to nod their heads at the appropriate moment(s) in my lecture as I stand there holding court about their profound lack of wisdom, unthinkable disobedience, unheard-of thoughtlessness, and dire immorality in their choice of previous action.

If you should happen to come looking for me in a future situation such as the above, but where someone else has done the spilling, you’ll find me as the extra person on the floor…helping them to mop up.