Exhibit A: The Soft-Serve Incident
My two sons had locked onto one singular mission: soft-serve ice cream for lunch. Not food. Not shade. Just sugar in a cone. So we ended up at the nearest ice cream joint.
The girl behind the counter—maybe sixteen, already emotionally retired from customer service—stood on her toes and peered into the machine like it was some kind of ancient oracle. Then, with the emotional investment of a sock, she declared:
“It’s soft.”
Yes. I know. It’s supposed to be soft. That’s literally the name on your window. Or have I gone full heatstroke and started questioning dessert logic?
But before I could reply, she launched into a rapid-fire barrage of toppings: sprinkles, marshmallows, disco dip—while my kids yanked at my shorts like caffeinated lemurs.
“Sure. Whatever. Just throw it all on.”
Five minutes later, we emerged with cones that looked like they’d lost a fight with a candy factory. Disco dip was cascading down their legs in sticky neon streaks. Their faces were a war zone, and their shirts—casualties. No napkin known to man could fix what had just happened.
“The ice cream is soft,” she’d said.
Yeah. Thanks. Nailed the definition.
Shame she forgot to mention that soft-serve can, in fact, be too soft. Like when you skip a few crucial steps—say, I don’t know, freezing it—and just unceremoniously dump liquid milk straight into a cone.”
Apparently, an accurate description doesn’t guarantee a full grasp of its impact.
This, my friends, is a masterclass in what happens when someone can describe a situation without understanding its implications. She wasn’t wrong. The product was technically “soft.” But she had no clue what that meant in the hands of two pint-sized tornadoes.
In work—and in life—we often confuse recognition with understanding.
So here’s the takeaway: Describing the situation isn’t enough. You need to grasp the fallout. That’s where real judgment—and real value—live.
Otherwise, you’re just the kid behind the counter, confidently serving consequences you don’t have to clean up.
So next time you’re looking at your latest Excel-fueled emergency, sip your coffee and ask: “Is this worth fussing over?”
If yes—act fast.
If no—maybe don’t dump marshmallows on it just to feel productive.
As for me, I’ll be calling my mother-in-law. Again.
Her washing machine has become an essential part of my crisis recovery team.
ivokoopmans.com 