Imagine . . .
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John is having trouble with the pipes under his kitchen sink.
He flicks through the Yellow Pages and stumbles across an ad for a plumbing advice line.
“A fully qualified plumber answers your questions,” the ad says.
John calls the number and tells the voice on the other end of the line about his leaky pipes.
“So what do I do?” he asks.
The voice on the other end of the line says “hmmm” as it ponders.
“Call a plumber,” it answers
“But I did,” says John.
“No, you didn’t,” says the voice.
“Aren’t you a plumber,” says John.
“Errr, not really.”
“But the ad says you are,” says John, anger in his voice.
“Yeah, I know. Just marketing. Wouldn’t know a pipe wrench from a spanner, me. No harm though. It’s not like I’m doin’ any plumbin’ work am I?”
“But your ad makes it look like you know what you are talking about.”
“Well it has to doesn’t it. Otherwise no one would ever listen to my advice now would they.”
Fuming, John hangs up the phone, takes a few steps, turns around, picks up the phone and calls his mate Mick.
He’s known Mick for years, drinks with him at the local every Friday.
Mick’s a lawyer. Not one of those blood-sucking corporate monsters. No, he’s a warrior for the little bloke.
Whenever they went out to sink a few frothies, Mick always had a yarn about how his lawyering skills had got some poor downtrodden and abused schmuck big bucks from some evil blighter or another.
What that plumber who’s not a plumber is doing is wrong and if anyone can make him accountable for his misleading actions Mick will be able to, thinks John.
He dials up his mate and tells him what’s happened.
“So what do you reckon, mate? Should I take some kinda legal action?”
“Well, er, I dunno mate,” says Mick. “I’m not sure I should be giving you any advice.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, I’m not really qualified.”
“What do you mean you’re not qualified? What about all those lawyering stories you’ve told us at the local?”
“Made ‘em up.”
“Made ‘em up?”
“Yep.”
“So you’re not really a lawyer?”
“Nah mate. I’m a secretary. But I work for a lawyer.”
“But what about the legal advice you gave Smithy the other day?”
“Yeah, probably shouldn’t have done that. No harm no foul, though eh?”
In a state of bewilderment, John hangs up on his mate and turns to see his wife down the hall.
“Sweetie, you wouldn’t believe the morning I’m having. First I ring this plumbing advice line that’s s’posed to be manned by a qualified plumber, except the bloke on the other end, he’s not a plumber at all. He’s got no idea about plumbing, in fact.
“That made me cranky, so I rang Mick, you remember Mick, my lawyer mate. Well guess what. Turns out Mick’s not a lawyer either. He’s a secretary!
“Is anyone around here what they say they are? I mean next you’ll be telling me you’re not actually my wife.”
John’s wife tugs at the collar of her shirt nervously.
“Honey ... we have to talk.”
Imagine living in a world where people aren’t who or what they say they are.
A world where you couldn’t really be sure if the person whose expert advice you are taking is really qualified to be giving you expert advice.
A world where qualifications you thought had to be earned could actually be assumed by anyone with little or no consequences if they were caught.
Wouldn’t that be a crazy, crazy world.
