Proximity Blame

Think back... You're five. You're standing around (or being five, likely bouncing around), looking at your Mom's ceramic figurines. You know better than to touch them, but its tempting. They're shiny. They look expensive. The kind of thing Mom will get mad if you break. You consider picking one up, and your hand moves forward without you consciously telling it to. Two seconds before you take the plunge, the family cat/dog/little brother FLINGS themselves into the display.

CRASH! SMASH!

Even at five, you know what that means. Ruuuuuuuuuun! No way in hell are you going to be caught next to the now broken figurine even thought you know you didn't touch it. So why flee? You aren't guilty! You didn't do anything wrong! Simple answer - proximity blame. Anyone in the general vicinity of the scene of the crime is suspect and will likely judged guilty without fair trial.

We've all been there. Or considered the possibility of being there. But it may be shocking for you to learn that this phenomenon survives through childhood, through puberty and into the adult workplace! I know, I know...I thought we'd gotten beyond this. I was wrong. WAY wrong. (That makes two for those of you counting.)

So last week an email goes out to the 'all-team' at my company, subject line in caps, font in about 24 point size, berating "THE CHILD" who exploded his/her mess in the microwave for being immature, messy, and a generally lame coworker. They were admonished basically to clean up after themselves and...well...grow up.

Now, I don't disagree with the premise. I can't clean my own kitchen at home, so I certainly won't be voluntarily cleaning up after coworkers in the shared space. If I were a neat-freak (or ever used the kitchen...I am the queen of bought lunches), I'd probably be upset. But I knew it wasn't me, and wasn't worried. In fact, I was struck with this sort of morbid curiosity to go "see" the mess. Not to clean it mind you, but to gawk and stare at whatever caused the fuss. I mean, it would have to be pretty bad to generate a 24 point font email, right? Visions of green goop spattering the walls, covering countertops, and dripping onto the floor flew to mind. The allure of kitchen carnage was strong... yet I stayed in my seat.

What held me back? Fear of proximity blame. Seriously. Maybe it was a holdover from a childhood with a clumsy (and lying, blaming) younger brother. Memories of a yelling Mom with too many breakables in the house flooded back. I got this mental image of person who sent the email secretly stalking the kitchen, waiting to pop out of the cabinet and accuse the first on scene. So I sat, glued to the chair, twitching with desire to get up and check it out. And I wasn't the only one! A quick comparison of notes (via AIM so as not to be overheard and possible cause another angry email) showed my work friends terrified to get up and get water for fear of being found guilty by proximity to the scene. Crazy!

I don't know if the perpetrator was ever found or if they quickly cleaned up their mess in silent and unobserved shame. Disappointingly, there was no followup note; no "KITCHEN'S MOST WANTED" polaroid tacked to the wall. Eventually I snuck into the kitchen (under the guise of making tea) to find a few scattered rice grains on the counter...which I assumed could NOT have been the cause of all the fuss. But just to be on the safe side, I scooted back to my cube quickly and avoided the kitchen for at least 48 hours. Better to be on the safe side, no?