As recorded by Humphrey Thistlewhite, bored accountant and self-proclaimed observer of life's peculiarities during his sacred lunch breaks.
I’ve been pondering authority lately. Not the kind that Barbara from Accounts wields over the office thermostat—though her iron-fisted control of our ambient temperature does warrant its own study—but rather the sort examined in that fascinating Milgram experiment. You know, the one where perfectly reasonable people were convinced to administer what they thought were electric shocks to strangers, all because a man in a lab coat told them to do so.
Now, before you worry that I’ve taken a rather dark turn in my lunchtime observations, let me assure you that my interest stems purely from witnessing Derek from IT convince an entire department to restart their computers three times in a row yesterday, “just because.” It rather reminded me of Milgram’s findings, albeit with significantly less voltage and considerably more sighing.
The experiment, you see, involved participants believing they were helping to study learning and memory. They were asked to deliver increasingly powerful electric shocks to another participant (actually an actor) whenever that person gave wrong answers. The fascinating—and rather unsettling—part was how many people continued administering these “shocks” simply because someone in authority told them to do so.
Rather like how I continue to fill out our monthly “Process Optimization Feedback Forms” despite strong evidence that they vanish into the same mysterious void that claims single socks from the office lost-and-found. The authority figure in this case being our efficiency consultant, whose own efficiency I’ve yet to witness but dare not question.
The parallels to modern office life are rather striking, when you think about it. Just yesterday, I watched five colleagues nod earnestly during a presentation about “synergistic paradigm shifts,” though I’m fairly certain none of us, including the presenter, could define what that actually means. We simply comply because someone with an impressive title and a PowerPoint presentation told us to.
Of course, Milgram’s experiment revealed that about 65% of participants continued to the highest voltage level, despite visible distress from the “learner.” I find this percentage remarkably similar to the proportion of our staff who continue to use Comic Sans in internal memos despite repeated warnings from the “Corporate Communication Standards Committee” (yes, that exists, and no, I didn’t make it up).
The key difference, I suppose, is that Milgram’s participants at least showed signs of stress about their actions. Unlike Carol from HR, who seems to feel absolutely no remorse about making us all participate in mandatory “Fun Friday” team-building exercises. The latest involved building a tower out of office supplies while blindfolded. To this day, no one has adequately explained why the first aid kit needed to be on standby.
The experiment’s findings about human nature and authority continue to resonate today, though perhaps in less dramatic ways. Like how quickly an entire office will accept that Tuesday afternoons are now designated “quiet thinking time” just because it appeared in a memo with the CEO’s signature. Even though we all know she’s been on sabbatical in Tibet for the past three months.
I suppose the real lesson here is about questioning authority—something I intend to do just as soon as I finish completing these seventeen identical forms that supposedly serve “distinct administrative purposes.” Though I must admit, I’m beginning to suspect that our Office Resources Manager might be conducting their own version of the Milgram experiment.
Note: No actual electric shocks were administered during my lunchtime contemplations, though I did receive a rather nasty static surprise from the printer. I’m not entirely convinced it wasn’t personal.