As recorded by Humphrey Thistlewhite, bored accountant and self-proclaimed observer of life's peculiarities during his sacred lunch breaks.
I’ve been thinking about frogs lately. Not the kind that frequent my garden pond, mind you—though Herbert, my particularly rotund toad, does provide excellent company during my solitary sandwich hours. No, I’m pondering that famous psychological phenomenon: the boiling frog syndrome.
Now, for those who haven’t spent their lunch breaks contemplating amphibian behaviour (though really, what else is one to do between spreadsheets?), let me explain. They say if you pop a frog into boiling water, it’ll leap out faster than Mrs. Blackwood from the HR department spotting the last chocolate Danish in the break room. Quite sensible, really—I’d do the same, though preferably while maintaining some professional decorum.
However, place that same frog in lovely room-temperature water and heat it gradually? Well, supposedly our amphibian friend will float there, perfectly content, adjusting to each tiny temperature change until—oh dear—it’s too late. Rather like how I adjusted to my colleague’s increasingly elaborate email signatures. One day it’s a simple name and title, the next you’re scrolling past three inspirational quotes, a carbon footprint reminder, and a detailed analysis of their personality type.
The metaphor, you see, is about how we humans tend to accept gradually worsening situations. Take our office’s ‘Morning Refreshment Standards Committee,’ for instance. We started with ‘just a simple morning coffee rota.’ Six months later, we’ve implemented a blockchain-based bean-tracking system, weekly cupping ceremonies, and a comprehensive flowchart for optimal milk-to-coffee ratios accurate to three decimal places. There’s now a monthly audit of everyone’s mug-rinsing technique. Nobody quite remembers how we got here, but here we are.
Of course, I should mention that actual scientists (spoilsports, the lot of them) say this frog business isn’t strictly true. Real frogs apparently have enough sense to hop out before things get too toasty. Which, frankly, suggests that frogs might be cleverer than humans in some respects. After all, I’m still maintaining fifteen different Excel versions of the same quarterly report because ‘they all serve different purposes’ (though I’ve long forgotten what those purposes were).
The actual truth of the boiling frog syndrome lies not in amphibian behaviour but in human nature. We adapt, we adjust, we convince ourselves that surely this is normal now. Like how I’ve accepted that my cat, Mr. Whiskers, now owns my favourite armchair. The transition from “absolutely not” to “well, perhaps just this once” to “I suppose I’ll just sit on the footstool” happened so gradually I barely noticed.
The solution, they say, is awareness. To be more frog-like in our responses to slowly changing situations. Though personally, I think we could learn even more from my friend Herbert the toad. He simply sits in his preferred spot by the pond, judging everyone else’s life choices with remarkable consistency.
I suppose the moral of the story is: be more like Herbert. Or at least check the water temperature before settling in for a nice bath. And maybe, just maybe, admit that having fifteen different templates for the same quarterly report isn’t making it any more quarterly or any more reporty.
Note: No frogs were harmed in the making of this observation. Though my dignity took a slight hit when I had to explain to the garden centre why I was measuring their pond temperatures with a kitchen thermometer.