Some rules are meant to be broken

Embracing my rebellious streak

This post is part of

Beth Kempton

’s Summer of Substàck essay festival. Her prompt for this week was ‘originality’ with an invitation to explore what makes each of us unique.

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I like to think I'm a good law-abiding citizen but I have to confess that I don't believe all rules should be adhered to blindly. I have a personal mantra which is: I obey the rules if I can see they have a value. But rules that are have no purpose other than to limit options and creativity? Well some rules are simply begging to be broken.

Image by Myriams-Fotos from Pixabay

When I started a new job with a well-known company some years ago, I was handed an important project with a very tight deadline. I was working with a project manager who was also new to the company. We quickly discovered there were established ways of doing things but we also realised that these ‘rules’ would sabotage our need to hit the deadline. The solution seemed obvious. We worked around, over and under the rules, and we smashed the deadline.

Our new colleagues were astounded at our success. Eventually we couldn’t fend off their questions about how we had achieved so much, so quickly, and we owned up to our blatent disregard of their hallowed processes. Fortunately the main response was one of admiration of our gungho attitude. Whether our cavalier approach had a long-term impact on the company I don't know because I moved on after a couple of years. I was offered a role in a small but fast-growing organisation where I could help shape the rules so, not surprisingly, that suited me much more than battling against an existing culture.

When good rules become petty restraints

We probably all come across rules in life that were no doubt created for good reasons but, in practice, are a bit daft. Here's an example of coming up against the rules of a major supermarket brand.

I needed to buy 400 mince pies for a Christmas event. Taste testing had identified which brand of mince pie was ideal in terms of taste, pastry texture and price. I visited the nearest store that stocked this brand and asked the manager if I could place an order for them, given the large quantity.

“Sorry that isn't possible,” he said. “Our stock is controlled centrally. We receive what the system decides we need based on previous sales.”

“So how do I purchase 400 mince pies from you?” I asked.

“Take what you need from the shelves.”

“But that will leave you with virtually nothing. And won’t that mess with your central restock process?”

He shrugged. “Yes, both of those things will happen. I know it's daft. But that's how it works.”

I left the store with my 400 mince pies. I hope the manager didn't have too many disgruntled customers to deal with when they discovered the empty shelves. Also who knows what the central stock process sent him the following week!

Of course the flipside is that some stores limit the number of items a customer can buy in one purchase to avoid this scenario. That always seems bizarre to me because they are in the business of selling products so restricting sales runs counter to their reason for existing. It's also very annoying to be told you can't purchase something because you are buying too much!

I’m not sure that my dislike of foolish rules makes me unique. I suspect not. I am aware, though, that I do have a slightly rebellious streak when I can’t see the point of a relatively minor rule. And yes, I am the person who ignores the direction arrows in car parks late at night when there’s hardly anyone around.

What about you? Do you chafe against certain rules? Do share.

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And finally …

I wrote this autobiographical poem several years ago, and was reminded of its existence by this week’s essay prompt. I published it in my first poetry collection Seats in the Rain. The link is for the paperback version on Amazon UK. It is also available on Kindle and in other Amazon markets. Let me know what you think by leaving a comment. You’ll make me super-happy if you buy the book.

Metamorphoses

I was born an original
But my admiration for the girl
With the ruler-straight chestnut hair that welcomed 
The precision cut of a short glossy bob
Made me disdain my sandy shaded curls.

I was born an original
But while one of the smart ones
I never came top of the class, was never the first choice
And so I adopted the limited persona
Of someone who is good, but never quite good enough.

I was born an original
But quickly I learnt
It was less painful to mould to the crowd,
To be a chameleon that no one would notice
Than to be clothed in the unique shade of me.

I was born an original
But I followed a moulded path
That was signposted with approval by parents and mentors, 
by friends and employers, and casual strangers
That would cause me to die a pale imitation of them.

I was born an original
But one day I saw
The truth of my life, with its desire to please others
That had caused the loss of myself
And broke myself free – and found a voice
That is uniquely me.