I was recently subjected to a psychometric test. The report was mostly hogwash (‘distraught’ – what?) and I must say, contained a number of scandalous spelling errors for what is purportedly a sound document by a respected training and development company (‘rigit’ – really?). The test, too, was crammed with grammatical crimes. I found myself copy editing the question paper. I can tolerate grammatical delinquency in hand-written birthday cards, Facebook wallposts and shopping lists (the infamous tomatoe), but not in official documents. Tsk.
The test results did say I am ‘given to tangents’.
Anyhow, what I did find illuminating about the results – other than the part where I am deemed to be ‘socially sharp and insightful’ (yes, yes, thank you, thank you) – is the deduction that my particular brain make-up causes a certain amount of ‘inner conflict’. All these words describe me and my values: accuracy, exactness, objectivity, empathy, passion, sentiment, intuition, artistic, adventurous, planning, predictability, organisation. These inconsistencies apparently imply that I am a conflicted person.
I like rules. I am irked by drivers who change lanes without indicating. I am peeved when whoever finished the toilet roll doesn’t replace it. I am vexed by the misuse, or disuse, of apostrophes in advertising, general signage and, obviously, official documents. I keep to the rules.
But here are a few confessions: I don’t always completely stop at stop signs; I am not organised enough to have a file where I keep all my important personal documents, although I know everyone should have one; I am continually losing my keys, and those aren’t the only items I don’t put where they belong. I do try to keep my cupboard organised, but after a few days, those shelves inevitably put the ‘war’ in ‘wardrobe’.
In certain situations, I really do value woolliness over the bare facts. I cannot recount a story to my friends or fiancé without indulging in superlative adjectives (see, I did it right there), untamed gesticulation and facial expressions to rival Mr Potato Head. I am not opposed to reading the manual for the blender, but I would rather figure it out through trial and error (this is how I once inadvertently made asparagus juice).
‘Conflicted’ is such a discordant, argumentative word. The fact is that the part of me that made asparagus juice is the same part that will give (nearly) all types of music a listen and will be your friend if you don’t smell too bad. And the pedantic part of me that has to change the toilet roll is the same part that ensures my household never runs out of toilet paper.
I would say this all makes me perfectly paradoxical. I will never be an actuary, and I will never be a hippie. And despite my contradictions, I’m quite comforted by that.
