SO YOU DON’T WANT TO DO SOMETHING

Weaponized Incompetency Isn’t Just For Men

It’s what I’ve been doing, Adam Robinson, so ‘Eat Me’

Weaponized incompetency.

I learned this phrase from a coworker last week. Here’s how it played out.

Enter grade 7/8 teacher’s room to see her head spinning in about 16 directions. This Exorcist reaction is normal. Hey, you try being in the same room filled with hormonal, entitled, stinky 13-year-olds for an entire year.

But the final end-of-the-hellish-year bell had rung and the rugrats had scattered, leaving behind only their vandalized textbooks and a few odd ziplocs full of what we hope were crunched up Shreddies.

“What’s the deal-io?” I asked, feigning nonchalance. It was the last day in June. Truth be told I wanted to be snuggling up to a bottle of Jack.

“The custodians want me to re-home my jungle for the summer.”

This may sound like a first world problem. You may ask, what’s the big deal-io? Here’s the deal-io.

Entering this scientist-cum-middle-school-educator’s massive classroom means having to push aside foliage to locate students. One day in early May there was an entire strip-chess tournament happening that I didn’t even know about — because I hadn’t meandered between the six Weeping Figs. Monster Energy drink empties were scattered amongst the tshirts. It was horrific.

There’s a reason this is the room where one Intermediate was ‘interrupted’ tug-jobbing another.

Imagine being given a few hours to re-home the Amazon Rainforest. Yeah, now you get it.

“I’m headed to my boyfriend’s place who lives down the street from you,” I told her. “I can load up my vehicle and take some to your place for you.”

The adventure began.

When are you getting to the part about Weaponized Incompetency? you, Dear Reader, ask.

Hold on to your Succulents, Dear Reader. I’m getting there.

I’m drawing out this tale of woe. You don’t like my technique, Dearest?

Okay, okay, so here’s what happened. As I was pulling one of the 40 plants off the windowsill I knocked another. Tumbling onto the tiles, it met its leaf-ripping, pot-crashing Waterloo.

“You using Weaponzied Incompetency so you never have to help me again?” my colleague turned her head my way, her face prfectly framed between two peace lilies.

Now I’m the wiser. I know about Weaponized Incompetency. And I’m using it to my advantage. Especially as an editor.

You may have noticed Adam Robinson’s latest dig at me in this article.

He talked about how I could lead a session entitled “How to Forget What Kristine Laco Said in the Last Editor’s Meeting.”

My response to Adam — and the world — is that I didn’t forget what Whacko Laco sputtered.

I’m unleashing the power of Weaponized Incompetency.

“Oh, Kristine, I’m so sorry. I just couldn’t work with the newsletter schedule. It wouldn’t be The. Best. Newsletter. Ever. I knew you would do a way better job. So I ‘forgot’ the meeting times and deadline.”

Apparently men do it all the time.

Weaponized incompetence is when a partner (often — but not always — a cisgender, heterosexual man) exaggerates their inability to perform simple tasks like cleaning, cooking or making plans, in order to shift the burden of responsibility back to the other partner (usually a woman). Malte Mueller

Okay. People do it all the time.

Go ahead and give Weaponized Incompetency a try. It’s incredibly liberating.

Just don’t tell Kristine. Or my plant-loving co-worker.

©Jennifer J. McDougall 2023