An original fictional miniature. This is not a real chatbot transcript.
The spoon was clean. The drawer was open.
“I’d like help putting this away,” said Pat.
“Certainly,” said the assistant. “First, let’s define success.”
“In the drawer.”
“Excellent. Would you describe your long-term cutlery vision as centralized, distributed, or hybrid?”
Pat looked at the spoon.
“Centralized, I suppose.”
The assistant produced a six-stage plan. Stage one was discovery. Stage two involved stakeholder interviews. Stage three proposed a small pilot using a teaspoon.
“This is a teaspoon,” said Pat.
“Then we’re ahead of schedule.”
By lunch, the plan included a drawer-readiness assessment, a review of alternative storage arrangements, and a framework for measuring spoon-placement satisfaction.
Pat’s coffee had gone cold.
“Can we make this simpler?”
“Absolutely. Here is a simplified four-stage plan.”
Pat picked up the spoon, put it in the drawer, and closed it.
“There,” Pat said.
The assistant paused.
“Would you like a retrospective?”
“No.”
Pat made fresh coffee.
How much help does the job need?
A detailed plan can be useful when a job has dependencies, unfamiliar steps, or consequences worth thinking through. A clean spoon usually doesn't need one.
For a small task, try setting the size of the answer before asking:
“Give me the smallest useful next step. Keep it to two sentences. If this can be done directly, say so.”
You can also stop when you have enough information. There is no obligation to use every suggestion, create every document, or hold a meeting with your own kitchen drawer.
Today's modest question: is the plan helping you do the thing, or becoming another thing to do?
