Are You a Problem Announcer?

My dog, Lemmy, isn’t much of a problem solver. He’s a world-class problem announcer, though.

Lemmy’s definition of “problem” ranges from “someone rang a doorbell on TV” to “someone rang the actual doorbell.” In other words, my dog is a redundant doorbell. And unlike my actual doorbell, Lem Lem shits a lot. My actual doorbell hardly ever shits.

I’m just kidding. I don’t have a doorbell. This blogging thing doesn’t pay doorbell-having money. If you want to see me in person, you’ll have to knock on my door. I won’t answer it, but to be fair, I also won’t answer it if you push the spot where the doorbell button is supposed to be. Lemmy will flip the fuck out either way, though. Your move, Knocky.

“Problem announcing” has much less value to society than problem solving. That’s why Lemmy still lives with his mom and dad at 28-dog-years-old: his complete lack of marketable skills.

But think about it: who makes the big bucks? Besides people with connections to Russian oligarchs, I mean. Who makes the insanely big bucks in American society?

Hint: almost none of them are Elite Yelpers.

That is, almost zero wildly successful people make a habit of telling literally everyone what they didn’t like about the tacos they bought for lunch.

But a tiny fraction of them, inspired by those average-at-best tacos, take a stab at doing it better. They don’t bitch or complain, at least not for long. Rather, they view the mediocrity…