Clarity in baseball

I’ve just moved from Howard Air Force Base in Panama, to Travis Air Force Base in Northern California. I lucked out moving in with a friend of mine from college who is a doctor on base. 

It’s been the typical day of in-processing briefings and running around. 

I come home to see a note from my room mate, “Pamela has an extra ticket for this Friday’s baseball game.”

I definitely want that extra ticket. After the seemingly senseless running around the base, I need that extra ticket. Pamela is a friend from Panama who moved to Travis Air Force Base a year ahead of me so it’ll be nice to reconnect with someone who’s local now. 

Plus, it’s the middle of September and I don’t want to turn down a chance to see the San Francisco Giants. And it’s a game against the Padres and who doesn’t love a little intrastate competition?  Intrastate?  Interstate?  Eh, same difference.  Irregardless and for all intensive purposes, I wanna go to the game.

My mitt is with my household goods somewhere on the other side of the Panama Canal, but I figure that just frees up a hand so I can hold a beer and a hot dog.

I call Pamela, “Pamela! I got your message about Friday and I would love to go!”

She’s excited and we go through the logistics and timing. Friday can’t come soon enough and I can already feel the plastic cup of cold beer sweating in my non-hot-dog-holding hand.

Then Pamela throws this curve ball,  “And don’t forget, you have to wear mess dress.”

What. The. — I nearly drop my imaginary beer and hot dog … 

The mess dress uniform is the Air Force’s most formal, black-tie-equivalent uniform. I’m talking long, slitted skirt, tuxedo shirt, cufflinks, pantyhose and a cummerbund. None of which scream, or even remotely whisper, “Baseball.”

“I’m sorry why am I wearing mess dress to a baseball game?!”

Pamela’s about as confused at me talking about baseball as I am about her suggesting I wear a tux to the game. “We’re not going to a baseball game, we’re going to the base ball … for the Air Force birthday.” 

Every September, the Air Force celebrates its great 1947 divorce from the Army when the Army Air Corps split into the Air Force and the Army. And that celebration requires everyone getting dressed up, hoisting glasses of wine in endless toasts and of course, birthday cake. You’ll notice my description of the base ball has the distinct absence of beer, hot dogs and baseball.

“Uh, yea, I’m not going to the base ball.”

Thank God my mitt and mess dress were still on the other side of the Panama Canal.

And thank God the conversation my room mate misunderstood wasn’t life or death. She is a good doctor and a good friend — just not the best relayer of messages. 

Because baseball is a familiar event to her. A ball on base is not a familiar event. So in that split second, she jotted down what made sense to her without sensing any need for clarification. 

To be an effective communicator, we don’t have the luxury of casually handing off partly-accurate messages. Seek clarity as your communication currency. And if you have any questions, I’ll be at the baseball field, NOT in my mess dress uniform.