So, the other day, a colleague, mid-task, just casually says to me, “Hey, can you pass me the up dog?” And I just froze for a second. Up dog? What in the world is an up dog? My mind started racing. Was it some new office gadget I hadn’t seen? A new brand of ergonomic mouse? Maybe some super-secret project codename I wasn’t clued into yet?
I’m telling you, I actually started subtly looking around my desk, then his desk, trying to spot this mysterious “up dog.” I even did that super-quick, under-the-table phone search for “updog office tool” and “updog tech slang.” You know, trying to be cool and not look like the clueless one. Absolutely nothing useful came up, which, honestly, just made me more confused. I was picturing some kind of advanced docking station, maybe shaped like a dog looking up? My imagination was running wild.
After a minute of me looking like a confused puppy, he just grins and goes, “You’re supposed to say, ‘What’s up dog?’” And then he delivered the punchline, “Not much, what’s up with you!” Yeah, I got had. Classic. We both had a good laugh, and for a second, the usual office hum just paused for a bit of silliness.
But here’s the thing that stuck with me…
It wasn’t just the joke. It was how my brain immediately jumped into problem-solving mode, trying to decipher this “up dog” thing like it was a critical system error. It really got me thinking about how often we run into these little (and sometimes big) communication black holes, especially when we’re all swamped and just trying to get through the day.
It reminded me so much of this massive project we had a while back, internally nicknamed “Project Goliath.” Not because it was big and strong, but because it felt like a giant, stumbling beast that nobody quite understood the same way. The initial brief was for a “streamlined user experience.” Simple, right? Wrong. For one team, “streamlined” meant fewer clicks. For another, it meant a complete visual overhaul. For a third, it meant integrating three legacy systems that frankly hated each other. It was a proper mess.
My part in that circus? I sort of fell into the role of translator. I spent weeks, and I mean weeks, just talking to people. I’d sit with one team, listen to their interpretation of “streamlined,” take copious notes, then go to another team and try to explain Team A’s version, only to find out Team B had a completely different, equally valid, but totally incompatible idea. It was like trying to nail jelly to a wall. I drew diagrams. I made flowcharts. I drank so much coffee I think my blood type changed. There were heated discussions, a lot of head-scratching, and moments where I genuinely thought we were speaking different languages, even though it was all English.
The “practice” for me there was learning extreme patience and the art of asking really, really specific questions. Not just “What do you mean by streamlined?” but “Okay, when you say streamlined, if a user wants to achieve X, how many steps do they take right now, and how many will they take in your vision? Can you draw it for me?” It was tedious. It was exhausting. Sometimes it felt like I was the only one trying to stitch the whole Frankenstein monster together before it lurched off the table and destroyed the village.
Eventually, slowly, painfully, we got everyone onto something resembling the same page. We had to scrap some initial ideas, compromise on others, and basically rebuild the common understanding from the ground up. The project did eventually get delivered, and it wasn’t half bad. But the amount of effort wasted just because we all assumed we knew what “streamlined” meant was staggering.
So, when my colleague hit me with the “up dog” line, after the initial laugh, I had this flashback to Project Goliath. That silly little joke was a reminder. A reminder that sometimes, the most complex problems, the biggest time-sinks, they don’t start with some grand technical challenge. They start with someone saying “up dog,” and everyone else nodding along, too busy or too afraid to ask, “Wait, what exactly is an up dog?”
Ever since that Goliath experience, I’ve made it a point to be that guy who asks the “stupid” questions. I’ll be the one to say, “Hold on, can we just clarify what we mean by X?” It can be a bit awkward sometimes, sure. But trust me, it’s a lot less awkward than explaining why your multi-million dollar project is six months behind schedule because nobody understood the basic premise. So yeah, pass me the up dog? Maybe next time I’ll just ask what you actually need. Saves a lot of headaches.