The Squeaky Wheel Syndrome

Many years ago, as I returned to Zurich Airport from my former home in Ibiza, I wheeled my one-year-old son in his buggy through passport control. The buggy had seen better days, and suffered slight oxidization due to the salt air, as we frolicked on the beach every day. As I approached an imposing looking man at the desk, he rose slightly in his seat and peered down onto me with a somewhat foreboding look and muttered something I didn’t understand at the time, but I shrugged and smiled sweetly, as you do. The English-speaking passenger behind me translated the remark and told me that the wheels on the buggy needed oiling. Had I even doubted having landed in Zurich, I needed no further proof, for the Swiss do have a partiality for technical perfection. Further down by the luggage carrousel the same passenger animated our waiting time by explaining that there is a saying, that ‘the squeaky wheel gets the oil’. He enlightened me that it’s the complainers who get the attention, not the people who remain inertly mute over their gripe.

At that time, it wasn’t in my nature to grumble. I didn’t speak German anyway and it sounds laughable, if you try to seriously complain in a language you don’t master. Since then, living permanently in Switzerland, I am amazed, how restrained my generation are about being grouchy. They prefer not to cause a fuss or draw unwelcome attention to themselves. You hear them mumble to each other in a restaurant, how abysmal the cooking is, but as soon as the chef appears with a perfectly laundered jacket and chef’s hat, they muster up a glowing testimony to the delights of his craftsmanship. I once complained about an overpriced plate of food in a renowned restaurant along the Rhine. The lamb fillet was rock hard, the sauce stuck to the plate after its brutal handling in the microwave, not to mention the soggy broccoli which disintegrated before my eyes. The owner whizzed around the tables to an accolade of contented clients, and then arrived at my table, awaiting a perpetuation of ecstasy. Oh dear, she didn’t like what I had to say, but she must have looked at the plate when she shoved it in the microwave and waited for the ping. She asked if she could make it all good again with a cup of coffee as a closure. I simply answered, ‘Hardly!’ This time the squeaky wheel didn’t get any oil, but neither did she get the chance for a repeat performance with me. It may have just stimulated the neighbouring tables though, to voice the gripes they had been whispering to each other throughout the meal, to the perpetrator of their discontent.

This wise saying came back to me recently as I observed our woke wonders of the ‘Last Generation’, demonstrating against some perceived grudge or other, that their overseas sponsors were delighted to finance. As they glue themselves to roads and concert podiums there seems to be a vast accumulation of ‘squeaky wheels’, desperate for an ‘oil gun’, to fix some alleged grievances. Their self-proclaimed civic engagement thus causing continuing misery to the plagued public, and life-threatening consequences to injured victims, seems to leave them cold. I’m not very clear as to how throwing the contents of two cans of Heinz tomato soup at van Gogh’s painting of Sunflowers at London’s National Gallery is supposed to deter the population from using oil. I bet their parents were proud of their nippers, and felt that their university education had reaped wholesome benefits for themselves and for society.

Whether the source of discontent is the war in Ukraine, women’s rights in Iran, climate change, covid injections and/or restrictions, LGBTQ or the rights of indigenous folk, increasing throngs of squeaky wheels are ready to mobilize at the nod of a guru, somewhere out there. This little army of agitators are making a career of impacting society with whatever issue is in trend at any given moment, with zealous coverage from the ever-ready media, but no significant improvements in their project of the moment.

Indeed, these particular ‘squeaky wheels’ will not persuade me to throw away my car keys and go forth in a horse and cart, but if anyone out there needs to answer to the call, you will need a can of oil for your wheels. The amount of oil required to lubricate the wheels is minimal in comparison to the motor vehicle, but hey-ho, who bothers about the details when it comes to oil?

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