The following fiction captures much of the essence of the thinking person’s experience in the Internet/Information Age, and the extremes of contrast between an ‘informed’ netizen and an experienced leader in his field. The purpose of this story, although rather humorous, is to illustrate just how corrosive, distracting, and disruptive many people have become in the modern world as a consequence of having an excess of information where they lack dearly in earned wisdom.
The basis of this tale is real, as there are actually people in this world who run the argument featured in the story (and other arguments quite like it), who feel justified not only in maintaining this belief but in starting such arguments in an effort to gain attention, to insert themselves into conversation, and to elevate themselves by making other people feel or look stupid — even when the agitators themselves (the ones initiating the arguments) are the ones who are wrong or out of accordance with ‘the science’ that they so often claim to have on their side.
I hope you will enjoy this tale, just as I hope it will successfully illustrate the point.
The Story
The briefing room smelled faintly of diesel and wet steel, like the hold of a freighter after a long day on the lakes. Charts were pinned and marked with ink, and spread across the table, the Straits of Mackinac traced in bold red, the route from Lake Huron to Wisconsin meticulously plotted. Scott stood at the front, calm and attentive, hands lightly resting on the table. His eyes swept the room, steady, taking in each team member, ensuring everyone understood the stakes.
"So," he continued, voice precise and unhurried, "we’ll depart from Lake Huron, transit the Straits of Mackinac, and enter Lake Michigan before proceeding southwest toward Milwaukee, Wisconsin."
A sudden bark of laughter cut through the low hum of the projector.
"That’s wrong," Steve shouted, leaning back in his chair, a smug grin spreading across his face. "They’re the same lake."
The room froze. No one laughed. No one nodded. Pens hovered over notebooks. The sounds of lapping waves and a creaking chair joined the faint tang of diesel and old charts to fill the silence.
Scott tilted his head slightly, letting the pause stretch. "Okay," he said evenly. "What’s your recommendation, Steve?"
Steve scoffed, waving a hand. "My recommendation? Stop pretending there are two lakes."
Scott let the silence linger.
Steve puffed up his chest, expecting applause that never came.
"We need to deliver the shipment to Milwaukee by tomorrow evening," Scott continued, calm and deliberate. "That is the constraint. That is what this briefing is about, Steve."
Steve leaned forward, voice rising. "Then do it! We don’t need a geography lecture! Two lakes? Straits? Pfft! Stop overcomplicating it! Everyone knows they’re the same lake!"
"Steve…" Scott said evenly, keeping his tone measured.
"It’s one big lake — just stay on the lake," Steve interjected. "It’s not that big of a deal."
"Steve," Scott said softly, "this briefing ensures that everyone knows the route, the weather conditions, and the risks. We do this to avoid mistakes that could jeopardize time, equipment, or safety. We need to be sure that everyone is on the same —"
Steve laughed, shrill and brittle, like metal scraping across a bulkhead. "The risk," he said, jabbing a finger at Scott, "is you confusing people with fake distinctions! Two lakes? Straits? Whatever. It’s one lake, and anyone who says otherwise is just… wrong. Facts don’t care about your charts!" Looking around, Steve gestured toward Scott, addressing the rest of the team: "Can you believe this guy? It's one lake!"
Scott returned his gaze to the map, tracing the route with a steady finger. "From Lake Huron, we’ll cross west through the Straits of Mackinac into —"
"It’s the same lake!" Steve snapped, voice rising, chest heaving. "You think that, because you keep calling them by different names, that that makes them different lakes? They're one lake!"
Scott continued tracing the map down to the port of Milwaukee, "... and by the time we reach the port..."
Steve, still laughing: "Are you seriously trying to teach me geography? Maps? Come on!"
Scott turned fully, calm as a glassy morning on Lake Michigan. "Steve, what are you actually advising us to do differently?"
"I’m advising you to stop being wrong!" Steve shouted, pounding a fist lightly on the table, eyes wild. "Do you hear me? Stop saying there are two lakes! How can you be this wrong? This is basic knowledge!"
A few team members exchanged glances. One tapped a pen nervously. Another checked the time. The projector hummed low, constant, like the engine of a ship idling at port.
"Steve," replied Scott, "for navigation, charts, weather modeling, and shipping lanes, Lake Huron and Lake Michigan are treated as separate bodies of water — they are distinct geographic basins. That is why we refer to them as we do, Steve."
Steve snickered dismissively, waving Scott off. "Oh, here we go! Now I’m wrong!"
"This isn’t about who’s right," Scott said, calm and firm. "It’s about getting the cargo delivered safely. That is the mission."
Steve laughed, louder, brittle, manic. "Mission? Ha! You mean mission to mislead people! You correct me, nerd boy, and suddenly it’s ‘not about being right.’ It’s about ‘the mission’. Look, everybody — we’ve got Lewis and Clark on our hands. Where’s Sacagawea, Scott? Is she coming on this expedition, too? Facts are facts! The charts don’t matter! Geography is a scam, and you know it!"
Steve suddenly averted his gaze to the pen on his desk, eyes gleaming. "Observe gravity in action!" He dropped the pen to the floor. "Free fall. Simple. Universal. Scott… you’re ignoring it!" He grabbed a binder and let it crash onto the table. "Mass, force, acceleration — Newton’s law — perfectly obeyed! And yes, water follows this law, too!"
Scott’s hands stayed flat. "Steve… I’m not sure how this is relevant to —"
"That’s it!" Steve exploded. "You question gravity! You don’t even understand how gravity affects lakes! If you ignore this, you’re ignoring physics, and that’s a safety hazard. Ships float, cargo stays, waves move — all thanks to gravity! If you reject this, Scott, you’re rejecting safety!"
Steve crouched, balancing a cup of water on the table’s edge. "See this? One wrong move, no gravity awareness, and catastrophe! And you, Scott… you can’t even see it!"
Then he grabbed a folded sheet of paper, whirled it, and launched a paper airplane across the room at Scott. "Weirdo!" he yelled. "That’s how forces work!"
Scott remained impassive.
Steve’s grin widened. "And now — a mental demonstration!" He pulled out a notepad, scribbling numbers furiously, narrating aloud: "Calculating load distributions, time-to-destination, gravitational pull… chess moves in my head at the same time!" He tapped the table, moving invisible pieces with both hands. "Check! Wait — no, counter-check! That’s my alter ego speaking, yes… yes, we’re both geniuses!"
He laughed, pacing. "Do you see, Scott? Do you see? I predicted this! The Internet knows I’m brilliant. People online are calling me a genius! You’re just… a gravity denier! And who knows where it ends with this guy…"
Scott said nothing.
"Exactly!" Steve continued, spinning to the whiteboard and drawing triangles and arcs, and demonstrating the Pythagorean theorem. "Look at this! Mathematics! Geometry! Free fall, pendulum swings, torque, centrifugal — oh! The Coriolis effect! Every single principle proves you’re dangerously incompetent, Scott. Insisting upon the separation of lakes? Ignoring gravity? You’re jeopardizing the crew!"
He stopped suddenly, then spoke to an invisible other Steve. "You agree, right? We’re both geniuses. The audience is rapt! I’m brilliant, you’re brilliant… yes, brilliant!"
He threw another paper airplane at Scott, who caught it after it struck his chest. "Weirdo," Steve shouted again, laughing. "Math denier."
Scott’s expression remained neutral, steady as a freighter in calm waters, turning back to the map as Steve continued his imaginary game of chess on the table before him. Scott placed the paper airplane on the table beside him and proceeded: "We’ll transit the Straits of Mackinac and enter Lake Michigan," Steve reminded the crew. "That is the plan. From there…"
"No!" Steve bellowed, slapping the table with exaggerated force. "You’re still doing it! You won’t let it go! You need them to be two lakes! This two-lakes thing is like a religion to this guy! Wake up, everyone! He’s lying! His charts are a false reality! And ignoring gravity proves just how dangerous he is!"
Steve spun toward the rest of the team, arms flailing, voice cracking. "Are you all hearing this? He thinks he’s teaching geography! He thinks maps change reality! Are you blind? This is the biggest scam of our generation! Facts! Science! Wake up, people! Listen to me! This is classic gaslighting, Scott! Don’t you get it, people? He’s brainwashing you! Who knows if there’s even any cargo that needs to be delivered… it’s all an illusion!"
For a moment, the room seemed to shrink under Steve’s frenzy. Then, his face changed, feverish, conspiratorial. "Do you know what’s really going on? Scott… Scott is part of it! It’s a coverup, a massive conspiracy to keep Lake Huron and Lake Michigan separate! The government, the shipping companies, the chartmakers — they all want us to believe there are two lakes, and he’s in on it! They’ve been manipulating everything we know!"
The room went still. Pens froze. One team member coughed. Another looked at the floor. The smell of diesel seemed sharper, the hum of the projector louder, like a freighter straining under an impossible load.
Scott remained calm, eyes steady, hands flat on the table, his face showing the toll of decades on the high seas, leading crews. "Steve," he said softly but firmly, "this is just about navigation, shipping safety, and getting the job done. Let's focus on the mission, guys."
Steve’s face twisted, disbelief and panic bleeding together. "Mission? Here's that 'mission' talk again! What is this? NASA? Look, guys! Scott thinks he’s Neil Armstrong when he’s not even on Apollo 13! But, hey, I suppose gravity would be less of an issue on the moon, so whatever floats your boat, Scott!"
"Steve…" said Scott, half-begging, "we really need to focus on the job at hand."
Steve suddenly leapt from his seat: "That’s what you’d like us to believe — that we're all here to do a 'job'! You’re lying! You’re all lying! They want us to obey their maps, call them separate lakes, and never question the narrative! Scott calls them ‘jobs’, but it’s really just… exploitation — profits, losses… yeah, right! Call it what it is, Scott: the profits are theft. You’re stealing from the workers! We hold all of the power, and that terrifies you, Scott!"
Turning to the rest of the team, Steve implored: "Wake up! You’re all complicit! These ‘jobs’ are just one big distraction! Scott and all of the fat cats are stealing from us, and they’re keeping segregation alive with these lakes! It’s so obvious!"
Scott didn’t react beyond maintaining eye contact. "I think we’ve covered enough ground for now. We’ll reconvene later. If anybody has any operational questions, I’ll be in my office."
Steve laughed — wild, shrill, unhinged — pointing at Scott as if the room should erupt in agreement. "That’s it? You shut it down because you know I’m right!"
Scott met his eyes, calm, professional, unwavering. "No, Steve — that’s not why I shut it down."
Steve kept laughing as Scott turned off the projector. "Same lake!" he yelled. "You’ll figure it out eventually!"
Scott walked out without another word.
Steve kept laughing, wild-eyed, spiraling further into mania. He scribbled equations in the air, moved invisible chess pieces, launched more paper airplanes, and argued with his alter ego before breaking the silence: "SAME LAKE! SAME LAKE! You’ll see! You’ll ALL see! Genius! Genius! I’m a genius! We’re both geniuses!"
The hum of the projector faded. The room remained silent, the team staring at Steve in stunned disbelief, each slowly filing out of the room as Steve stared at the wall. No one followed his gaze. No one echoed his laughter.
Steve stayed, chest heaving, wild-eyed and triumphant in his own mind, alone with it — convinced he had won — as the faint smell of diesel and wet metal hung heavy in the air.
Author’s Note
There are, of course, those who (erroneously and argumentatively) regard Lake Michigan and Lake Huron as ‘one lake’, but those who stake that claim tend to do so for argumentative reasons, or to insert themselves into a conversation where their contribution is a matter of trivia, at best, confusing and corrosive, at worst. In truth, calling Lake Michigan and Lake Huron ‘one lake’ is not a material insight so much as a semantic reclassification based on a selectively-chosen rule — namely, surface-level hydrological connectivity. That rule may be internally consistent, but it does not meaningfully describe the physical reality of the system.
By every practical and structural criterion that geographers actually use, Lake Michigan and Lake Huron are distinct bodies of water. They have separate basin geometries, clearly different shorelines, and are joined only by the narrow Straits of Mackinac — a constricted connector, not an open basin.
Historically and culturally, they have been treated as separate lakes, named independently and navigated, mapped, and studied as distinct entities. Meteorology, shipping, and regional geography all recognize them as separate systems because that distinction reflects how they actually function.
Most tellingly, if the water level were lowered or the lakes were drained sufficiently, the distinction would become unmistakable: two large, independent basins connected by a relatively shallow channel.
The fact that water currently fills both basins to the same elevation does not erase the underlying separation — it merely obscures it at the surface.
The ‘one lake’ claim therefore doesn’t reveal a deeper truth; it just shifts definitions and triggers unnecessary debate. Applied consistently, the same logic would collapse all of the Great Lakes into a single lake and the world’s oceans into one body of water — which demonstrates that the argument is semantic rather than substantive. It changes labels without adding explanatory power, and without addressing the totality of the facts.
In short, Lake Michigan and Lake Huron may appear unified at the surface, but structurally, culturally, and functionally, they are and remain two distinct lakes.
All of this simply goes to show that, whether with lakes or ideas, whether in hunting for treasure or investigating a shipwreck, or whether in seeking answers or distinguishing fact from fiction, the search for truth is a matter of depth.
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