by Dom Price
“Alan”, delivered Dave loudly and directly, with a concerted effort to deflect all attention on Alan and away from himself.”I’m not going to be one of these Consultants who stroll into YOUR office and tell YOU that we have all the solutions. That would be patronising and ineffective.”
Dave paused at the first victory in the battle. He was confident that the other firms bidding for this work would have arrived with fancy presentations telling Image Technologies what they should do. Step one had been achieved; discredit the opposition and put words into the mouth of the decision maker via flattery. That line alone made him look humble and meagre, two things that he definitely wasn’t, whilst also making Alan feel like he was running the show. And he chuckled quietly as he strolled across the head of the Board Room Table dramatically, thinking of the irony of patronisation. Alan was his puppet and Dave was the puppet master.
“You see Alan”, Dave turned, almost taking on the leader of the pack, something unheard of in Image Technologies folk law. No-one took on Alan Davis and survived to tell the tale…well apart from his wife. “Your management team, led by you, know so much more about this organisation, than any of my team could hope to accumulate from outside. But you already knew that. You are the life and breath of this organisation. All we hope to do is use our specialist skills, industry knowledge and acquired expertise, and combine that with your team’s unbridled internal understanding of this amazing business, to produce meaningful decisions that aid YOU by providing YOU with a fresh perspective.”
Dave had used the subtle flattery thing before with a software development client that he had, and the CEO there loved it. Dave knew that Image Technologies needed him, and he knew that he and his team were the best people for the job. Alan though was softening up, but was far from putty, and Dave knew he needed the big armoury if he was going to seal the deal on this one.
“You see Alan, this engagement reminds me a lot of some pro-bono work I did for a local charity” announced Dave, crossing his fingers to avoid going to hell. Two of Dave’s associates, Ben and Karina, were in the room and thankfully Alan was so focused on Dave that he hadn’t seen the pair’s confused and contorted faces. They’d worked under Dave’s stewardship for 3 years each, and charity wasn’t a word that they’d ever associated with Dave Marsdon. They too leaned forward to hear more about this, and suddenly Dave had a fully captive audience. This was his boxing ring, his stage, concert hall and his studio. He was conducting his orchestra, teasing the bull and impressing the Emperor.
“This particular charity, which for client confidentiality reasons must remain nameless, thought that they needed a major overhaul. They’d tried some changes internally which hadn’t resolved the problem, because they hadn’t gone back to the cause. Well it turned out that they had all the right ingredients in the mixer, but they’d just put them in the mixer in the wrong order” as Dave began slowly stirring the imaginary ingredients with the imaginary large wooden spoon. “All we had to do was to show them how major overhaul wasn’t required because they had everything they needed already, and within a month, their performance was back at optimal level and they had a very engaged workforce. It was probably one of my proudest engagements helping such a good cause.”
Silence fell over the room. Alan was emotionless. Ben and Karina were nervous that Dave was going to continue his analogy and produce an imaginary cake out of the imaginary oven. Suddenly the coolness in the room warmed a few degrees as the cracks on Alan’s face showed and he broke into a brief grin, just like an older man does when he manages a fart that he’s been holding in. Dave was calm. He didn’t mind silences. Earlier in his career he’d been far too much a fan of his own voice, and had once stolen defeat from the jaws of victory by talking too much. Not this time. Alan stood slowly, approaching Dave and reached out his right hand. Dave shook it confidently, assuming Alan was tapping out and the submission was obvious to everyone in the room.
“Let’s hope your results with this program of work as are successful as your theatrics here today. To use your analogy Mr Marsdon, we haven’t got funds for more ingredients and definitely not for a new mixer, but I sure as hell look forward to tasting the new cake in a few weeks. Your team starts on Monday, and I expect results” as the grin broke into a smile. The deal was sealed. At the back of his mind, Dave was a tiny bit worried that he’d overpromised to under-deliver, but he had a good team behind him and turned to wink at Ben and Karina, who now knew their fate for the next 4 weeks and that they would be responsible for managing the expectation gap that Dave had just created.
Back in his luxury vehicle, wearing an extremely smug grin, Dave was almost too euphoric to notice that Ben had brought a little mud into the freshly detailed interior of the car. “Luckily Ben you don’t start at Image Technologies until Monday, so that gives you plenty of time to clean my car!”
“Dave…which charity have we done pro-bono work for? I always thought you said that pro-bono was undervaluing the magnitude of your services and that most charities wouldn’t need to exist if people utilised the opportunities they had in life?” Karina’s curiosity to learn more had gotten the better of her.
“Certainly young Karina. You were both fortunate to see three very important rules of business in demonstration there.” Dave only had used two, but knew he had to make it into three!
“Firstly, the 7 P’s. Alan Davis was not keen on us from the get go, so I had Laura pull every bit of information on him. Proper prior planning prevents piss poor performance.
“Secondly, never let the truth get in the way of good story. Now then, my dearest mother works in a St Anne’s Hospice Charity Shop a few mornings a week, and when I met up with her the other week, she was very stressed. My mum was far happier on the counter or helping customers find suitable items, and she hated sorting through donations and washing the clothes which got largely donated in the mornings. Her colleague, Miriam, much preferred being behind closed doors and helping around the back, but she worked afternoons when all the donations had already been sorted, so ended up working in the actual shop. They’d been fretting over how to change the pattern of donations, and had tried posters and everything, without success. So whilst having a cup of tea with my mum, I suggested that her and Miriam should swap shifts. The next week they did just that, and they are both like Neil Armstrong now…they are over the moon. Haaaaaa.” Dave liked nothing better than one of his own jokes.
“But…” Karina paused, not wanting to offend her boss who didn’t take criticism too well.
“And the BUT Karina, is rule number 3. Maybe I was a little liberal with the truth, but I certainly didn’t overtly lie. Rule number 3 is to let your audience choose their own interpretation of your story.”
Karina sat, half upset, half impressed and two thirds frustrated. Working for Dave was doing wonders for her career progression, and she was definitely learning things, but she didn’t like everything she learnt.
Dave didn’t care. He’d just secured the client win that would surely be the icing on his promotion cake. Now, as they approached the office, his logistically enthused mind kicked into play, and Dave was carefully planning.
“I need a venue, an event e-mail address like [email protected] and a theme. Maybe the theme could be success? Or I could be the theme? And I should make sure there is a good mix of friends and clients, after all, it’s a networking opportunity as well?” Dave loved collaborating with himself.
It wasn’t that Dave didn’t trust his friends, but you know what they say. If you want something doing, and you want it doing well, you are best off doing it yourself.
Tony was the first to realise when he got the ‘Save The Date’ in his e-mail inbox, and Anne followed soon after. All those that knew Dave well realised. Dave was organising his own surprise celebration party.
***
Chapter But You Said!
***
“I don’t know what you mean?”
Dave was in a daze, his face conto
rted and his fingers tapping nervously on the table like Stevie Wonder on the ebony and ivory of a piano. But Dave didn’t like the tune that was being played out here. It had started as expected with a positive statement that Dave assumed would to lead on to even better news.
“The good news is that you have comfortably exceeded all your hard metrics and the fiscal targets that we set you.”
Nick was sitting opposite, and Dave was resisting the temptation to react. This was clearly a test, or some kind of wind up. Admittedly he’d been a tad nonchalant in the last week or so, but he’d obliterated all of his agreed targets, so it had been OK to take the foot off the gas a little bit. Almost in tune to Dave’s tapping, Nick continued and the chorus was repeated for the first time in the ballad of Dave.
“And whilst it’s commendable that you’ve focused on those hard metrics, that isn’t always enough. As a leadership team, we just don’t feel that you are balanced. You’ve got all the ticks in the boxes David, and we really appreciate your efforts to date.”
“But you set me those targets. And I nailed them. I knocked them for 6. I even got Image Technologies on board!” Dave was tense and trying not to be emotional. He couldn’t face the embarrassment of cancelling his own surprise promotion party.
Nick was visibly nervous. As a bigger gentleman, it had been a good while since he’d visited a gym. Whilst he claimed to play for a local veteran’s football team, rumours suggested that he spent more time warming the bench than he did kicking a ball, and he only played for the networking. Either way, he looked physically uncomfortable breaking this news to Dave, and was starting to break out in a constant sweat. Nick was renowned for his perspiration. As a keen eater of all things fattening, it was widely acknowledged that whilst 100m runner Carl Lewis went on the B of Bang, Nick started sweating on the F of Food. The agitation that he displayed now produced beads like there was an all you can eat buffet wafting up his nostrils.
“As a leadership team, we just don’t feel that you are balanced. You’ve got all the ticks in the boxes David, and we really appreciate your efforts to date, and hope that they continue. With another year under your belt, who knows?” Nick was being careful to share the blame around the leadership team. Accountability had never been his strong point, especially when you could point the blame at other people who weren’t there to defend themselves.
It was the second time that Dave had heard the chorus, but it wasn’t getting any easier to swallow. He just couldn’t fathom how this could happen. He’d checked his share price only last night, and it was at an all time high. His 12 month rolling plan was speckled with more bright red ticks than a kid with chickenpox, and he’d done everything they’d asked of him and more. That was it!
“But I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me and more. You can’t move the goal posts on me now. You asked me to do three things, and I’ve done them all? What else can I do?”
“Well David, that is where we disagree. There was a fourth dimension that I mentioned on your appraisal session the other week. To truly be a leader and a role model, you need more than technical ability. I would liken it to the electricity between a guy and a girl when they just hit it off. That pizzazz. The energy, and presence of an aura that when connected together form a whole which is greater than the sum of the parts. Do you know what I mean?”
Dave was lost, like a young boy in the woods as the clouds crowded in and the trees grew ever larger and more dominating. Nick was playing him at his own game with all these word, analogies and holistic chat. Dave was in two minds. There was option one, which was to flap his arms around like a child thrown into the deep end of a swimming pool, and to scream “it’s just NOT fair”. Maybe a little immature and tantrum like? Option two required him to dig deeper than a coal miner, and search inside for the inner belief that this disaster could be resolved. There was no-one else in the room. Nobody need ever find out about this…it was time to beg.
“Look Nick, you win, OK. I need this. Forget want. Want is for those try hards out there. I am stronger, bigger, better and more than them. I have done everything you ask and more, and we both know I deserve this. There is time before the promotions are announced, so tell me what it is. Dangle one more carrot and I’ll eat it like Red Rum ate his last meal before becoming glue!”
Nick did that patronising pause and sigh, like inferior people do. Dave didn’t retaliate. His calmly sat and waited. The ball was firmly in the big man’s court, and Nick wasn’t letting this one go.
“Well you see Dave, you have more than exceeded our expectation on the hard metrics that we set for you. Almost too much.” Nick eased his glasses down his nose for dramatic effect, but looked more like a seedy science teacher. For most people, standing up would now give them the superior footing on which to deliver the key speech, but being ¼ inch off medically being a midget, and being as wide as he was tall, this wasn’t an option for Nick. He rocked back gently in his chair, and Dave instantly saw this softening as an opportunity.
“Just tell me straight. You know I love full and frank feedback. I know I can do this, and so if you just tell me what it is, I will do everything in my power to get this promotion.”
“Well it is hard to quantify, but I’ll give it a go. You see, as a group of partners, we had a chat about what we feel makes us good at what we do. Your statistics cannot be questioned David, but being a partner requires more than statistics. A life as a partner is a juggling act, and one that requires the utmost balance and occasional grounding. As a group we feel that your professional efforts are immense, but that maybe they have been sacrificed in the face of your personal pursuits.”
“Yes, yes, yes, that is all well and good, but without this promotion I’ve got nothing?” demanded Dave, thinking that this guilt trip would push Nick over the line.
“Exactly young man.” Nick reached for his jacket and folder. The suit had clearly been built for someone with Nick’s waist and chest measurements, but those guys clearly had longer arms as his hands barely appeared out of the suit. Hitching it back, he repeated his words once again, like a parent wagging his finger at an errant child.
“Exactly young man. You need to show us that there is more to you than just the workaholic consultant. If you can show us, as a leadership team, that you are balanced, then the job is yours.”
Nick’s hungry hand patted Dave’s shoulder as he left the office, and the temptation to bite it off like a rabid terrier chomping at the postman, was rife in Dave.
“And remember Dave, you’ve done really well this year and as a group we appreciate that immensely.”
There it was. Dave had just been served a good news sandwich. Two firm and honest pieces of good news bread, with a healthy slice of bad news filling. The books he read called it ‘balanced feedback’, but he knew that the good news was only there to soften the blow. He was numb as he sat there alone. Hurt, but not defeated.
“Balance? What the fuck is balance?”
Dave knew where he could find the answer, but he just wasn’t sure whether he’d like the answer. While Laura sat excitedly and expectantly, he left Nick’s office, closed his laptop and headed for the door, not even looking her in the eye.
“No more calls for the rest of the day. Cull any meetings I’ve got. If anyone calls you don’t know where I am. My mobile is off. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Plan, Execute, Measure” he thought to himself as he descended in the lift.
***
Chapter What Happens Next
***
“Look kids, it’s Uncle Dave. Come on in. Dinner won’t be long; I’ve just got to put these two down. Say goodnight kids.”
The spread was exactly what Dave had expected, but the welcome blew him away as always. Lashings of gravy did little to hide the mass of food that lay on the plate in front of him, with every seasonal vegetable being used as the perfect accompaniment for a lavish joint of beef that just oozed flavour like a marathon runner oozes sweat.
As was protocol for these random visits, neither Anne nor Tony had enquired as to the reason, but sure as an out of tune song at a football game, they knew something wasn’t right. Dave had gotten better as the kids had reached an age where he could talk at them more with some level of engagement, and now they were able to answer back, Dave had been a regular at the birthdays and other parties. That was on the condition that Anne got the invite to Laura in enough time before Dave’s hectic diary got too busy. Before then, his visits had been infrequent in their timing, but entirely obvious in their reason. Dave tended to arrive at the Hamilton house when he needed help, and there was a certain type of help that he knew only Anne and Tony could deliver.
Dave stood momentarily and carefully cracked open the bottle of red that he’d brought with him. Despite being phased by the news that Nick had thrust upon him, he’d had his wherewithals about him when he’d pulled into his place on the way to the Hamilton house. Dave had two selections of wine in his bachelor pad. There was the display set, which included some very select and reserve bottles of fine red and white. These were his special wines, and were to be drunk by him only, but really were more for show than anything. In fact, he was very careful to purchase wines with screw caps, so that when he’d drunk them, he could refill them with coloured water and put them back in the display. As a frugal businessman, Dave had another consignment of wine, which was his sharing dinner party, or gift wine. He’d stumbled across a bottle shop during one of his international business trips, where you could buy wine labels. It didn’t take a millisecond for his synapses to connect and send a message of pure joy to his head.
“Nice labels plus cheap wine equals expensive wine…check!”
A few weeks later he’d gone to his local wine merchant and secured a few boxes of their finest clean skin wine, at less than €1 a bottle, and invested a brief wet Sunday afternoon, attaching his own labels. For just over a quid a bottle, he could arrive at any event proud of the fact that he had a unique bottle of red. In fact, during some recent client dinners, he’d even bragged about how “you won’t see this label anywhere else…it’s very exclusive and I promised my supplier that I wouldn’t tell!” Never let the truth get in the way of a good story. Anyway, it proved Dave’s point that most people didn’t know a good bottle from a cheap plonk, as many a guest would harp on about the “woody aftertaste” and “crimson bark” or what was “a truly divine example of a red!”