Monday
Donny Drucker has asked me to join his new think tank at Bain. This comes as something of a surprise following our fight in my garden after I'd reviewed his stupid best-seller less than amicably. Try to fathom whether the offer is a mean practical joke from Monk Bonanza or one of his ilk. But no, the real thing. The Druckster himself calls, says we have too much shared baggage to squabble and that I'd add immeasurably to the Quop at Bain. Unsure I heard him right, I ask for clarification. Quop? Aah, quality of pontification. They're all such doers at Bain, you see. What they need — and they know it — is Big Thought. Donny is no relation to the real Drucker, as I always remind people, but he does do biz best-sellers. And biz best-sellers are the perfect stocking stuffer for CEOs. And biz best-sellers that acknowledge the collegial companionship and downright brilliance of the scurrying management consultants at a sponsoring company, well … that's plain ol' good business. I accept. The alternative being personal bankruptcy, it's not too hard a choice. Flipping back through these pages I see that I had harsh things to say about Donny "being bought," but I was hasty. Donny swears that we'll be independent. Bain is building a special ivory tower with drawbridge and guards clad in chainmail to keep us pure. All we do is write intellectual missives, fold them into paper airplanes, and float them down to the hungry troops in their bullpens. We provide the patina of legitimacy. And some Quop. I like that.
Tuesday
New suits. My old Armadillo & Pounce gear is musty, baggy, thin-buttocked. My old shirts are less than white. My old socks have holes. My old shoes have shrunk. So off to Brooks Brothers for an extreme makeover. Many thousands later, and Papa has a whole new bag full of duds. Since I'm a thinker and no longer a road warrior, I opt for fawns and browns, slightly academic without being fusty, I hope. May take up pipe-smoking (like Donny), but doubt that Bain's Boston digs permit it, even in the ivory tower wing.
Teach Theo how to form a Windsor knot. The boy is all thumbs, but these are vital social skills! With my new Bain salary we can reassess private school, and you know these places care about things like that. My wife counsels going slow, see how I like it, wait for the first check to cash, but I know that with affairs of the intellect you have to trust your gut. And my gut says, "Soo-ey, soo-ey, pig!"
Wednesday
Over to Donny's place to review our manifesto for bringing Bain into the vanguard of corporate thought. Slightly odd that DD was definitely my junior at A&P (although he claims to have forgotten this) but now this is very much his agenda. Hence the daffy naming: Get Naked for Growth, In Praise of Usury, CEO Calisthenics … Donny always was a wee bit New Age. I lobby for some sops to traditionalists along the lines of advanced segmentation theses, but Donny, perhaps fearful that I have an international reputation in this arena, is resistant. He claims that you might as well segment customers by astrological sign, and I'm tempted for a moment to insist that we should include exactly that on our heretical project list.
How will those zealous Bainies react to our incendiary material? We have no time for spreadsheets, for NPVs and situation analyses, for loyalty even. They're going to hate it, says Donny, fixing me with his Michael Porter stare. But they're going to do it anyway. The more way-out we are, the safer we'll be. Safer? I'm curious. Why do we want to be safe? Safe from what? But Donny's nimble mind is off to a vision of strategy workshops as Jerry Springer theater, moderated by him with brilliant Final Thoughts. I leave him on his couch and go grab a coffee.
Thursday
A day of paperwork. Bain's health plan, stock plan, parking plan, seating plan, travel plan, ethics plan. These people adore planning. Suppose that's why they're a strategic planning firm. Have to admit: A&P was something, but this is the big-time. A reward for patience, somehow. Wonder what Ken Armadillo's doing now?
Friday
Kind e-mail from Morty Tomato looking forward to seeing me next week and cracking jokes about our ivory tower. And I thought Donny was being allusive. According to The Big Red One there really is a tower and I'm to be in it! In these days of cost-cutting and sobriety, the whole thing is a little dreamlike. Pinch myself to check. Yup, real world.
My new Bain e-mail is working already, so I sign out from the rigors of hotmail and penis enlargement offers. I look around my home office with affection. Six months in here and I was getting a little stir-crazy, but life goes in phases. I have new humility, new wisdom. I have a crazy new partner. And above all, I have a paycheck!
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