Monday
I got a gig! My first assignment as an indie guru, ex-A&P wage-slave, now 100 percent equity owner of Albatross Partners. It's not a giant gig, but best to start small. The main thing is to start getting paid for my time, build my network, develop a reputation, ferret out the influential buyers, practice my elevator speech. … Oh, yes — I've been reading the indie literature. This first gig is simply a step on the road to self-respect and cash flow, or more practically, cash flow and self-respect.
Spend afternoon writing PowerPoint slide deck to wow 'em on Wednesday. I've always felt that PowerPoint, with no disrespect to Chairman Bill, has proletarianized the old art of crafting great preezos. These days, everyone fancies themselves a PowerPoint god. Everyone uses the same blue background and the same banal clip art figures: that worried man, that light bulb, that handshake. But what they end up with is usually heavy on the Power and embarrassingly light on Points. It's not the clip art, stupid, I always tell them. Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses, naturally, and I've always given a good show. And this deck is one of my best, perfect for my first indie-gig, if I do say so myself. Should have charged more moolah, though.
Tuesday
Dentist. Ouch, ouch, ouch. Nasdaq off sixteen on pervasive feelings of ennui in the Western world. Or something. Listen groggily to seventies classic rock all afternoon while waiting for the anaesthetic to wear off. Always thought Supertramp was underrated. Take a jumbo, across the water …
Wednesday
The big day. Don finest remaining suit: deep-blue chalk-stripe, expansive pleats, wide shoulders. Loud, angry-red tie over button-down starchy shirt. Golden question mark cuff-links. Shiny, lace-up, hard black shoes. Astonishingly uncomfortable after spending last month in sweatpants and polar fleece. Drink three big strong coffees and gun the Audi to town. … Take the long way home, Take the long way home …
Very unfortunate incident with tractor-trailer at blind corner. Bust radiator, front panel dents. His fault, although he won't admit it. Police. Blah, blah. Turns out they have some sort of database that turns up my ongoing litigation with Hertz. Is that some sinister Ashcroft thing? Big delay anyway, and I'm forty minutes late to town, racing in with an oil stain on my shirt. Guzzle quick top-up coffee while Mrs. Ethelridge introduces me to the audience. And then I'm off, racing into my material to make up lost time since I know we only have 'til noon and we have so much great stuff to cover.
Start with the misty origins of consulting with Mr. Booz and Mr. McKinsey, roll through the spin-offs, the emergence of "strategists" like A&P, the relentless rise of the accountants, gloss past the IT Goliaths since I don't know what I'm talking about, and conclude breathlessly with a review of how the ethics crisis and the popped bubble are even as we speak reshaping the profession for the twenty-first century and beyond.
Finish giddily and triumphantly six minutes before noon, time for Q&A. But oddly the good Rotarians of Lexington don't seem to have any questions on the history of management consulting, just clap mildly and drift lunchward. Mrs. Ethelridge thanks me profusely and worries like a mother about the bruise now going purple on my forehead, and by five past I'm back in my (dinged) car, one hundred dollars the richer, which should pay about 10% of the damage to my vehicle.
Thursday
Drop off Theo at school and take car to shop. Spend morning reading old copies of People. Apparently Brad Pitt is married to that girl from Friends. Pay large check. Drive home. Take nap in bed in corner of office, something I swore not to do, but I don't think anyone will mind if I catch up on a few zzzzz's.
Friday
My bruise is now a brilliant orange and, as I suspected, my insurance company is acting prickly. The truck driver's neck has stiffened, they say. Manage one sales call to Ed Spanks at Old Wally Brewery and am flabbergasted to hear that they've been acquired by Wendy's. Mention that I did work in burgers and ask him to put in a word next time he's at corporate. Ed reckons they'll fire him before July 15th, when his Wally options would vest, so end up spending fifty (unbilled) minutes getting him to cheer up. Ed thinks he'll go in for freelance consulting, tapping into his brewing savvy. Try to let him down gently.
Phone rings (first time this week?). It's Heide Vertig over at Bain. Morty Tomato, the partner there whose kid got thumped by Theo last year, wants to meet. Hmmm. Told you they needed turning around. Cometh the hour, cometh the man?
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