Getting Drunk in First Class

It’s a Wednesday morning at 8 AM. I’m up and I quickly throw on my suit and get to the client’s offices downtown, red eyes and all. I check on my team, sit in on the status meeting, throw a few crumb cakes around for being late, generally cause a ruckus for the entire team about ‘issues’ and ‘risks’ that I’m sure will keep them burning 12-hour billable days (and probably into the weekend) all the while thumbing through my Blackberry playing Arkanoid while making it seem like I have pressing CEO matters to attend to and ‘Enterprise Architectures’ to go sell.

Naturally, following the meeting, I adjust my tie, quickly proceed to the little boy’s room and purge last nights dry heave of blue cheese olive martinis, double Glenlivet 18’s, and several glasses of what I’m sure was expensive wine. “Ahhh…. much better,” I think to myself. I pull myself together, go out to my driver in the Town Car, and head back to the Four Seasons.

I jump in bed and am quickly asleep, recovering from my hangover and hopefully having a couple of wet dreams about the sexcapades I participated in last night after the club.

Of course, Wednesday night comes around (after I’ve made sure to bill a full day’s worth of client hours), and the process would likely repeat but not this Wednesday. Instead, I check-in online and print my Emirates first class suite boarding pass for tomorrow’s flight to Dubai.

Zoom over to Friday where I awake in the award-winning JW Marriott Dubai in my royal suite (with 3 king beds that I’ve put all next to each other to make room for a trampoline that I’m sure the pretty Arab playgirls will absolutely love come Friday evenings ‘festivities’). Now, I need to make a quick call into a conference using my quad-band GSM world phone. I do this whilst I’m getting pampered in the hotel’s spa and getting my feet tickled by two young beautiful women. I tell my client’s executive committee that they need to (checking my random bullshit generator) “Synergize” their “Enterprise Approaches” and of course they eat it right up and practically throw themselves on the floor ready to sign another $10M consulting contract. I’m fucking amazing when I’m on the phone.

I politely tell them I “need to finish up my research paper on ‘Middle Eastern Oil Wealth’” which basically means I’ll have my secretary compile a few statistics from Google combined with our proprietary bullshit generator and submit it to the Wall Street Journal where I’ll have my article published and that small, fancy gray-lined version of my portrait embedded in the article. You know you’ve made it when you have a small, fancy gray-lined version of your portrait printed in the WSJ.

So along with some friends, I head out of the hotel and hop into my limousine and properly get myself to the docks where my Catamaran is ready to push off. Now this is how partners do their research, on their Catamaran sailing quietly in the solitude of the Persian Gulf. I decided to bring the two ladies from the spa along with us and of course they think I’m God in the flesh (which isn’t far from the truth). Of course, I tell the girls that having a threesome is important to their reaching a pinnacle of immortality and they eat it right up and within moments are suckling each other’s nipples and taking care of my business. During this entire charade, I sail peacefully knowing that I’m not paying a dime for all of this.

Oh, and about the client team back in the home country? What are they doing, you ask? Easy answer chubs, thrillin’ and billin’. All in a simple week my friend, all in a simple week. Has your company checked your productivity metrics lately?