Getting Drunk in First Class

“Do you mind if I stand on your desk?” I didn’t listen for the response.

It’s been one hell of a month. My new client, John, was helpful and full of data. In our fact-finding sessions he didn’t respond with the usual feigned concern and oft-repeated “I really have no idea,” that comes with most client interviews. See, John returned my calls the same day. He sent me spreadsheets that nobody else could find. He used my name when talking to me and his attire playbook was a step up from Client+Kohls=Khakis. I was starting to develop a professional man-crush on John when he asked if he could see a draft of the final assessment, so I said “sure.” This was the presentation that I had told the Diversity Intern she could drive,

“…which means you get to create it, I’ll give it some cycles, and then when the big day comes you get to press the next-slide key while I deliver an unrelated narration.”

Two days later our team gave the big presentation. For fun, I introduced the Diversity Intern as a senior leader in our life sciences practice (biology minor, I guess). I dive in, but for some reason John’s boss, like a teenager playing Asteroids, starts ripping every concept and dazzling waterfall chart apart with contradicting facts; facts that John did not provide me. When I defended our fast-track strategy, John himself flipped on me and pitched cheeky remarks in front of the crowd like, “Why do you keep using the word, ‘value’?” and “apparently Gartner disagrees,” and “Nine women can’t make a baby in a month.” Fuck, John. Really, what the Fuck?

And this is where I return to, “Do you mind if I stand on your desk?” because after the meeting I stood on John’s mousepad to tape the hard copy of the presentation he had raped high on his office wall. I told him we needed to re-storyboard the whole thing and get it right[, you backstabbing slut]. The mousepad was a picture of his kids, which was, I think, a big part of why the Partner told me I would be leaving the case that Friday.

What I didn’t know at the time was that John was ex-BCG. He had outmaneuvered me to look good in front of his boss, playing on my profession’s Achilles’ heel, the idea of a client who likes their consultant. My next few days were full of ill-sentiment, especially the trip home. The worst part of a normal week is any flight attendant on a PA system. When the announcement came, “blah blah We have a very full flight blah blah,” I turned around from first class to address the half-full economy cabin and blurted out, “She always says that bullshit!” and then kept all my electronic devices on but hidden and reclined my seat back just slightly so as to not be noticed. Since they don’t serve Hendricks on UA, I brought my own. When interrogated about it, I answered the flight attendant’s question with an utterly meaningless “Do YOUR Duty for Free.” I slurred something to my neighbor about this blog, and then blacked out until we landed in Chicago for a connection.

I fired off a thumb rant on my BB to the McKinsey Global Institute concluding that O’Hare is the most likely cause of the impending US recession. I spent my time seething in the terminal. I read this article in the WSJ about how great consulting is: “Maybe it is time to let go of the jokes portraying consultants as glib, clueless apostles of PowerPoint, who have yet to hold “real” jobs. Lots of onetime consultants are getting the last laugh, landing posts as CEOs of sizable corporations.”

To make sure John had a hard time making it to CEO, I posted Craigslist personals in his name with stuff like:

• I WILL PAY FOR WOMAN’S….ESSENCE
• WASPY M SEEKS ASIAN F BIKE RIDING PARTNER MUST BE VERY SHORT
• DO YOU LIKE GAGGING?

When my week couldn’t really get any worse, I received a call from the expense compliance ‘bots while waiting in the terminal. How does it make sense to employ these people in exchange for brilliant insights like, “The policy is that you cannot expense more than two dollars per stay for maid service tips.” Or, “We noticed that last week you connected through Atlanta instead of flying direct, can I ask why?” Or, “Sir, just as in the last four instances, we do not accept highlighted credit card statements anymore.” Every time they call me on something, I upgrade my mythical weekly taxi cab cost by $5. And when my next flight finally landed and the cab delivered me home at 3AM, I had no more cares: This is not an exit.

“I will give you exactly $50 for your entire pad of receipts.”

“Sir, no, why you need so many?”

“$70 for no more questions.”

“I am not supposed to and you people always ask for two but this is redic-”

“$80 for no more talking.”

He passed me the receipt pad; I passed him the fare, $80, and John’s mousepad.