Getting Drunk in First Class

The message comes through on my Blackberry. One of the associates working for our largest client confirms a looming rumor: starting next quarter, all “contracted employees” will be drug tested. I sniffle; a tear falls; I blow my nose and shrug.

But once I realize the scope implied by term “contracted employees,” I suddenly become nervous. Apparently it encompasses everyone from the Indians who run the IT desk (dots, not feathers) to the Indians who run on-site security (feathers, not dots). And although the former group’s offshore location affords the appearance of 24/7 coverage (while the latter group tends not try), as a management consultant I rely on less wholesome measures.

I can understand drug testing your own employees. After all, if they were in any way capable of what they were hired to do, there would be no need for consulting firms. I wouldn’t be surprised to find any number of blue collar drugs coursing through their collective veins. But why a company would want to design policies that discourage productivity in the most valuable (or at least most expensive) component of their workforce I cannot fathom. You can’t ask Bonds to break a homerun record without HGH; you can’t ask Lance to win the Tour without doping his blood; and you can’t ask a consultant to revise a 20-slide deck for the fifth consecutive night without an 8 ball.

While my colleagues were out enjoying the powder in Vail last March, I was enjoying it in my room at the W. By the end of the year, we were both out a few grand and I had been promoted for the second time in as many years. I put that substance on an exclusive list of things I hold dear: champagne, foie gras, airline upgrades, and Shakira albums, played quietly in the privacy of my own apartment. I could go on for hours (believe me). However, the last thing I want to do is turn this piece into rant on the joys of cocaine; time constraints, word count limits and my own impatience prevent it. My real focus is the emergence of a dangerous and startling revelation: clients are systematically trying to ruin our once glorious profession by removing the very pillars that sustain it.

It can hardly be called a trend: clients have traditionally harbored a tenuous, love-hate relationship with their consultants. They invite us into their offices only to sabotage our work; they ask for our opinions and then shit all over them; they agree to expense write-offs at 20% of billings and then complain when the alcohol portion of our receipts exceed food and gratuity. And we’ve always given it right back: we fly halfway across the world to condescend, laugh behind their backs and glad-hand with their superiors; we insist on reserving corner office space and then spend all our time by the cubicles, hitting on their admins. To put it simply, we’ve always met each other half way. In the end, everyone gets a binder.

This balance has been delicate but always maintained, and only lately has it begun to slip. What precipitated this step-wise increase in scrutiny, I can hardly say; maybe it’s professional jealously, or maybe one too many compliance auditors lost their laptops last year. But as I understand it, our profession has stood firmly upon three pillars since the 1980’s: basic sanity, lavish expense accounts, and recreational drug habits. Let us refer to this construct as the Consulting Trinity (ref. to Figure A). Much like the Holy Trinity, these three staples both support and reinforce each other.

Figure A: The Consulting Trinity

Chipping away at any one is liable to disrupt the other two; cutting out two at once leaves little hope for the third.** Much to my dismay, I sensed all three crumbling down around me when I tried to make travel reservations for an upcoming meeting:

“I’d like to book the 7:30 shuttle for this Tuesday please.”
“Are you aware that there’s a cheaper flight available on American?”
[profound silence]
“Should I book you on that flight instead?”
[strained breathe; phone drops]
“Would you like hotel accommodations while staying in the city, sir?”
“I shudder to think at what you might suggest.”

I refuse to provide month-long, interest-free loans to a Fortune 50 company that wants me to stay at the Pickwick Arms. It took three glasses of Bushmills to settle my nerves. But I digress: it’s getting late, I have work to do, my mirror is running dry and I fear all of this is discoverable because it’s being captured on my work computer.

I’ll cut right to the point: am I angered by being lumped in with IT consultants and staff augmentation? Somewhat. With facilities workers and offshore support? Incredibly. But what really bothers me is the lack of respect. Does this client honestly believe the same people who orchestrated a spin-off with scant data, scotch and a burning need to sell follow-on are going to be leveled by a urine test? Given a light week and a little will power, I could have the CEO’s urine in a bottle with my name on it. Rebuilding trust is not accomplished so easily, particularly in relationships based on greed and mutual reliance. After all, how can you accept free meals, travel, and millions of dollars in annual billings from an organization that doesn’t respect you? It’s the only thing that separates us from investment bankers.

In the end, advanced notice is a lifesaver. Unless they test my handkerchief, our summer intern’s inner thigh, or virtually any flat surface in my apartment, my employment will be secure through the next fiscal year. I weep only for future generations of Ivy League hopefuls who’ll sign their lives over for the stuff of dreams and a fistful of magic beans: airline miles, hotel points, and less boring trips to the bathroom.

**Survey data and scenario modeling have largely validated these conclusions. While the effects of dramatic increases in any single input have not been studied sufficiently, preliminary (albeit anecdotal) evidence from BCG suggest unhealthy increases in recreational drug activity may carry proportional increases in expense activity. This effect is unrelated to client behavior and, when controlling for blank cab receipts, appears to be limited.

This article was submitted by a guest author by the name of “Matt.” Matt reminds us he too has taken pleasure in cleaning out the first class cabin of all the cognac on transcontinental flights. Way to go, Matt; Way to go.