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In my opinion, there can be few sterner tests of a Senior Executive's caliber than a lengthy meeting with the President of the company with a bladder brim full of coffee. I had occasion to reflect on this fact, as I noticed by the clock on Rich's desk that our "little chat" had now lasted over an hour. I crossed my legs, changed my mind and uncrossed them again. It was an unwise move. Previous experience in similar situations had proved beyond doubt that the most effective technique was to remain immobile as far as possible. By rigorous application of this method, a powerful mind can erect a barrier between itself and the bladder, enabling it to focus on the matters under discussion. I got a grip of myself. I had to. Rich had finished speaking and was looking at me in a way that invited a response.
"The trouble with Harvey," I said, "is that he still seems to think he's working for a small-time company." I removed my glasses and wiped them with my handkerchief, a gesture which, though completely natural of course, always tends to reinforce the insightful intelligence of my remarks.
"Mm, I know." Rich took a sip of his coffee. "They all do. All these SuperPumps people. It's inevitable I suppose. A small outfit, doing well enough in its way. Then along comes a corporation like us with a big company structure. These people don't find it easy to come to terms with our professionalism." He sipped his coffee again.
"Yes Rich, that's it exactly. People like Harvey have to realize that there comes a time in a company's life cycle when it, you know, reaches a size, a complexity where the old management style just won't hack it. That's when they need people like us, with our uh...you know.…"
Despite my best efforts, my attention was straying to my bladder again. It seemed to happen each time Rich took a sip of coffee.
"Professionalism, T. J. Yes you're right. It's up to us to bring the same level of corporate discipline to SuperPumps as you find up at Corporate. In a way I suppose you could call us missionaries." Rich leaned back in his big leather chair. His head struck the frame of one of the modern art prints on his office wall, and he leaned forward again quickly, rubbing his distinguished, silvery gray head. His hair was gray, of course, not his actual head.
"Missionaries, Rich. Exactly." I removed my glasses again, not because of the insightful intelligence thing this time, but to pick off a large piece of lint from my handkerchief, which had inexplicably become stuck to the inside of the left lens.
Rich continued: "It's our job to make everyone at SuperPumps realize that they're part of the Pumpex family. And that means doing things the Pumpex way. By the way, how are you coming along with that New Product Development Procedure? It needs to be.... Where are you?"
"Right here, Rich," I said, rising from under the desk, where I was engaged in retrieving my glasses. "It'll be ready for the meeting on the seventeenth, as promised."
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