Multi National Mega Global has, as its name would denote, offices and employees (or “associates“, as they are smugly called) all around the world. It is not unusual for an associate from Brazil to pop in from one of his meetings and use a computer before heading to the airport, or from France to chat with one of the unit heads about Matters of Monumental Importance. Most recently, one of our esteemed German associates visited our fair city for a fun-filled day of client meetings, then dinner with our local mucky-mucks.
After the meetings, the German and Sam Shenanigan, Big Cheese and all-around pain in the ass, congenially walk the client to the door, and the second it closes, they begin to chat informally in the lobby.
"Well”, says Sam, “the train's not out of the station on this one yet. We need to get some architecture together that makes it begin to look like a house, or we’ll lose our window of opportunity. Now, there are a couple of flies in the ointment, and, of course, everyone is going to want their bite of the apple, but I’ve seen this movie before, and once we pull all the threads into one quilt, we’ll have the world by the tail.”
What the…?
Okay, everyone who’s ever met anyone from Western Europe knows that they just about all speak English. Good English. In some cases, more fluid and grammatically correct English than your average American. Evidently very few Freakish Corp-O-Speak classes are taught in Germany.
Looking utterly bewildered, Wolfgang musters a meek “Sorry?”
Sam takes a breath and clarifies for him. “Listen, we have a better mousetrap, I know it and you know it. Our first concern will be getting the right people on the bus, and then taking a couple swings at it, kicking it around, throwing ideas at the wall to see what sticks. This baby is going to be in the incubator for a while, but ultimately there is a need to feed the beast, so if we drill through the details and stay ahead of the curve, it puts them on our battlefield. See, it’s a line in the sand, and we can redraw the boundaries later on.”
Mistaking Wolfgang’s complete confusion for reluctance, Sam intensifies.
“All right, I know this seems like the project that ate Manhattan, and granted, I’d like to get a better look under the tent too, but for now, we just have to put together a straw man to get us down the road. Of course, we’ll eventually have to put flesh on the bone, you know, move the needle. But that’s a whole other kettle of fish. As it stands, we don’t have to boil the ocean or cure cancer. We’re not baking that cake right now. As long as we…”
Sam’s mixed-metaphor logorrhea is mercifully corked by his “Where’s the Party At?” ring tone.
Sam takes the call and wanders down the hall toward his office, motioning for Wolfgang to follow. The German looks at me, a hopeless, silent cry for help, and I can only shrug my shoulders and commiserate, saying “I'm truly sorry I can’t help you. English is my mother tongue, and he’s still unintelligible.” Wolfgang smiles at the joke, and then adds, “He’s been drinking some company Kool-Aid, yes?”
When I almost shoot Dr. Pepper through my nose, the international sign of astonished amusement, Wolfgang looks pleased.
As well he should.
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