Graham’s involvement in the meeting was largely ceremonial.
The invitation had appeared in his calendar four weeks earlier under the title Global Process Harmonisation Update. Nobody knew precisely what was being harmonised, although there was a general consensus that processes were involved.
At nine o’clock sharp, Graham joined the Teams call, switched off his camera, muted his microphone, and became a small circle containing his initials.
This represented the peak of his participation.
Twenty-three minutes into the meeting, while someone from Operations explained a chart containing several colours and no obvious information, Graham realised he had run out of teabags.
This was unfortunate.
A British household without teabags is not unlike a nuclear submarine without fuel. It may continue functioning for a short while, but only on momentum and increasingly dark thoughts.
The corner shop was less than five minutes away.
The meeting had another hour and forty minutes to run.
Graham considered the matter carefully and arrived at the same conclusion reached by many men before undertaking something inadvisable.
It’ll probably be fine.
He slipped on his coat, collected his keys, and set off with his wireless headset still connected.
The meeting droned on peacefully in one ear.
Someone was discussing stakeholder engagement.
Someone else was discussing strategic visibility.
A third person thanked both previous speakers for their valuable insights, despite there being no evidence that any had occurred.
Graham reached the shop without incident.
His confidence increased.
This was his first mistake.
There is a peculiar law governing remote meetings which states that the less relevant your presence, the more likely somebody is to require it unexpectedly.
Sure enough, as he stood comparing two brands of teabags whose differences appeared largely theological, he heard his name.
“Graham?”
He froze.
“Sorry,” he said immediately. “Could you repeat the question?”
This bought time but created a new problem.
The question was repeated.
It was exactly as incomprehensible the second time.
Fortunately, years of corporate employment had equipped him with several responses suitable for situations in which he had not been listening.
“I think we need to be careful not to lose sight of the bigger picture.”
A murmur of approval followed.
Three people agreed.
One person asked whether that aligned with the roadmap.
Another suggested it should perhaps be discussed offline.
The conversation moved on.
Graham selected his teabags and proceeded toward the checkout.
Everything remained under control until he encountered the queue.
There were only two people ahead of him, but one was attempting to pay for lottery tickets while conducting a spirited debate regarding lucky numbers.
The meeting continued.
A vice president was now speaking.
Vice presidents always sounded as though they were addressing troops before a major military offensive, even when discussing spreadsheet migration.
Graham waited patiently.
Then his headset emitted a small warning tone.
The battery was low.
This was not ideal.
He pressed a button.
The tone stopped.
A second later, another voice spoke.
“Graham, did you have something to add?”
He had not.
What he had done, unfortunately, was unmute himself.
At that precise moment the gentleman buying lottery tickets turned around and announced to nobody in particular:
“Seven quid for a sandwich. Country’s gone mad.”
The sentence echoed perfectly into the meeting.
Silence followed.
Not complete silence.
The sort of silence produced by sixty professionals simultaneously pretending they had not heard something.
Graham muted himself immediately.
This should have solved the problem.
Instead, it made people curious.
A private Teams message appeared.
You in a shop?
A second followed.
What sandwich was seven quid?
Then another.
To be fair, he’s right.
Within minutes, a side discussion had developed in the chat.
Several participants began comparing sandwich prices in different regions.
Someone in London posted a photograph.
Someone in Manchester claimed they could still get a respectable meal deal for under four pounds.
The vice president continued speaking, apparently unaware that the audience had abandoned digital transformation in favour of retail economics.
By the end of the meeting, the official chat transcript contained forty-three messages.
Only six related to the stated agenda.
The remainder consisted of discussions regarding sandwiches, inflation, and whether crisps should be considered part of a meal.
A summary email was distributed that afternoon.
Under “Key Outcomes” it listed:
- Greater cross-functional engagement.
- Strong participation from attendees.
- Valuable discussion and knowledge sharing.
Graham read the email while drinking tea made from his newly acquired teabags.
For once, he felt the summary was surprisingly accurate.
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