Rebecca had developed a highly refined philosophy regarding company-wide meetings.
If attendance was mandatory, participation was optional.
If participation was mandatory, understanding was optional.
And if understanding was mandatory, the meeting should probably have been an email.
This particular meeting had assembled seventy-two people from six countries to discuss something called Strategic Resource Optimisation. Rebecca suspected the phrase had been generated by feeding three business textbooks into a cement mixer.
At ten thirty, she joined the call.
At ten thirty-two, somebody began sharing a presentation.
At ten forty-seven, somebody else apologised because they were apparently looking at an old version of the presentation.
At ten fifty-three, a third person apologised because they were apparently looking at an even older version.
Rebecca felt the meeting was progressing exactly as expected.
Around eleven o’clock, she remembered she had promised to collect a parcel from the collection point near her flat. The shop was only a short walk away. More importantly, the meeting showed every indication of continuing until the eventual heat death of the universe.
She checked her microphone.
Muted.
She checked it again.
Still muted.
Satisfied, she left.
The presentation continued in her ear while she walked.
Several people discussed alignment.
Several others discussed visibility.
One particularly enthusiastic manager discussed creating a framework to facilitate discussions about future frameworks.
Rebecca reached the parcel shop.
There was a short queue.
No problem.
The meeting remained occupied with a slide entitled Emerging Opportunities.
The opportunities themselves appeared to consist mainly of arrows.
Eventually her turn arrived.
The shopkeeper disappeared into the storage area and returned carrying a surprisingly large cardboard box.
Rebecca frowned.
She had ordered a lamp.
The box was approximately the size required to transport a medium-sized alpaca.
“Are you sure that’s mine?” she asked.
The shopkeeper checked the label.
“That’s yours.”
Rebecca stared at it.
The box stared back.
Unfortunately, at that exact moment she heard her name.
“Rebecca, what’s your perspective on this?”
Unlike many corporate employees, Rebecca possessed a dangerous quality.
Conscience.
If somebody asked her a direct question, she felt vaguely obligated to answer it.
She adjusted her headset.
“Honestly, I think it’s much bigger than anyone expected.”
There was a brief pause.
Then several voices agreed.
“Good point.”
“Absolutely.”
“That’s exactly the challenge.”
Rebecca looked at the box.
The box remained enormous.
The meeting interpreted her observation as a profound strategic insight.
The shopkeeper helped her carry it outside.
Now she faced a more practical problem.
The box was awkward, heavy, and almost impossible to hold gracefully.
She began the slow journey home.
Meanwhile, the meeting had become fascinated by the concept of scale.
People kept referring back to Rebecca’s comment.
One director spoke for nearly five minutes about how initiatives often become larger than originally anticipated.
Another suggested documenting the risks.
A third proposed a working group.
Rebecca was halfway down the street when one side of the box gave way.
Without warning, the contents burst through the cardboard and tumbled onto the pavement.
Not one lamp.
Six lamps.
Identical lamps.
Rebecca stared at them.
A passer-by stopped.
“You opening a lighting shop?”
Without thinking, Rebecca replied, “Apparently.”
Unfortunately, she was no longer muted.
The words travelled directly into the meeting.
There was silence.
Then somebody asked, quite reasonably:
“Opening a lighting shop?”
Rebecca stopped walking.
For a moment she considered pretending her internet connection had failed.
Unfortunately, seventy-two people had already heard her.
“Not intentionally,” she said.
The explanation somehow made things worse.
A minute later she found herself describing the situation to an audience that had shown remarkably little interest in strategic resource optimisation but a great deal of interest in accidental retail ventures.
By the time she returned home, the meeting had devoted more energy to her lamps than to the official agenda.
Suggestions had been offered.
Potential business names had been proposed.
Someone from Marketing had volunteered to design a logo.
The meeting finally ended shortly before one o’clock.
Rebecca carried six unwanted lamps into her living room and opened her inbox.
There was already a follow-up email.
The subject line read:
Action Items from Today’s Session
Most of the document was predictable.
Then she reached the final bullet point.
Rebecca to provide update on lamp-related business opportunity during next month’s meeting.
She never did discover why six lamps had been delivered.
But she remained, for several quarters afterwards, the unofficial head of lighting strategy.
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