Month: December 2016

Still Waters Run Deep

“Things are entirely what they appear to be and behind them… there is nothing.” – Jean-Paul Sartre

Would that this were the case. But Sartre was wrong. He was overly existential. He believed that existence supersedes essence. To this observer at least, it is the essence – not the existence – of things that tell the story. Certainly, as inscrutable as things may appear on the surface, they tell this story.

Ben is a program manager who works with architects, engineers and other specifiers. He has boundless energy and speaks volumes when just a few words would probably do. But there is another side to Ben that no one sees. Or, to be more precise, there is an underside to Ben that no one realizes is there.

The first issue is that Ben disappears. The presumption is always that he is on the road, but that is not a certainty. Indeed, the constant query, where is Ben? has become something of a joke in the Small Office. I do not see it as a thing to be laughed at and worry that there is something amiss. But he does his job well and, short of prying into his personal business, there is nothing to be done about it.

His face was more stony than solemn.

Recently, the wife of a staff member died and most in the office went to the funeral. The church was large and, with its vaulted ceilings and majestic stained glass windows, something to behold. Ben sat alone, in the very far corner of the very last pew near massive oak doors. Ben is hardly a loner but, here, in this place, he kept to himself. He did not move through the entire service. His face was more stony than solemn; I am not sure he blinked even once. It was as if this place held for him a past he preferred not to revisit. I could not help but feel that there was something happening here but, short of prying into his personal business, there was nothing to be done about it.

Last week, the Black Widow, our very existential and, by her own assessment, very essential V.P. of human resources, came to see me. It had come to her attention that Ben has a drinking problem. She wondered if I knew anything about that. I looked at her quizzically. What do you mean by “drinking problem”? There are plenty on staff who can drink me under the table with no ill effects. Put Cowboy Bob at the head of the list. But of all those in the commercial team who would stop in for a pint at the slightest provocation, I would have considered Ben the least likely. Somehow, someone saw something that led to a conclusion that may or may not be valid. I imagine our Black Widow will pry into his personal business and then decide what to do about it.

So what is Ben’s story? Can we make it out based on the fragments we see and the snippets others hear? More importantly, should we try?

Calling 9-1-1

I guess I’m a bit like Benjamin Disraeli when it comes to traveling: I have seen more than I remember and I remember more than I have seen. But my travels, generally deplete of drama, stand in stark contrast to the latest sojourn of one Alistair J.

Alistair is the second cousin of the third earl of some ceremonial county in northwest England that ends in shire. Alistair is a buyer who scours the globe in search of any emerging technology that could be useful and profitable.

A proper preamble to this story requires the infusion of context. The Small Office is more known for its subtleties than its subterfuge. We are more strategic than surreptitious. In other words, there is little clandestine about our business – at least in the way we conduct it. Some low grade industrial espionage, perhaps. Patent surfing and back-engineering of competitive products. Raiding of competitors’ employees. Under-the-radar acquisitions. Off-book deals. Nothing to write home about in the unlikely event someone there truly cared. So tales of intrigue and artifice are beguiling to say the least.

Alistair is tall as befits an earl, and has white hair as befits a gentleman in his 70s. He often travels with his 20-something niece who is collecting obscure recipes from third world countries for publication. The two just went to Bangladesh.

Muggings are common, kidnappings common enough.

Bangladesh is notoriously dangerous for travelers. Especially well-dressed 70 year-old travelers with 20 something consorts. Muggings are common, kidnappings common enough. Alistair has already been robbed at knifepoint, had his room ransacked, and has been the recipient of numerous unsettling threats to life and very specific, rather important limbs.

Miscreants of all types scour airports for marks. Cab drivers are among the usual suspects. One common ruse is to wait for an unsuspecting businessman to grab a cab and, once on board, the driver robs his victim of all valuables. All of this only slightly offsets the fact that Bangladesh is duty free.

Alistair told me his latest trip to Dhaka was uneventful – even with his niece in tow – because, as always, he took an ambulance to and from his 5-star hotel. Apparently, no one robs ambulances – a nod, I suppose, to the fact that ambulance service is not much of a cash and carry business. Atif, Alistair’s regular driver, is always on call for his patrician bandhu. Atif’s vehicle is a full-sized, fully tricked-out, air-conditioned van, a rarity in this capital city where you are more likely to see a very pedestrian Maruti Omni human hauler with little more than a cot and an oxygen tank doing the job. In the business of getting around safely, what you know and who you know are one and the same.

I imagine that, going forward, I will take my extended, if relatively uneventful, travels in greater stride.