Stanley Bing - Bingsops Fables: Little Morals for Big Business

To Laura

Either we must not speak to kings, or we must say what pleases them.

AESOP

Contents

P eople in business love instructional tales. Perhaps this is because we dont know whats going on and need assistance. And while we appreciate for this purpose a good anecdote or the occasional shaggy-dog tale, for wisdom and pith there is nothing as effective as the fable. Thats because fables have a useful moral packed into every one, a little slogan to live by. Thats good value for your dollar. Unlike the fairy tale, bloody saga, or juicy bit of gossip, a fable must educate while it amuses. For many a truth is spoken in jest.

Nowhere is this subtle blend of the sublime and the ridiculous more evident than in the charming fables laid down by the ancient scribe now known to the world as Bingsop. Long thought lost, these artifacts of an ancient corporate culture were discovered in an abandoned credenza tucked into the corner of a remote office whose tenant had gone Chapter 11 in some crash or other. Their provenance and importance were declared almost immediately by a host of Web destinations.

Of the man himself, we know little. He lived. He worked. He lunched. He got a few options. At the age of about thirty, as was customary of his time, he entered into formal servitude with a large corporation, taking an office in a far outpost of the enterprise with several fine museums but no nightlife. After a long period of enslavement, he received several excellent bonuses over a stretch of three or four years, and, thus purchasing his freedom, wandered off into underemployment. It is said he even became a consultant for a time, although to his credit such hearsay has never been verified.

Even in his indenture, Bingsop had it pretty easy. The corporations of that time rewarded the very high-level slave with a life of comfort and a certain amount of influence and power. Most important, Bingsops functional position (which is not clearly defined in his writing) allowed him to travel as widely as the international tentacles of his company, studying the ways of human beings in a variety of business situations, from the most informal to the most structured and bizarre. New York, Rome, Tokyo, London, Paris, Los Angeleshe was known at respectable tables and hotels in every port. He spent time in the now submerged city that was once Miami. He worked with the great and the near great, most of whom are now lost in the shifting sands of time, although they certainly thought they were pretty big hotshots while it lasted. Unfortunately, not everyone was amused by Bingsops act.

It was a miscalculated anecdote, in the end, that is thought to have laid him low. In the later part of his career, as he was touring about as an after-dinner speaker and juggler (capable of keeping three sheets of letterhead aloft without dropping or creasing a single one), he found himself in Las Vegas, talking to a phalanx of drunken security analysts and investment bankers. Finding them surprisingly dull of wit, and perhaps having drunk too much himself and having slept too little the night before, Bingsop neglected to disguise his message behind his customary veil of good humor, and the group, enraged at having paid a hefty sum for the pleasure of having an unflattering mirror held up to them, rushed the podium and beat him to death with the souvenir baseball bats they had received in their convention gift bags.

After this untimely end, the fame of Bingsop only grew, his fables moving across continents, speaking to generations of wage slaves and free executives alike with sagacity, subtlety, and charm. The truth is ever-evolving. It is the task of individuals like Bingsop to send that truth off into the world like a little child, where it may grow, gain force and definition over time, and perhaps one day change the world. Until that time, little tales such as these will always be welcome wherever they may go, particularly after dinner.

STANLEY BING, JANUARY 2011

The CEO and his hatchet man planned to execute their reorganization all at once, on a Friday afternoon.

A fter a horrible and bloody merger, the CEO of the losing side, who had barely survived the coming together of two proud companies, did an analysis of which services could be outsourced in his conquered subsidiary. The CEO knew that his future depended on how many jobs he could kill before the size of his package was noted by the senior management of the dominant hedge fund that now owned them. He quickly saw that a number of internal functions could be managed offshore simply by hiring a service firm or existing entity in Costa Rica that did such things for companies looking to minimize pensions, benefits, and other employee-related costs. I can save a ton of money and be a hero to my new bosses just like the guys at Citigroup did, he thought.

Like many CEOs, however, this particular executive, while a genuine fan of rationalizing costs, hated to actually fire people himself. He therefore determined to hire a hatchet man to do the nasty work for him, bringing in a former McKinsey operative and giving him the title of Chief Operating Officer. This COO was himself quite expensive, his salary, bonus, long-term compensation, and perquisites amounting to the cost of several hundred smaller jobs. He at once targeted Law, Accounting, Public Relations, Event Planning, Office Services, and several other formerly integrated departments for extreme unction, although he did spare the executive chef.

This place is way fat, he told the CEO, who knew he was full of shit but admired the zeal with which he justified his compensation.

This fellow is a real go-getter, said the CEO to himself. I will kill him as soon as I can, for he is very dangerous to any life form in his vicinity.

The CEO and his hatchet man planned to execute their reorganization all at once, on a Friday afternoon, late in the day, when corporations traditionally take out the garbage, minimizing as much as possible the media fallout.

On the day when the announcements were to be made, the Chief Operating Officer called the executives in charge of these various areas into his palatial office, one by one, and terminated them after outlining the actions necessary to earn their severance. And there was much weeping and gnashing of teeth throughout the building, which had once been home to several hundred worthy souls and would now be little more than a ghost town populated by wraiths whose jobs it would be to manage outsourced providers.

These are tough times, said the COO to each of them. And tough times call for hard solutions. Thank you for your contribution. Now get the fuck out of here. Actually, he didnt say that precisely. But thats precisely what he meant.

Among those called to judgment in this manner was a Strategic Planner who was the sole member of what had once been a functioning group of people hired to chart the long-term direction of the enterprise back when companies were less intent on operating strictly quarter to quarter. This planning dude was a savvy fellow, and had quietly functioned under the radar for quite some time. He earnestly beseeched the hatchet man to spare his life for the sake of superior operations.

Dude, he said, adopting the modified surfer patois that binds together much of the more youthful cadre of senior management. You cant take me out. This place is nothing without a planning operation that understands and is dedicated to the day to day. Give me a chance to exercise my chops and demonstrate my added value. Besides, Im no lawyer. Im no beancounter. Im a Wharton grad, did six years at KPMG. I was instrumental in the transaction that produced this acquisition, for chrissake. At some point were going to need to grow revenue, not just cut costs. Thats when what I do really kicks in.