Black plasma

Nobody challenged the loud, overconfident marketing exec who thought an outdated idea was hip

A high-profile exec was hired to do marketing, and find or create new ways to drum up business. He was smart, fairly good looking, and thought highly of every word he spoke. Although a little bombastic, he made sense, or appeared to, often enough to have some credibility. He had not been in our business in many years, but apparently recognized it as an easy entry to bigger and better things.

He hired assistants. He bought new lights and office accessories. He hired a fancy-pants and probably very expensive cohort to help him hatch new and brilliant schemes. He presumed to know better than those with more time in the business than he had birthdays. His clothes were expensive, his German cars were new and large. His grandiose house was known to all who would listen, and a few who would rather they hadn’t. He was the Big Cheese. He didn’t care what kind, as long as it was rare and expensive. It turned out to be a little stinkier than anticipated.

After the assistants, all of whom adopted his self-important airs, were outfitted with the best computer gear, far more costly than the standard for the rest of the company, he turned his sights on bigger things.

Enter the plasma screen. The original idea actually had some value; post updated information about our business, our company, and for internal use, our top customers. Ostensibly, this would be of value to the staff in determining how best to serve our customers in a business with daily deadlines, involving many millions of dollars. The original idea was to have several monitors, which he wanted to run off one computer, in spite of the fact that they were fifty or more feet away from each other. I gave him my best advice, saying that it might be possible, but more than likely, he was talking about an internal Web site, with more than one computer involved. I said I’d do more research if he wanted more information, and left it at that.

After a few weeks, the plasma screen came back on the scene. I was invited to a meeting (simply as a pawn, it turned out). One of his crew found a 2-man shop (I’ve learned to be very wary of them), and they came with their presentation. It included clip-art, raggedy text, a stock ticker, and “custom images” of our logo, a slogan or three, and some images that twirled and floated. It was not even close to his originally stated idea. I asked if he wanted any current and therefore useful information to be there. He said, “No, it’s just for show.”

Most of us have been in meetings like that, where one off-handed comment signals doom for all that is good, right, and useful in a project. When the dog and pony show was over, he said, “It’s exactly what I’m looking for. How soon can you get it set up?” My incredulity must have been evident, but he and his minions did not see or care what I thought.

They bought a $5,000 plasma display, against my advice to get an LED screen. (A friend knows plasma display engineers, and even they recommend against them!) Even the vendors said LCD screens were better, but it was too late. The screen was on the wall.

The monthly subscription for a stock ticker and the occasional new stock image was in place. The images were fuzzy, the text was rough, but by God, he was proud, and any contrary notions were quickly shouted down. Or at least they would have been, but most of us knew better by then. He had a high position, a six-figure salary, and a well-established reputation for being a spin doctor.

I have to wonder if those who hired him knew it by then, or if they were still buying his line. Somebody tell me if they’ve ever seen top management admit to making a mistake.

Ah yes, the plasma screen. The Windows-based computer crashed frequently, at least a few times a week. The receptionists hated the thing spewing the same old drivel every day. Visitors must have been rolling their eyes. “Surely those things went out when the dot-coms went bust!” That cheesy little computer finally fizzled and died. Eventually, the vendors replaced it. The Big Cheese finally bit off more than he could chew, or the bosses could swallow, and he abruptly resigned and took a job in another city. The new cheesy computer did more of the same, and died an ignoble and mercifully final death. A couple of years later, we still have an over-priced picture frame holding a study in black on black. It remains the most valuable legacy of Mr. Cheese, as none of his bold plans bore fruit.