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The Sponge. 5/10/2004

Hi-de-ho neighbour. Terribly sorry for the long time between posts, but I’ve been busy since returning from Thailand.

After burying Franco, I returned to the office, rather the worse for wear after having spent the last 4 days on very little sleep. 2300 kilometers of driving, most of it in the dead of night, is a task my aging body will no longer tolerate. I still remember surviving Iron Butt 1987, a task performed on a GSXR-1100. I could ride all day and night, and still party hardy. Now? I just turn over and mumble something about getting sheep cells.

Getting into the office was surreal. Everyone had thought I’d gone for a holiday in Thailand. Needless to say, I set the record straight fairly damn quickly. Too many fucking busy bodies in the office. Especially 2 specific people, who are allegedly consultants, but have very little technical information in their heads. Most notably the female consultant, who wants to know everything about what’s going on, but never wants to take responsibility for anything. And she is very adept at manipulating situations to her benefit.

Landing in the office, the Managing Director tells me that I’m required in HQ for a special project, involving a privately funded public service building. A sister company, owned by the group which also owns the multi-national I work for, was involved in this project locally. The Group had asked for a special status audit of the project, because there were concerns at very high level it was ‘bleeding’ money. Apparently money was being siphoned to purchase project essentials such as S Class Mercedes for the owners.

Going through the project documentation, it was apparent that the status reports did not tally with the pictures of the project progress. A site visit was performed, and well, the suspicions that we had were right. The project was 15 months behind schedule, and the owner turned up with a gleaming black S Class Mercedes sporting a single digit number plate. Sheesh. The net result of our visit, is a report generated by myself and another counterpart from the Home Office in Vienna. And this report is going to the Head of the Group Office. Which is going to result in the Managing Director of this project being sent home to Germany in disgrace. I had a discussion with this Managing Director in the stairwell whilst smoking a cigarette, and standing in front of me was a man who was terrified of losing his job. He was very concerned about the project, and the possible implications of the report. And since I was told that the report was going to the very highest level in Group, I was reminded in the briefing that the contents of the report were confidential.

But I pitied this guy. He was in this country, enjoying all the benefits of being an expatriate, with the huge salary, house and everything else. And he was going to lose it. Because of my report. I didn’t see myself as having any other choice, as a professional, I was obligated to report things as I saw them, and was bound by the code of ethics of my profession, and my professional qualifications.

Someone in Group saw a sponge, and they needed to excise it post haste. And the task fell on me and H. And we reported what we saw. Over beers at lunch, I asked H. what the result of this report was going to be, and he said, with no qualms, that Dr. H’s neck was very close to the chopping block.

And thus, I find myself ending the career of someone else, whom I didn’t know, and had never met before this special project.

As Graham is fond of reminding me, no one’s job is guaranteed.

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