Tales in Hot Pink is a weekly column by our fearless leader.  Like all management, he is not required to tell the truth, represent himself accurately, or trouble himself with reality in any way.  And, in keeping with our corporate style, he is not bound by good taste or specific subject, so he may ramble wildly from topic to topic.  As his employees, we encourage this, because the day is long and we are frequently bored.

Managing the Hors D'Oeuvres

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I started this company so I could tell people I was a CEO.

You get invited to an entirely different set of parties when you say you're a CEO.  Parties with sushi and champagne.  And you always get a choice spot by the buffet table. Plus, if you're a CEO, you're expected to carry a briefcase. A briefcase can hold a lot of canapés. More than a tray, if I had to guess. And there's still room for almost a pound of shrimp.

Unfortunately, I recently realized the corporation I created is missing some key elements. Things like "focus" and "purpose" and "product." I'm getting a lot of uncomfortable questions about these apparently standard corporate items.  When I say I'm a CEO, for some reason it doesn't end there. People insist on asking me about things like debt to equity, market capitalization, and P/E ratios. Whenever that happens, I just grab my briefcase and get the hell out of there. I have the valet get my dented blue Ford Fiesta and I sputter off in a gray cloud carbon monoxide.

Maybe I should know about these things. Maybe that's why the meetings we have in the big board room are always so quiet. I always figured my job was to bring enough stolen vegetable dip for the management team, but maybe there's more to being a CEO than stealing appetizers. Maybe there are additional tasks I don't know about, ones you have to tackle after the business cards are made and the slogan is developed.  

Of course, I can't tell my employees I don't know what I'm doing. The one facet of my job I fully understand is that I must pretend, at all times, that I know exactly what is going on. I must give the impression that I know who is stealing paper clips, who is spending most of their day by the coffee machine, and who is Xeroxing copies of their ass. If I tip my hand, and reveal that I haven't got the slightest idea how to file taxes for a corporation and that we're a summer's breeze away from an extensive IRS audit and Chapter 11, then all is lost. No more parties, no more unexpected gifts from brown-nosing staff, no more afternoons trying to fling my pencil into the ceiling tiles.  Before you know it, I'll be wearing a paper hat and trying to sell the Frisco Burger with a side of fries.  And selling the Frisco burger isn't easy. Not when you have a conscience and you know what's in it. But I digress…

If I'm going to maintain the flow of Brie and table crackers to which I've grown accustomed, something radical is required of me. I must develop a vision for this company which is broader than my current concept (which involves me, supermodels, and chocolate syrup).  I'll need an idea that includes a way to pay the employees, because they're going to be upset when salary week rolls around and I try to give them cocktail wieners again.  I have to figure out who the hell this Dow Jones guy is.  And I have to manage all this working a mere three hours every other day.

It's a challenge, but I think I can do it.

Stay tuned.

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