I know we’ve all encountered this at one time or another: being made to wait so g**dam* long for a meeting that turns out to last for only a very short while, with people whom you realize you don’t want to deal with at all–even if they paid you a million bucks to show up next time.
This is actually my first work-rant post in any blog, but I’m doing it here and now because an idea hit me during that 90-minute wait.
So I was in the lobby of a government agency, after having gotten up quite early and on the wrong side of the bed, and after having ridden a cab that was caught by two traffic cops for no apparent reason (save for the P50 that the poor cabbie willingly parted with that morning). My mom was with me because she had met these potential clients a couple of days ago, and she brought up to them an idea that I pitched to her a couple of years ago, and these “gentlemen” seemed open to the idea. (See, my mom’s kind of like a stage mom when it comes to me and my career, and she will introduce me to anyone who will agree to it. But I’m not complaining; I love my mom.)
Hint #1: Government agency.
Hint #2: “Gentlemen”, who turned out to be a lawyer who was placed in a position he had admitted to knowing very little about, and his two cohorts who seemed to be the certain official’s gatekeepers but who had no official post in the said agency.
Back to the story: while waiting, and waiting, and waiting, it irked me that these people had no decency to even respond to my mom’s messages about us already being there at the lobby, or telling them about our other appointments and asking how much longer we should wait, and so on. To these people, the minute you step into their little fiefdoms, you’re trapped there until they decide to open their locked doors and grant you the privilege of their appearance. It doesn’t matter that you have other meetings lined up that day, or that your time is also worth quite a lot. NONE OF THAT MATTERS. In their world, they are the kings–even if they technically should be working for YOU because they are in government, and you help pay for their perks.
So the idea is this: Is there a way for consultants like myself to have meter widgets installed in our mobile phones, PDAs, laptops, etc. so that we will know exactly how much time our meetings (and the waiting in between) are worth? Not only that–can it PLEASE become reasonable for us to bill these people for our waiting time once it exceeds 30 minutes?? Corollary to that, if I make you wait for more than 30 minutes, then deduct that amount from my fees. REALLY. Just so we can all get a sense of how much each other’s time is worth, and for us to realize that wasted time IS wasted cash. Especially for freelancers like myself.
And the story doesn’t end there.
After 90 minutes, when the cohorts finally had time for us (the official in question was still not in), my mom started to pitch the idea. I was really just there to prove that the idea can happen because it’s something I’ve done for other companies already so many times in the past, and to show that I had the competency and the expertise to get it done. I was going to come in as a consultant, as is usually the case, and my main role was to oversee the project, provide the expertise, and get paid a standard professional fee.
But my radar went up with certain key words and phrases:
“Are you single? I am too.” (Uh, Tito. I don’t care if you’re single. It’s irrelevant. And you’re probably of the same age as my dad. )
“We can just set up a corporation for this and you’ll be part of the board.” (Uhm, I was pitching a PROJECT to a government office–not a racket entity to make money for YOU.)
“What’s the point if we don’t make money?” (Nobody’s SUPPOSED to make money on this, except for sponsorships for the project itself.)
“Are you sure you don’t need a ride? I can head in your direction.” (I’d rather walk from Makati to Cubao than sit within a foot away from you, thank you very much.)
In the end, I think I struck them as an uptight, prissy, idealistic do-gooder who didn’t understand the ways of the government’s underbelly. But it’s precisely because I DO understand it that I choose to NOT speak their language.
So, in the end, thank you Mom for the intro–but I think you and I will both be better off without those sleazeballs. I’ve got only four months left before I leave for my studies, and they are sooo not worth these next four months.