The Why of How

By Mark Willoughby

The Why of How is a genre-busting, rollicking adventure of an ambitious careerist fired for achieving his life’s goal - the prestigious President’s Club for outstanding corporate achievement. Fresh and original fiction crafted from a lifetime of corporate and business observations, the Why of How features satirical plot twists mixed with topical business irony, memorable settings and characters, with lively dialogue.
Rod, the protagonist, experiences his first failure at the hands of his employer in a sham corporate version of a TV game show in Hawaii. Unwilling to accept the unjust fate meted by his employer, he launches an extortion campaign to regain his job. He turns to his advantage information studiously gathered in observing and cataloging the lives of senior executives in a naive attempt to emulate their climb up the corporate ladder. The many unethical and illicit dealings of the senior executives provide fertile ground.
Rod enlists the help of the vixen Doris, his gold-digging love interest, with other offbeat characters and unorthodox spying methods. Doris becomes the Naughty Nymphet character, staging an incriminating dominatrix video to entrap Rod’s nemesis. Back in the company's strategic marketing department, Rod finds himself in a corporate special operations group staffed with others fired at the President’s Club. Strategic marketing members ironically now are recognized for having the talent and moxie to manage the company's many illicit businesses and illegal dealings.
Meanwhile, word-of-mouth among senior executives reveals a huge and untapped demand for the Naughty Nymphet's discipline services to ground unbridled executive egos sheltered in corporate power trips. Newly empowered with corporate cash, Doris dishes out humiliation and finds a deeper understanding of motivation - the Why of How.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Willoughby
• Release date: Jan 19, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466165762

Mark Willoughby

Mark Willoughby is an veteran of the information technology, information security and compliance, and media markets, with experience as a consultant, and in sales and marketing. This includes stints as a reporter and editor, a legislative analyst for a U.S. senator, and business development and marketing positions at AT&T, Cray Research, Hewlett Packard and Verizon Business. Mark also managed sales and marketing for security products and services, and was a founder of an early identity startup. With degrees in both journalism and computer science, Mark is a Certified Information Systems Security Professional (CISSP), works as a security and compliance consultant, and has published numerous articles in the trade media. Mark is a U.S. Air Force veteran and calls Colorado home.

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THE WHY OF HOW

by

Mark Willoughby

SMASHWORDS EDITION

PUBLISHED BY:

Mark Willoughby on Smashwords

The Why of How

Copyright © 2012 by Mark Willoughby

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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ISBN: 978-1-4661-6576-2

PUBLISHED BY MessagingGroup LLC

Not all corporations are insensitive, uncaring and dehumanizing, but many are. This book is dedicated to all those laboring anonymously in the bad ones, working diligently so their management can look good. It’s just a job.

Chapter One – Seductive Success

Having captured every eye in the crowded room Doris never fails to deliver. She knows how to make it look good. With the practiced ease of a natural, she leans forward and pushes her décolletage until it hovers in the candlelight over her untouched salad.

What surprise, do tell, she coos.

I returned her demur smile while checking the large dining room. The male halves of the elegant couples seated at linen-clad tables are furtively glancing our way. Studied indifference was served up by their female dining partners.

Nothing too exciting, just the very small possibility of a nice mid-winter vacation in a tropical paradise, I replied. But let’s not jinx ourselves by talking about it.

The jacketed waiter deftly removed Doris’ salad. She leaned back in her chair as he replaced it with lobster and pasta in a marinara sauce. She reached for her water glass as the waiter moved around to my side of the table. Candlelight cast a rosy glow on the taut white fabric of her dress.

So nothing more about this nice winter surprise? She says, taking up her dinner fork. Just a tease? No further hints about this tropical paradise?

Not tonight, my darling. A little patience please, all can be told soon.

Doris inserts her fork into the thick red sauce and wraps it around her pasta. A glistening, deep red morsel is lifted on the fork with a flourish, followed by a dramatic pause before her mouth. Slowly she parts her lips, allowing the sauce to form a large breakaway droplet which releases and falls onto the white fabric straining to contain her left breast.

Oh my, my goodness, she giggled, returning her fork to her plate and covering her mouth with the linen napkin. I can’t believe I just did that.

I swiveled in my chair and motioned for a waiter. "May we have a glass of club soda please?

No bother, Doris said as she dipped a corner of her napkin in her water glass. Cupping her breast with her left hand, she begins dabbing at the bright red spot. It stubbornly refused to diminish. She dabbed her napkin in water again and the dab became a swab with her left hand firmly thrusting her breast upward. The bright red slowly dissolved into pink as the water added a translucent sheen to the stretchy white fabric.

There, how’s that look? she asked, arching her back in a Hollywood starlet pose.

It looks wonderful I replied, surveying the dining room. Rita Hayworth would be envious. All activity had ceased, sound suspended in the air as all eyes were glued to the Doris show.

The waiter brought a stemmed glass of club soda on a silver tray and sat it on the table next to Doris. She smiled at him, picked up the stemmed glass and methodically surveyed the room while taking a sip of the sparkling water. She returned the glass to the white linen surface.

I can’t believe I just did that, she said while toying with the glass.

Maybe, I replied, watching the male audience working to feign indifference. I almost believe that.

Chapter Two – Angel of Success

Find the calming inner voice. Act like the Dali Lama, hibernate the testosterone. Displays of Type A ego and greed tonight risk all the behind-the-scenes preparation to make this meeting a slam dunk. No happy feet.

Follow the script – cool and relaxed, polite and respectful, with the professional smile firmly in place. In a few minutes I’ll skillfully play the cards from all the Company’s sales training imprinted in me and land this deal. This final deal puts me in the President’s Club for superior achievement, my opening gambit in manufacturing visibility and moving up the career ladder.

The game plan is to assuage Mrs. May, a retired junior high math teacher who has been a pain in the rear. She steadfastly has opposed the deal from the beginning. Almost every school board has some conscientious, law-abiding citizen like Mrs. May, one who insists on doing a conscientious and ethical job. Idealists, they simply don’t understand how things work in the real world of business, all the tricks of which are explicitly detailed in the Company’s sales training.

She’s rebuffed all of my schmoozing attempts to secure her support. She never accepted an elegant expense account lunch or dinner. Sports were of no interest she said as she declined offers of free baseball and football tickets. She pre-empted further gratuities by saying further offers of free tickets to cultural events, such as the symphony or opera, would be unwelcome. Her unassailable morality was baffling.

Tonight her jaw is set with a determined look that spells trouble. But fate hasn’t favored Mrs. May tonight. She was struck by a falling piece of plaster from the water-damaged ceiling when entering the building. The book-sized chunk fell from the ceiling and knocked the antique millinery off its perch atop her head as she navigated the construction barriers that herded us into the dilapidated old school that serves as the administration building. She calmly picked up her hat, dusted it off, and fitted it back atop her thin silver coiffure. She was finishing with the hairpins as she made her deliberate path to the podium to make her remarks for the record.

Public schools can be onerous customers, with elected boards and all the eyewash about competitive bidding for spending tax dollars. But this particular school district is safe for the Company, I’ve seen to that. It’s populated mostly by demanding professionals wanting the most for their indulged progeny. The clincher for this deal is this elemental parental desire to give their kids a superior education. These parents actually want to spend more money on computers, thinking that gives their kids a head start in their lives and future careers. It works every time.

Landing this deal makes me the first account executive in the Company’s storied history to earn a spot in the prestigious President’s Club in a mere three years, and starts my ambitious ascent into the Company’s executive ranks. We’ve already worked the school board behind the scenes so the votes to carry the deal are in the bag.

The microphone affixed to the podium looms large over Mrs. May’s head as she carefully adjusts it down to her level. She recites her name for the official minutes and clears her throat before launching a direct frontal attack.

Quite frankly, young man, I’m having a difficult time understanding all this redundant language you’ve included in your proposal, she began. Could you simply have responded in the format we requested and informed us in plain English how these computers will provide better classroom instruction? On second and third reading, it seems most of the many benefits you’ve described are not for students at all, bur rather benefit the administration. I’m not sure you’ve adequately addressed what I consider to be our primary concern, which is better prepared students.

Welcome to the world of high stakes business deals, Mrs. May. The Company’s sales training has a lengthy chapter to deal with your undesirable comments and to make certain that we remain in control. It includes a library of techniques to silence objections. I straighten my right arm and dramatically tug the crisp shirt cuff where it protrudes from the suit jacket sleeve. The Company has armed all sales executives with a giant class ring just for such occasions. I flourish it like a hypnotist’s orb and drop my hand to the hard table and tap out a rhythmic drum roll.

Even Mrs. May, with the hat resembling a crushed blue milk carton can’t confuse my message. The staccato tapping of my giant ring is the career drum roll for the corporate perquisites, stock options, and country club memberships. Mrs. May opens her petite purse and removes a pair of antique reading glasses with sequined frames. After carefully affixing them to her nose, she begins looking myopically at the notes she’s penned neatly in the margins of my proposal. She’s oblivious to the drumbeat.

Why do your computers cost so much more than those of your competitors? she asks while peering beneath her brow at her notes. And will this high cost continue over the life of the new system?

Back to chapter and verse from corporate charm school. Here is a great opportunity to turn a disadvantage into an advantage. I stop the ring knocking and begin speaking through an enhanced professional smile.

We’re giving the school district a special discount because of the Company’s very strong commitment to high-quality education.

This deal was done anyway, despite Mrs. May’s stumbling upon the ugly truth. School administrators do receive most of the benefits delivered by the new computers because they sign the checks. The Company has perfected this bait-and-switch over the years because it works. The Company hinges its sales pitch for the school board on the politically correct, but questionable, notion that computers make kids smarter faster. Almost everybody will spend money to make kids smarter.

Mrs. May’s public airing is only a minor speed bump on my way to the President’s Club. It’s been more than ten years since this school district has bought a computer from a competitor. Following the Company’s time-honored sales juggernaut, we’ve bought the loyalty of the administrators and all Mrs. May’s counterparts on the school board are firmly in our camp.

I straighten my back, chin up, huge smile, striking a very regal six-foot-two pose in my $2000 Italian power suit as I resume the drum roll for overcoming objections through intimidation.

Thank you, that’s reassuring to hear young man, but hardly obvious here. Can we expect then, that these discounts you say you’ve quoted here will continue over the term of the agreement, and include high-cost items like maintenance, updates and training?

Hiding an ugly truth is in the chapter the Company calls managing information. I’d have to manage the information on her question, knowing sooner or later they will figure out how discounts are calculated from an inflated list price, a trick we called uplifting. The Company has no guidance for dealing with any remorse that may come from bending the truth when talking to little old ladies. I could only hope her hearing aid would fail as I launched into some managed information.

Mrs. May, I said, returning the room to quiet as I dug deep into the lessons from the managing information chapter. I made a grandiose gesture and stepped towards the small, still diminutive figure at the podium. I caught the sweet scent of her ancient perfume and her wrinkled cheeks peeked out beneath thick rouge. Her gray eyes bulged serious and wide behind the thick lenses of her glasses.

You have my complete assurance that the annual support costs for these systems will carry the same discount levels that we’re offering today.

It’s time for one of our toadies on the school board to call for the question before Mrs. May stumbles onto something that embarrasses us all. Meaningful eye contact is being passed around the room in nervous glances. Except for Mrs. May, they’re straining uncomfortably in their folding chairs, anxious to vote to accept our proposal and get out of here. She’s still pouring over her notes, readying her next question. The Company’s sales training says close for the kill before she can grind away further with embarrassing arguments.

Mrs. May, if you don’t mind, since you’ve asked about discounts, let’s move on to the costs. Naturally this issue was the most important to me (and the Company). I’d done a masterful job of downplaying it. I advanced a few slides and left the numbers on the screen briefly before advancing to the summary slide. Somebody will pre-empt further embarrassing questions from Mrs. May and ask about financing.

But I do mind young man, I have more concerns.

The Company’s sales training stressed extreme politeness and big smiles, even while intimidating and humiliating. I gave her the big enhanced smile and ignored her question. The Company’s dictum says to drive to the close by focusing discussion on benefits, which will conveniently pre-empt all previous topics, including Mrs. May’s objections.

And so, ladies and gentlemen of the school board, I began while stepping back from Mrs. May. I think you will agree that we have all the pieces in place to meet the information needs of the school district well into the future. These systems are in heavy demand so we must act now to guarantee installation before classes start in the fall.

Young man! Maybe I could shut her up by sewing a Boy Scout merit badge on my tailored Italian suit. The other school board members are all small-time politicians, biding their time for election to a higher office, playing the game and not particularly inclined to read the fine print and ask too many questions.

Before we get side-tracked with the prices, she continued, I must apologize for saying this, but I think you should have spent a little more time explaining some of these important details. I don’t think we’re the type of school district that makes hasty decisions on expensive acquisitions, and based on some well-dressed, fast taking young salesman’s recommendation.

She’s thrown this out before I could finish playing the big, ugly FUD card - Fear, Uncertainty, Doubt. I have queued up another classic piece of sales chicanery from the Company’s library of tricks, to unite the other board members and quickly close this deal. I’m going to raise the specter of them not being able to get what we’ve just sold them, a tease of the first order. We could install these systems in a week since they are collecting dust somewhere in a warehouse. But once again I must divert my attention to quiet Mrs. May.

Mrs. May, I beamed, resuming my drum roll on the hard, varnished oak. Please take as much time as you think you’ll need. I’m sorry if I’ve confused you.

When rated with the Company’s name attached, we sales executives carry considerable prestige. In rankings with the Company’s name removed sales executives are next to the lowest two professional categories - lawyers and politicians. Maybe I could buy some forgiveness with a few dollars of the sizable sales bonus I’ll collect from this deal.

May I ask sir, she was waving a white-gloved hand, if you could please stop that obnoxious banging with your ring?

My finger froze in mid-air above the table. Mrs. May had just launched a direct frontal assault upon myself and the Company. This was unprecedented. A chilly silence settled across the room as I dropped my hand to my side.

Now, Mrs. May resumed, what allowances are made for trading these computers in for newer ones, when the need arises? I’ve read and observed that there always is a great deal of change taking place in technology. I think it best if the students and the school district are protected from the risk and uncertainties that this represents.

Mrs. May probably has a mattress stuffed with discount coupons and drives a 20-year-old Buick with only 30,000 miles on it. Her question raises the obsolete issue, the Achilles heal that I dread like no other. The reality is that the ten-year-old Series One computer system the Company wants me to sell this school district is an expensive high-tech boat anchor. They will hit the school district with large and immediate market depreciation. Maybe some competitor has coached her to ask these questions, to force me into an embarrassing public disclosure and torpedo the deal.

I can feel beads of sweat forming on my lower back. The stakes couldn’t be higher. My plan to win the President’s Club hinges on the loophole presented by the double quota and commissions the Company is offering on the Series One, an incentive to clear the inventory of these old dogs. I can’t make it into the President’s Club without that double quota credit, to escape the curse of my humble past in a triumphant blaze of capitalistic glory. I need this deal to put me into the fast lane. Back to the Company’s book, put on the silver tongue and the big smile, and dodge another tough question.

Yes you certainly can, I replied, trying my best now to act like a deferential sophomore while employing another old trick from the Company’s overstuffed bag. Now I was answering the wrong question, like a politician caught in a scandal. In this case I was answering, Would we allow them to buy a new, more powerful (and expensive) computer? I studiously avoided mentioning trade-in allowances, hoping the wrong answer would confuse and silence her.

We’ll be happy to negotiate a new and larger system, I continued, at any time during the five-year lease. We will be happy to negotiate on the same favorable financing terms we are offering, hoping that hearing the word negotiate would calm her fears.

It’s a safe lie. The risks and costs in changing vendors are high and careers will be on the line. They know it, so do we. The beads of sweat were trickling down my back now.

There will be absolutely no problems whatsoever. Her perfume, a honeyed mixture smelling like ancient rose hips and sweet pickles, had wafted completely across the front of the crumbling auditorium. Doubtless it had anointed King Tut. Thankfully my Italian power suit conceals any sign of sweat and stress.

Mrs. May, for the good of the gross national product and my glorious career, please shut up. The safe course for all concerned is to accept the Company’s proposal. It’s also well past the time for one of our stooges on the board to come to my rescue by making the motion to accept the proposal.

"Young man, I must apologize again, but I’d