Hope Street Yacht Club

By Gary Kemske

A treasured community hospital in a small, sleepy town sure has its share of secrets. One such secret is hidden on a luxury yacht in a marina just past the outskirts of town. A couple of the hospital's apathetic middle managers accidently stumble across the secret that threatens them, as well as the hospital's abilty to remain open. They try to put the pieces together but are quickly in over their heads. As the bodies start piling up, it's a race against time to thwart whatever evil scheme is conspiring to take down the hospital and decimate this lovely, idyllic town. When the carnage hits way too close to home, the amature slueths dig in and follow the money so they can figure out what's really going on and put a plan in motion with hopes to sabotage the evil doers.  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gary Kemske
• Release date: Jan 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393451754

Book preview

ONE

Randy Stempler methodically walked to the parking lot as if he was on autopilot. His gate was steady and rigid, but his expression was almost trance-like. Once in the driver's seat of his grey Prius he pushed the start button and reached for the tuner to find a station with some eighty's music. He paused as he settled into the driver's seat giving him some time to sort out what just happened or, perhaps, to forget about what just happened. He was clearly still dazed from the verbal shrapnel his client, Dave Jenkins, just hurled at him a short while ago. Stempler felt some consolation knowing he turned in his spreadsheet and entire file to Jenkins, eliminating the need for him to return anytime soon to this crazy hospital. Jenkins even told him not to bother furnishing his usual nifty little consultant’s report. His assignment was complete.

Stempler looked down at the check for fifteen thousand dollars he just picked up from Accounting before he zombied back across the parking lot to his car. With the tongue lashing he took; he was lucky to have salvaged any payment at all. All he could do was feel a little grateful for being compensated for his time, and a little happy for making a small profit in the process.

Having cleared his head enough so he could pay attention to his driving, Stempler eased out of the parking lot. He estimated that stopping for a late leisurely lunch at his favorite seafood dive, plus the three-hour ride back to his home in suburban Maryland would put him in his driveway a little bit after dark.

About a hundred miles away from the hospital, on Stempler’s route home, there was a dark green Tahoe idled in the parking lot of the convenience mart in Millersville. The driver focused on the cars passing by on Route Three. Almost half an hour of idling and waiting passed, but still no sign of the grey Prius.

The Tahoe driver was patient. His deep blue eyes set in a tan leathery face squinted toward the highway as car after car eased by in front of him. The driver only occasionally let his stare divert from the passing traffic to check the time. He glanced again at his wristwatch. His forearm held a grey tattoo of a ship's anchor. It was a remnant of his remarkable career in the Navy which ended nine years ago with full decoration. His watch indicated an hour and thirty-six minutes had passed, and no Prius.

At one hour and thirty-eight minutes, the Navy man in the Tahoe watched a gray Prius enter the bend just south of the parking lot. The car coasted by as it slowed for the traffic light on the corner just up the highway. The man in the Tahoe let the Prius pass and counted three more cars before pulling out of the parking lot onto Route Three. He was careful not to let the Prius get too far ahead. He trailed the Prius for about three miles to where Route Thirty-Two crossed over Route Three. The Prius turned onto Route Thirty-Two. Only one of the three cars following behind the grey Prius also turned onto Route Thirty-Two.

The Tahoe followed. Just as he maneuvered onto Route Thirty-Two, his phone lit up and beeped to indicate an incoming call. Yes, answered the Navy veteran.

He’s not on the alternate route. He must be on the road...

Don't worry, the Navy man cut off the caller. I’ve got him.

OK, I'll stand by.

Yeah.

The Tahoe followed about two hundred yards behind the grey Prius. It was turning into a cloudy evening and dusk was rapidly approaching making the Tahoe driver happy. Visibility would be limited on these dark winding roads. He had to strain to keep the Prius’ taillights in view but that was a small inconvenience for the benefit the dark highway provided.

The car between them now had its blinker on and was slowing down just before an entrance to an old apartment complex. As soon as the car pulled off, the Tahoe accelerated gradually to within fifty yards of the Prius.

The Navy man reviewed the route in his head. Just like in the dry runs over and over, he knew that the apartment complex he just passed was fourteen miles before the start of the long curve stretching around the St. Jones Reservoir. He calibrated his speed to stay exactly fifty yards from the Prius. He carefully pinpointed the reference marks along this stretch of road so he could monitor his progress.

The next landmark was a large red pottery outlet building ahead on the left. Both the Prius and the Tahoe passed by it. The Navy man calculated that the long curve starts four miles up the road. He knew that once he passed the small, old fashioned filling station, two point six miles up on the left, the beginning of the long curve would be one-half mile away. He started to close the distance.

Stempler reached over to switch on Fox Business to give him an update on today’s markets so he could start thinking about where to put his fifteen thousand dollars. At the center of the console, he pushed his new, crisp check aside to allow his hand to rest on the console without wrinkling his new money paper. As he looked at the entertainment monitor to verify, he selected the right station, his vision was impaired by the headlights behind him. He glanced in the mirror and saw a vehicle tailing too close behind. Stempler sped up as he passed by the Creek Run Filling Station to get out of the glare from the lights behind.

The Navy man spotted the oval sign ahead on the left with Creek Run in the center. This was the marker that told him to get ready to make his move. He read the odometer. He marked the trip counter to zero. As he approached five tenths, he moved within twenty yards. After thirty seconds, he pushed on the accelerator until he was practically on top of the Prius.

Stempler saw the vehicle behind him speed up again. He thought about pulling off, but he knew he was about to enter a long curvy stretch with no turn offs or side roads until he was way on the other side of the reservoir. He began to accelerate more.

The Navy man watched as the trip counter passed the mile mark. He accelerated again to keep up with the accelerating Prius. The faster the better. He couldn’t have been more pleased as the long curve began. There was nothing but road ahead with some weeds on the shallow embankment bordering the reservoir.

The Navy man counted the seconds to his next move. As he passed through a large hill cut out with yellow rock walls almost touching each side of the roadway, he began his move. On the other side of the cut-out, the road began a long leftward curve with a rock wall on the left and nothing but water below on the right.

Both vehicles accelerated again. Suddenly, the Tahoe pulled out into the oncoming lane and accelerated to the blind spot behind the Prius.

Stempler glanced in his mirror and noticed the headlights were no longer directly behind him.  He felt a glare from behind, but he couldn't pinpoint the source. He shuffled around in his seat and shot quick looks all around but didn’t see the other vehicle. He suddenly jumped when he looked out the side window and saw the Tahoe had pulled alongside, flanking him. His body filled with terror when he felt the jolt of the Tahoe smashing into the side of his Prius. Stempler fought the wheel, trying to keep control of his car.

What the hell is going on? Hey, hey... Stempler glanced through the window as he shouted at the maniacal car ramming him. He looked away to focus on the road. His heart was beating out of his chest as he realized the Tahoe was forcing him out of the curve and he had nowhere to go. He continued to fight the wheel. The Tahoe drifted back, and Stempler worked his way back off the small shoulder and onto the roadway.

His success was short lived. As the road entered a sharper bend to the left, the Tahoe lined back up again alongside of him. As the bend sharpened, the Tahoe was angled directly into the Prius' driver side door. The Tahoe struck hard and locked on.

Stempler tried desperately to fight with the steering wheel. It was useless. The Tahoe had control. The Navy man jammed the accelerator to the floor. The Prius could not hold on to the roadway. As the bend in the roadway to the left continued, the Prius shot off the shoulder partway into the narrow strip of grass, barely holding on, avoiding the steep drop off to the water.

The Tahoe backed off for split second then rapidly accelerated and rammed the left rear bumper of the Prius. The Tahoe continued to push. Stempler screamed. He could no longer control the Prius. The Prius veered completely off the roadway.

The right-side tires locked into the drainage rut running parallel to the roadway. The left side tires continued to travel at high speed on the gravel shoulder. With the right side of the vehicle drastically slowed, and the left side continuing at high speed, the momentum of the Prius turned the car into an end over end flip. Stempler's body was tossed about the Prius' interior. His head violently struck the interior roof as the Prius rolled one last time onto its roof and slid down the steep embankment. Stempler lost consciousness. The car's momentum carried it into the still waters of the bottomless reservoir.

The driver of the Tahoe stopped his vehicle. The Navy man grabbed his flashlight and jumped out. He ran down the steep hill and latched on to a lone craggy maple tree. He clicked on the light, lit the surface of the reservoir and watched the upside-down Prius submerge into the water. The car slowly sank. The Navy man continued to observe for several minutes. There was no sound, no sight and no other cars around. The Prius and its driver were gone.

The Navy man scurried up the embankment. He quickly maneuvered the Tahoe back onto the roadway. He drove until he reached a warehouse district on the edge of Baltimore. He angled down Bell Street behind a row of ancient, broken-down warehouses. He pulled in front of a heavy steel overhead door. He pushed the white button on his remote and drove the Tahoe into the garage to a waiting team of car surgeons. He shut the engine off, exited and jumped behind the wheel of his white Dodge truck. Within minutes, the Tahoe was practically disassembled while the pickup was headed back east. About halfway back on the journey his cell beeped, and the Navy man picked up.

Yes.

Status? queried the voice.

The account’s closed. No funds remaining, the Navy man cryptically replied.

Good. Come to the club. When can you be here?

In forty.

See you then.

The Navy man continued into the night until he saw the marker for the Cypress River Yacht Club. He turned onto the gravel lot and continued toward the water. He parked toward the right side of the marina and made his way to Pier Three, slip seven. As he approached, he could hear the low murmur of the vessel's power source. He glanced behind him in a reflex action and stepped onto the deck of the Lady Kay.

TWO

The Previous Morning

Rich stepped outside and tried to stop thinking about the silly ass report he just gave to the executive leaders this morning. Someone complained about the system response time or unscheduled downtime or something, he figured, so he was summoned by the VPs to give a dog and pony show explaining the system’s reliability. The statistics and performance logs that Rich projected on a multi-colored slide proved that whatever system interruption some rodent was complaining about was nothing but a fabrication. Most likely, it was user error. Again .

He continued across the parking lot and looked down shaking his head in sad wonder. It amazed Rich how doctors and nurses could be so smart about the human body and so dumb about a little handheld device that only does a fraction of what the human brain can do. Then he paused mid-thought and realized he wasn’t being fair. Almost all the doctors and nurses he knew were absolute wizzes with the new technology. It was just a few rigid ones, obviously terrible with accepting any change. Instead of learning the technology, they spent their days finding new ways to gripe enough to garner attention from any one of the weak VPs.

He thought more about those weak VPs he just left. With the irrefutable evidence he splashed up on the screen, he was surprised he only got a few grunts and okays from the executives around the table. Well, that’s the way it always went down with that group. At least that’s all he ever got from them whenever he gave a report. Nothing really seemed to turn them on. Rich wondered how in the world the hospital hadn’t fallen apart yet with those apathetic dead heads running the place.

He started thinking about his own task list for today as he reached the end of the long parking lot and hopped up the couple of steps at the entrance to his office building. Once inside the security doors on the first floor, he walked briskly past the fishbowl which housed the central components of the hospital's information systems.

The blinking lights and the low decibel whirring of the equipment were friendly stimuli for Rich. He enjoyed the feeling of being in the environs of his natural habitat. Emotionally neutral. He walked past the reception desk as Finley, his assistant, smiled brightly as always.

I can always count on a smile from you, can't I? Rich beamed a smile back to Finley for about the one hundredth time this year.

"Good morning McCulvert. How was your meeting, or shouldn't I ask?

Well, it was just what I expected.  Rich chuckled, trying to maintain a professional image. What's hot today?

Here's your schedule for today and the background you need for your two meetings this afternoon. The details are linked on your calendar. No phone messages, but you do have two emails which need a response. I wrote them for you. They're in your drafts.

Thanks Finley. Always so on top of things, Rich said in a meaningful way as he took the background info from her, gave her one last visual review and continued the few steps down the corridor toward his corner office.

Finley was good, always on top of things. Rich tried to stay professional with his interactions with her, but he couldn’t keep from focusing on how warm and attractive she was. In addition to the attraction Finley had to Rich’s fourteen-year-old self, she also appealed to Rich’s professional side by working so well with him. Rich’s feelings for her were somewhere between lust and total admiration. That’s a pretty big range, but he was never really sure where his feelings landed on that scale with any woman.

Having resolved himself that he was not going to hit on Finley today, and probably never, he found an inner peace which filled him with warmness as he approached his office doorway. Rich was really feeling better now. He stopped at the end of the corridor in front of the door which had a nameplate to the left of the doorway. The nameplate was dark wood with deep gold letters and read RICHARD J. McCULVERT, DIRECTOR of TECHNOLOGY SOLUTIONS. He leaned against the marquee, swiped his badge over the mag reader, opened the door and went inside.

THREE

Ned Rawlins walked past the reception desk and grunted a meager hello to Isaac. He strolled in, shaking his head and when he saw Jenkins was on the phone, he took a seat on the sofa next to the large wooden desk. Jenkins quickly hung up and greeted Rawlins with an easy smile familiar to his trusted confidant. They exchanged a few brief cordials as Jenkins lowered himself into the Windsor chair adjacent to the plush sofa.

The two men were like total opposites in personality and physical traits. Jenkins was handsome and smooth. He was tall, about six feet four with a rugged and athletic build. In his early fifties, he was still quite the beast and enjoyed mountain climbing, hiking and road biking. It only took one look at him to learn he spends quite a bit of time in the weight room. Today he had on an expensive, nicely tailored dark grey suit, white shirt and colorful purple and grey tie. Even his shoes were designer, made by Alan Edmonds. He had a full head of thick salt and pepper hair, nicely parted on the side and cut close in a stylish manner. His face looked like Hollywood’s version of a CEO and he played the part well. Jenkins was sure of himself, outgoing and he always moved fast.

On the other hand, CFO Rawlins, his partner in crime, literally, moved slowly, methodically and was eternally self-unassured in matters unless he was securely hitched to Jenkins’ wagon. Barely five foot seven, his stubby legs and pregnant-looking belly made it impossible for him to look good in any suit. With Rawlins apparently giving up any attempt to look polished, he wore cheap suits that were too long in the legs and too tight in the chest. Completing the sloppy look was a bald crown with wads of unkempt, thick curly red hair on his temples and down the back of his neck.

He was an expert at saying no and Jenkins implored him for the tough talks when they needed to deliver bad news to the minions.

Rawlins was also very crafty with presenting financial information at Jenkins’ request that satisfied the need to how things dire, or flowery, depending on the message Jenkins was trying to get across. Jenkins gave him power and he wielded the power demonically, especially to anyone who wasn’t seeing things his way. Beyond that, he was wishy washy, a bad communicator and piss poor at actually completing work that didn’t have Jenkins’ name all over it.

Once Jenkins and Rawlins got settled, they quickly got down to business. You know, I’ll try to say this with a straight face, but could we, or any company really, have a worse collection of vice presidents than the dumb asses we’re so lucky to have? Rawlins chuckled out a little sickening laugh.

Yeah, no telling. What’d they do this time? I’m almost afraid to ask.

You know, we gave them a state-of-the-art computer system and they can’t even sign into it without locking up their keyboards. A bunch of fucking idiots.

Jenkins smiled with a twinkle in his eyes. Yeah, heard rumblings. Seems they blame McCulvert all the time. Easy to do, he’s such a deadbeat.

Yeah, he can be, sure. But you know, I’ll tell you, he came over to the Executive Cabinet this morning to give an update on the system response, reliability and stuff. Wasn’t half bad. Rawlins squinted his eyes. I even bought what he was saying, but those VPs... don’t think they were engaged enough to understand anything.

So McCulvert gave a good report? That’s surprising.

Hey, you know he’s just been a placeholder while we go through this buyout. Once we’re on the other side maybe they’ll get a real guy in there.

Jenkins smirked. Yeah, agreed. It’s good to have somebody in there who can’t figure out what we’re about to do. Jenkins shifted forward. So, you’re saying the system is fine, McCulvert’s team is fine, it’s our inept VPs that’s the problem?

Look Dave, yeah. Like I said, Rich is a placeholder, but he’s serviceable while we get our plan going. He’ll be fine, he’ll do what I tell him do. Rawlins put his hands together and rubbed his knuckles. Case in point, when I told him this morning to get his ass over here and explain that system shit to them, he came over right away. He had all the documentation, you know, he’s monitoring it all the time, to my surprise, and his slides clearly showed the system is not the problem. I know he’s somewhat worthless, but those VPs are even more worthless.

Just remember, I inherited most of them. Stupid bastards. Jenkins replied.

Rawlins nodded. Yeah, you did. For sure. He rubbed the unkempt stubble on his chin. Lucky you, huh?

Just remember, I brought in Chaney. She was a lucky find. Only one of that poor group who knows how to run a hospital.

Yeah, I’ll give you that. But I don’t know much how longer we can keep going with the rest of them, their worthless.

Well, good news. Jenkins sat back and relaxed in the enormously expensive chair.

Yeah? Rawlins titled his head to listen intently.

Yeah. Jenkins smiled. Just got off the call with Dallas. They’re ready for us to move forward.

Good, that’s music to my ears. We can only keep making up the monthly financial reports for so long. Rawlins slowly shook his head. So Stempler, then where is he with his report? Remember step one is to cut a third of our management staff.

Well, he won’t be done ’til tomorrow.

Good grief, he’s making a career out of this.

Ah, I’ll take care of it. Trust me, we’ll be where we need to be by tomorrow night.

Yeah, good, about time.

Yeah, have to agree. We’ll go over all the details, next steps and anything else tomorrow night at the club. Jenkins stood up.

Rawlins nodded and stood up. Alright Dave, we’ll get it going tomorrow.

FOUR

After waking his computer , Rich started to rapidly go through his email, zapping out the junk messages. He loved to delete junk email, which in his mind was all the emails in his inbox. He kept only priorities. His priorities. Gees, are you sure you sent that message to me? Rich laughed to himself as he sent another email into never neverland. Message Delete! Next Message. Rich continued zapping away his incoming emails and ran one hand through his unkempt, wavy blonde hair.

Breaking from trashing messages for a few seconds, Rich pulled off his Ted Baker London navy suit jacket and laid it across his desk. He typically wore nice suits, though not overpriced. He always liked to look professional, but not like the wall street lawyers or investment bankers. Women seem to be drawn to his appearance, and more than that, his overly quirky personality. He didn’t pay much attention to that. He gave up on having a successful long-term relationship with any woman a while back because he knew when things were going well, he usually did something to wreck it. Usually it would be his mouth, or more accurately, the words that thoughtlessly came from it, that caused the wreckage.

He got along okay with his peers even though he was pretty much way out there with how he communicated to people. More critical than his uncontrollable mouth, his real difficulty with surviving in the corporate world stemmed from his inability to control his mind from daydreaming. His daydreams were nothing like what the average person experienced. They were vivid, dramatic and intricate, and when he zoned into his fantasyland, he was completely absent from the reality around him. For example, when he zapped emails, he sometimes zapped them all, even the important ones, while his mind tripped to some other time and place. His colleagues knew there was less than a fifty percent chance they would ever get an email response from Rich so they would overcompensate by sending their emails to him two, sometimes three or more times. Rich never really noticed that he was getting multiples, and never put two and two together that his lack of responsiveness was the reason he was rewarded with so many more emails.

Resuming his attack on his inbox, he accelerated through message thirty-two and then lost himself in a daydream about winning the lottery. He thought about how he would use the winnings to set himself up with a snorkel boat on Maui where he could take out tourists all day long and teach them how to snorkel, or more likely, how not to snorkel. Message Delete! Next Message. He repeated the keystrokes rapidly. He was up to message forty-three when he was startled by a familiar chuckle in his office doorway, and it brought his head back from Maui.

Are you actually reading emails? Dillon Longfield said as he peered at the screen over Rich’s shoulder.

No chance there, bud. Just deleting your silly messages, Rich responded as he keyed on his board and didn't even bother to look up at his visitor. "Oh, here's a good one...'TO ALL MANAGERS, PLEASE ENSURE YOU COMPLETE YOUR DEPARTMENT'S PAYROLL SHEETS BY 10:00 am ON MONDAY OF PAYROLL WEEK...' Rich read to Dillon sarcastically. Don't you guys up there have enough to do besides crafting emails made for stupid idiots?"

Stupid idiots? That’s a redundancy. And besides, come on, you know we have a bunch of helpless assholes running this place. I guess that’s also redundant. Helpless. Assholes. Dillon paused to give Rich a big eyeball look of fake surprise. Anyways, these stupid memos confirm it, right? Dillon laughed as he pushed some papers off the credenza behind Rich’s desk so he could sit on the edge and lean his back against the interior wall.

Rich also began to laugh and turned to face his visitor. Hey, the biggest question of the day. Have you gotten any calls yet from anyone asking which week is payroll week?

So far only three. I must be losing my touch or maybe you’d be number four, you think?

Sarcastic wise ass. Hey, you got any free time for lunch, maybe tomorrow? Let's go downtown. Rich suggested as he stood up to turn on some music.

Hey, that’s another redundancy. Dillon waved his hands in front of him like he was erasing a chalkboard. But, yeah, tomorrow. Yeah, maybe we can figure out which list we’re on. It seems there's a rumor about there being a good list and a bad list.

What list? Where’re you getting this from? Rich was almost serious.

Since Stempler's been here the rumor mill has it pegged that his worthless study is gonna be used to cut out a bunch of management slots. I took the test this morning.

Rich smiled, I take it tomorrow. But who cares. I don’t care. This company owes me nothing. If I get cut, I'm goin’ to Maui to work on a snorkel boat. I really don't care about list A and list B.

Well, I do, with my family and all, replied Dillon sort of seriously.

Oh, Dil, you’ll be fine, that consultant's lost in space. Nothing he does will make any sense to anybody. But you know, maybe this could be good. Maybe the org chart will change around here...for the better. So, when we hit lunch this week, we can play fantasy team executive to come up with a good recommendation?

Dillon chuckled. Yeah, let’s do tomorrow, and hey let’s get a jump on our Fantasy Org Chart. It's your turn to start. Who we gonna make CEO?

Dillon rose out of his comfortable sit spot. Rich paused for a moment, fiddled with his iPhone to switch his sound system to something mellow, returned to his chair and kicked one foot up onto his open side desk drawer. I think, hmmm... Rich paused again, scrunched up his face and stared at the ceiling. Dillon stared at Rich but said nothing for a few minutes. This was typical Dillon-Rich brainstorming. Dillon was the prompter, Rich the idea generator. They were a good team.

Bob in receiving?

Not enough desire, replied Rich. Besides, he has some college. Can’t have anyone who's smart enough to be on to us. But hey, you know where we need to draft from though, housekeeping.

Ah, haven’t thought of that. Housekeeping?

"Yeah, I played B-ball with Ed last week, made me think of him. You know, he’s always cleaning up shit and vomit and God knows what else. Isn’t that what we need?

Yeah, we sure do.

Alright, let’s start there. Ed runs the joint and we’ll put a team in place for him to rock it. What do ya say?

Always thinking outside the box. Dillon got up and smiled as he shook his head. Noon tomorrow.

FIVE

Rich failed miserably trying to pay attention to the impossibly irritating Randy Stempler describe the leadership personality test. He was sitting in the conference room with half of the hospital's forty-eight middle managers. They were about to grid the answers to twenty questions which would basically reveal whether or not they were suited in the eyes of the hospital's chief executive to remain employed. The other half took the survey yesterday morning, like Dillon did, and by noon there were rumblings throughout the corridors about who would stay and who would go. Just twenty questions. Rich was frustrated with all this voodoo. This overpaid, under-talented consultant was in the process of gathering intel for the CEO so he could determine the managers’ fates.

Rich was totally disgusted; however, pondering things just a little bit further, his disgust gave way to a gradual glow of satisfaction as he looked around at his peers and acknowledged the good feeling that will come when some of these losers are kicked on down the road. He’ll work on that a little more with Dillon at lunch today. A smile crept around the corners of his mouth and his mind wandered deeper into his daydream.

He learned a valuable survival mechanism that was perfect for whenever he was stuck in a boring meeting listening to morons word vomiting all over each other. Rich just tuned out whatever crap people said and lost himself in a cool daydream. Usually, his daydreams centered around Maui and included board shorts and snorkel boats. Right at this moment though, his daydream blossomed when he gleefully imagined the pitiful look on the faces of these losers when told they... no longer possess the skills consistent with the hospital's new strategic directions. His focus was fixed on Tom Larson, Director of Human Resources. Rich knew there was no way Tom would stand up to any personality test since he was the most irritating little dick in the world. Maybe this test would be cool after all if it sent little Tommy away. It was common knowledge, after all, that Tom held this position only because his dad was one of the old doctors still roaming the hallways here on Hope Street.

Rich of course thought about anything but whatever the consultant was saying. Then, the consultant’s voice seemed to change pitch or something. It distracted Rich from his pleasant thoughts. As you interact with each other throughout the company you have to relate to people of all different types. No shit! Rich felt violated by this stupidity. It's important to know and understand the type of person you work with. Then, you tailor your approach to your co-worker to get the best results from them, for you. These twenty questions will classify you and your peers into one of four basic personality types.

His mind drifted again as Stempler’s voice shifted from his lively introduction to a monotonous cadence. As the hum of the consultant's voice found its rhythm, Rich's mind, without warning, as usual, transported him back several years ago to his last trip to Hawaii. New strategic directions? He knew that if he was fortunate enough to get back to Hawaii, none of this bat guano would be relevant.

Rich, still mind tripping through the islands, pictured those waterfalls he was in awe of. So many gallons of water pouring over the edge of cliffs higher than any mountains in the eastern United States. He was almost feeling the tropical mist until the ugly reality of where he was suddenly brought his mind back to the conference room again.

Stempler must have instructed the group to begin the test, but Rich did not hear it since he was mentally halfway around the world. The rest of the group had their eyes focused on the papers in front of them. Rich became even more irritated when he noticed that the faces of his peers showed evidence of their struggles to pick the right answers. It was like they didn’t even know thyself. Sheezus.

Rich lazily turned his eyes to the papers in front of him. He looked at the first question. For real? There were no questions. There were numbers from one to twenty down the left margin of the page. Next to each number were four words. The instructions said Rich had to select the word next to each number which best described the way he felt about himself. Corresponding to number one were: a. Study b. Implement c. Create d. Ignore. Choose the word which best describes you. Rich repeated the instructions inside his head as if saying them would make them change. So, his job right now was to grid either a, b, c or d. He had to do this twenty times. This tells the CEO which managers to cut? This was the typical Helter Skelter nonsense around this place, but even so, this still took Rich a little by surprise. Whatever.

Of course, in actuality, Rich couldn’t be further off base. These types of leadership profiles were used to identify ways for leaders to work more productively with each other and to highlight development plans for future leaders. These surveys were scientific and, when used properly by upper management, were instrumental in crafting a highly functioning and engaged workforce. However, the key ingredient with such an initiative is how the top leaders used the information gleaned from such a survey.

Rich had a couple of dominant personality