At this firm, we are unabashedly boutique. That doesn’t signify cuteness. That means we’re selective. We pursue quality over quantity.
We’re also, wholeheartedly, unabashedly anti-establishment.
We’re acerbic contrarians.
We despise the hegemonic lie of Leadership.
Excuse me, the cult of Leadership.
And, you, are a cultist.
A defector, yes, but your mind is still reeling, entranced by all the hocus-pocus of their scriptures. All those sacred words that promise enlightenment.
How many of those cult meetings, excuse me, I mean talks, forums, movements, festivals, have you attended? A few? You paid a lot money, got your little lanyard, got to network, drink, maybe even fuck that hottie Wharton grad, right? Oh, but you had a VIP pass for the grand event! You, this gullible cultist, herded to your auditorium seat to stare up at that stage, that altar, where your deity strutted and evangelized about branding, pivoting, stakeholders, culture all that MBA’er language that is to convey robust intelligence, but in actuality represents the language of false gods.
Have any your idols actually built a business? Oh, sure, they created some website for basement dwellers to upload memes that some Goldman Sachs shill valued at 500 million dollars, that eventually got bought by some other sucker for a billion.
What type of business do you wanna build? One that is based on lines—or, do I mean, lies?—of computer code representing champagne bubbles like Uber and WeWork?
Or, a company that is predicated on actual profit?
You want to create a business not a racket.
Unfortunately, due to social, cultural and technology mutations, your generation is oblivious. Hopelessly being led to doom by fast talkin’ street hustlers and snake oil salesmen. To you, everyone is a guru. An innovator. Your idols brand and halo their companies with the names of dead geniuses so they can crank out Delorean’s and Fiero’s that are purchased by another equally gullible class of cultists.
Hucksterism at its most blinding sheen…
This period of technological hyper-connectivity has bred the greatest age of bullshit this planet has ever experienced.
To survive is to drown in the bullshit.
You wanna flourish? Sprout a bountiful Dutch garden in this sewer?
Regardless of your age, affinity for Jack Welchisms or your degrees in advanced academic theories, this is the same spiel every schmuck hears when you enter this firm:
You’re not an entrepreneur. You’re not an innovator. You’re not a leader.
Before you’re ever a leader, you have to learn to manage.
Manage not only your employees but humans. Their knotted turmoil. Their personalities. Motivations. And how all these intersect within your business.
Have you ever had to recruit, interview, hire and train employees? Set parameters of expectations? No? Have you ever worked within the constraints of a budget?
Don’t worry, that’s why you’ve been referred to this firm. We specialize in foundational business training.
For example, a few weeks ago, my partner at this firm, received a call from one of his friends. His friend is in his mid-60s, runs a successful accounting company in one of those old, renovated brick warehouses here in the city, dines at french restaurants and flies first class. All the bullshit trappings of boomer generation business wealth. His son, pampered and cultured by our country’s most esteemed educational institutions, has spectacularly imploded after all the venture capitalist vampires flapped their wings over to their next victim. Of course, the kid is partially responsible for his company’s demise because—
Oh, you what? You can just hire someone to do all of that. A grizzled business veteran, one of those consultants that specializes in all the nit-picky details of running a company so you can languish in daydreaming or reenact a braining storming scene from some business stock photo?
You know, like when you were a child playing pretend…
I see these pseudo-Fortune 500, retired CEO fucks mentoring your generation of entrepreneurs all the time. And you know what they do? While you are Instagramming your Victoria Secret afterparty, they’re selling you out to venture capitalists, hedge funders and all the other vampires and parasites of Wall Street.
And guess what, eventually, your company, your business is gone.
You’re just an employee that answers to The Board.
So, just like we did for the offspring of my partner’s friend, I’m gonna make a call. But this time, to my buddy Alfredo. Alfie runs a very, very, very successful restaurant here in the city. Now, this restaurant has been ignored by every Michelin reviewer. But, the clientele which ranges from the high end to the middle class, could care less. They enjoy the food. The atmosphere. The service.
Why? Because Alfie understands business is operational.
For the first few weeks, you will become a sailor on the high seas of soap suds. That’s right, a lowly dishwasher. Your fellow employees will not be MIT and Princeton starlets, but ex-convicts and debt ridden state school graduates.
You will sweat, fuck up, get drunk and observe.
Then, Alfie shows you how to make a schedule. Hire. Fire. Mediate the destruction wrought by the ménoige-a-trios involving the sous chef, hostess and head bartender.
I see you looking at that box of tissues. Go on, surrender to their plush, lotion infused succor…
Look, it could be worse. That other kid was sent into the pits of retail. He’s stocking shelves, operating a cash register and getting disparaged by angry, entitled customers.
But, from these seemingly inconsequential, and menial jobs, you learn the formative operations of business. The tangible and intangible. You learn the foundations, these operational truths that become the basis for any future business endeavors.
So when you have a stable, profitable business, you don’t sell-out, you don’t IPO. You stay small, private, generational. You create something that transcends the bullshit of this life.
Of course, if you ever fuck up, I would appreciate your call. But, I warn you. My partner and I, depending on the severity of your situation, arrive with our battalion of former accountants, human resource representatives, business owners, managers and yes, even a psychiatrist. It is a rather lengthy, and expensive forensic exploration of your entire business.
Oh, my poor lad, you look bewildered. Frightened. Sweated. Even a little…yes, your hand is shaking. This is all so overwhelming, isn’t it? It’s the cognitive dissonance. After you’ve left the cult, you go through withdrawal. Your body and mind seeking the security of that fix.
You know the old phrase, Spiking The Kool Aid?
Yes, that’s right. The maniacal cult leader added deadly drugs to the refreshments in the punch bowl.
And, of course, what happened? Well, all his followers died.
Cult leaders always have followers.
Just as drug dealers always have addicts.
Oh, you get it? Good. I will have Mitchell prepare you contract…
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