We filed into the funeral parlor, knowing but not yet believing our fate.
Emotions are running hot. This is the morning after the leak, and the execs don’t yet know it, but the leak strategy has backfired.
The tension manifests itself differently in each of us. I can’t even look at them, but my friend on the silicon design team hasn’t broken eye contact since we passed through the door. He’s shooting lasers. Around the room, grown-ass men can’t sit still in their seats.
Just waiting their turn.
The beginning went according to the familiar project funeral script — gotta cut costs.
“Blah, blah, blah…synergies…blah, blah, blah…core focus…blah, blah, blah strength alignment…blah, blah, blah…”
“Now, we’d like to open it up to questions.”
I was crazed and hopping mad, but I had little courage at this time in my career (and life). I was never the guy to open his mouth. I was too afraid. But I couldn’t let this go. Could I form the words? Could I find the courage?
Luckily, I didn’t have to. My colleague opened the floodgates.
“Mr. [VP], you told us what was happening but never said why, specifically. Why (on earth) are you cancelling this project?”
I assume these guys are good at reading a room; reading this one wasn’t hard. Mr. VP found a sacrifice.
“Sure, I’ll hand it over to Mr. [Lieutentant], who’s more familiar with the details.“
“Thank you, [VP]. We are canceling this program for two big reasons…”
