Broken Charts

The presentation to the Board was going pretty well. I had pasted my chart to the wall and had produced hand-out sheet summarizing my points in 14 point Trebuchet. I was arguing that the hockey-stick curve of the chart proved that a geometric increase in trash would soon deplete our resources.

We were worse off than the US Social Security system. I was advocating for a geometric rise in my budget - staffing, training programs, equipment upgrades, land acquisition, mergers with other municipalities - the works.

The chart data had been collected by a hired team of local College students who had spent last summer doing the research and creating the chart. I saw no reason to give them credit for the work, since I as the manager had actually comissioned the work. They were mere pawns doing my bidding and of no significance. No, sir, this was MY party and I was going to squeeze every drop of personal gain that was possible out of the triumph.

One of the Board members was staring at the chart, scowling.
"What's that?"
He was pointing to a corner where some paper was curling away from the chart. A strip of paper with The title of the chart had been pasted over what appeared to be another title. It was like a piece of wallpaper that has lost its stick.

I tried to divert attention. "Oh, no worries, just a presentation malfunction."
But the insistent board member strode up to the chart and peeled away the loose strip to reveal the original title "Historical Temperature Trends in North America"

"What the fuck's going on here?" he shouted accusingly, "You're trying to pawn-off a global warming propaganda chart as the results of your 'scientific study' of trash projections?" He looked around at the other board members who were staring at the chart, avoiding eye contact with me.

"Hold on. Wait a second. I can explain" I murmered. But they were already stuffing papers in their briefcases, getting ready to go. "Ah, Maybe the original title was a typo... or..." But no one was listening. On his way out, the Chairman stopped very close to me, looking at his shoes. "In my office, tomorrow morning. 8am sharp!"

So, tomorrow I am on the carpet. A victom of outsourcing gone bad. I wonder if this could be the end of a great and lucrative career as the DFM.
Time will tell. Meanwhile, hit me with another shot of Dewers, willya barkeep?