A Corporate Ballet

A Corporate Ballet

In the grand theatre of GlobexCorp’s opulent boardroom, executives and consultants dance a delicate waltz of ambition, deflection, and cunning strategy. As the music of corporate jargon and flashy presentations plays on, not all is as it seems.

The clock in the opulent boardroom ticked steadily, marking the march of a momentous morning at GlobexCorp International. The senior executives, awash in a sea of self-importance, adjusted their collars and straightened their power ties in anticipation.

Then, like a battalion of knights riding into a medieval court, the management consultants entered. Their suits were not just sharp, they were formidable. Tailored to precision, woven from the rarest fabrics, they glimmered and shimmered in the muted light of the boardroom, casting a palpable aura.

Mr. Richardson, the leader of the pack, cleared his throat. His degrees from Oxford and Harvard, real or imagined, were embossed in gold lettering on his briefcase. “Gentlemen,” he began, his voice dripping with gravitas, “we are here to usher in a new era of efficiency and excellence for GlobexCorp.”

The junior consultants, still reeking of fresh university lecture halls, set up their shiny laptops. Their fingers danced over the keys, recording every word, every gesture, every nuance. They were the unsung heroes, the ones who would actually analyse, crunch, and draft the myriad of reports and recommendations that the shimmering suits would later present.

Sir David Thompson, CEO of GlobexCorp, nodding with feigned interest, whispered to his deputy, “Impressive lot, aren’t they?”

The deputy, a cunning old fox named Jenkins, smirked. “Aye, Sir David. It’s a grand show they put on. Almost makes you forget they’re just repackaging our own ideas and selling them back to us.”

Sir David chuckled, “Ah, Jenkins. Always the sceptic. But, you’re right. Let them have their moment in the sun. In the end, it’s all just theatre.”

And so, as the consultants prattled on with their corporate jargon, PowerPoint slides, and meticulously crafted graphics, the real game was happening in the silences, in the unspoken exchanges between the old guards of GlobexCorp. They knew the dance, the ritual of consultancy, and they played along.

When the consultants concluded, they promptly offered to prepare an even more elaborate series of presentations, to dive deeper, to illuminate further, to bedazzle with even more intricate charts and stats. They promised to answer every question, even the ones GlobexCorp hadn’t thought of yet.

Sir David leaned in, his voice dripping with feigned enthusiasm. “By all means, gentlemen, let’s go deeper. Let’s uncover every stone, analyse every molecule, let’s stretch this to its fullest potential.”

Jenkins, always with an ear for subtext, whispered to a nearby executive, “They’ll be busy for months, and by the time they’re done, we’ll have moved on to the next venture.”

The deputy nodded, a wry smile forming on his face. “Indeed, keep them chasing their own tails.”

Sir David leaned back in his plush chair, exhaling slowly. “You know, Jenkins, there’s a method to our seeming madness. These consultants, with their flashy presentations and boundless enthusiasm, serve a purpose.”

Jenkins, raising an eyebrow, probed, “Oh? And what might that be, Sir David?”

Sir David smirked, “A scapegoat, my dear Jenkins. By letting them parade their ideas, by letting them take the forefront of innovation, we ensure that, should things head south, the blame can be deftly passed on.”

Jenkins chuckled, “Ah, the age-old game of corporate responsibility dodgeball. Quite ingenious, Sir David.”

The two shared a knowing nod. All around the boardroom, the other members exchanged glances of understanding. It was a game they had all played before, and one they were all too eager to play again. The consultants, blissfully unaware, continued their dance, unknowingly poised on the precipice of blame.

When the day was done, and the consultants had left in a flurry of handshakes and confident strides, the boardroom was quiet once again. Sir David and Jenkins sat in pensive silence.

“You know,” mused Sir David, “sometimes I wonder if Vonnegut had it right. We’re all just players in a cosmic joke, going through the motions, pretending to have purpose.”

Jenkins smiled, “Perhaps, Sir David. But isn’t that the beauty of it? The show must go on.”

And the clock ticked on, indifferent to the theatre of corporate life.

All images generated using Midjourney