How to Kill Your Company With A Hammer And Nail
"Let's set-up an office!" It's the cry of a business that is either ready to move up from a home office situation; or it's the cry of a business that's in trouble: like a couple in trouble who have a baby to shore up the relationship.
We started after a couple of events: first, we had office space-- space that no one used. Then we moved to the only space that was available: one of the partner's grandmother's basements. Remember that line from the William Shatner Saturday Night Live skit: "Move out of your parent's basement!"? We went the other way. Well, one day I went to the house to pick up mail. No grandmother. No sign of where she was or what was going on. I didn't have a key to the office and no way to get cheques, bills, etc.. I had a dark epiphany: our entire company-- our fledging empire-- rested of the aged shoulders of an elderly woman. So, I panicked and started looking for office space.
The problem with office space: it costs money. I began to work out options. One option was to find another company in the same state. That I found. They were willing. I talked to a training company from out of town that wanted a presence in our city. They were on board.
We scouted out office space at the same location where one IT company and one print company had died. Ah, that felt cursed enough: time to proceed.
We got this dizzy building plan that was partially the design of the retarded guy who launched this move; validated by the apathy of the others. It was going to make the most of these cool twelve foot high ceilings and have this cathedral like look to it. Who was going to build it?
Volunteer labour is worth everything you pay for it. When the partners were polled to help, there was this creative spark, this burst of ideas: how do we say, "we don't want to work on it?" People were somewhere else doing something else whenever the work needed to be done. People who had no part in the company turned out to the be the most enthusiastic. Try to spin that one. People who had nothing to do with the company were bright eyed and bushy tailed. When they asked where the partners were, I had to shrug and offer up lame excuses. Volunteer labour also meant that the quality of work was random. One worker had a difficult patch of construction on his birthday-- his forgotten birthday. He took out his frustration on that wall with a hammer and screwdriver. That was probably better than taking it out on his elderly mother and frigid sister.
Meanwhile, the square dance of avoidance dragged out the office renovation from weeks to months. Our business partners were totally willing to help. Their employees would show up for whole days of effort. Some of them showed, walked around and said, "I thought you were going to do this yourself." Sure. Why not? You take care of your business. We'll take care of your new office. When I called to work out details with the out of town training company, they thought we would be giving them the space, the computers and the training and all they had to do was collect the money. Thanks guys: you need to learn a few things. So did we: get everything on paper, so you can pull out that paper when people weasel out on their agreements. The property management firm weaseled out of their side of the agreement. They agreed to give us rent relief in exchange for the renos. Nice deal: we were doing the work for free. So, for $5000 in supplies, they got $20,000 in upgrades.
While this was going on, the rent bills continued to mount up. The company lost one productive member before the office reno debacle. The office debacle tied up the other one. While he was working on the office, nothing got done for the company. No billing = no revenue. No revenue = no business. Everyone showed up to give us work: flower wholesalers, the federal government, two political parties and more. Sorry: we're to busy swinging a hammer to carry out IT work.
It was only a matter of time. The cathedral like design meant dank, dark halls. Spending six months in renovation hibernation meant that there was NO money coming in. The "run and hide" approach to volunteering became comfortable. So much so, that no role in the company was being fulfilled by the end, we had an office (sort of); a lot of bills, a lot of administative headaches, and no business.
The business died. We were out of cash and out of work. People were pissed that we took forever to complete our assignments. We worked out a painful exit strategy. The clients went away. We got out of the lease. I took on the expenses of the renovation (good bye credit rating). A year afterward, I returned to the office. I expected someone would have torn down our walls and remade the space in their own image. Instead, they left every thing as is, including our company logo etched in glass, surrounded by boxes and crap.
Whenever I hear a business thinking about building their own location, I think of them as doomed, like engineers who go into a reactor core to prevent a meltdown. They might succeed, but more likely they'll get a lethal dose from the construction. Our office turned out to be a coffin for our company, sealed up with a hammer and nail.
We started after a couple of events: first, we had office space-- space that no one used. Then we moved to the only space that was available: one of the partner's grandmother's basements. Remember that line from the William Shatner Saturday Night Live skit: "Move out of your parent's basement!"? We went the other way. Well, one day I went to the house to pick up mail. No grandmother. No sign of where she was or what was going on. I didn't have a key to the office and no way to get cheques, bills, etc.. I had a dark epiphany: our entire company-- our fledging empire-- rested of the aged shoulders of an elderly woman. So, I panicked and started looking for office space.
The problem with office space: it costs money. I began to work out options. One option was to find another company in the same state. That I found. They were willing. I talked to a training company from out of town that wanted a presence in our city. They were on board.
We scouted out office space at the same location where one IT company and one print company had died. Ah, that felt cursed enough: time to proceed.
We got this dizzy building plan that was partially the design of the retarded guy who launched this move; validated by the apathy of the others. It was going to make the most of these cool twelve foot high ceilings and have this cathedral like look to it. Who was going to build it?
Volunteer labour is worth everything you pay for it. When the partners were polled to help, there was this creative spark, this burst of ideas: how do we say, "we don't want to work on it?" People were somewhere else doing something else whenever the work needed to be done. People who had no part in the company turned out to the be the most enthusiastic. Try to spin that one. People who had nothing to do with the company were bright eyed and bushy tailed. When they asked where the partners were, I had to shrug and offer up lame excuses. Volunteer labour also meant that the quality of work was random. One worker had a difficult patch of construction on his birthday-- his forgotten birthday. He took out his frustration on that wall with a hammer and screwdriver. That was probably better than taking it out on his elderly mother and frigid sister.
Meanwhile, the square dance of avoidance dragged out the office renovation from weeks to months. Our business partners were totally willing to help. Their employees would show up for whole days of effort. Some of them showed, walked around and said, "I thought you were going to do this yourself." Sure. Why not? You take care of your business. We'll take care of your new office. When I called to work out details with the out of town training company, they thought we would be giving them the space, the computers and the training and all they had to do was collect the money. Thanks guys: you need to learn a few things. So did we: get everything on paper, so you can pull out that paper when people weasel out on their agreements. The property management firm weaseled out of their side of the agreement. They agreed to give us rent relief in exchange for the renos. Nice deal: we were doing the work for free. So, for $5000 in supplies, they got $20,000 in upgrades.
While this was going on, the rent bills continued to mount up. The company lost one productive member before the office reno debacle. The office debacle tied up the other one. While he was working on the office, nothing got done for the company. No billing = no revenue. No revenue = no business. Everyone showed up to give us work: flower wholesalers, the federal government, two political parties and more. Sorry: we're to busy swinging a hammer to carry out IT work.
It was only a matter of time. The cathedral like design meant dank, dark halls. Spending six months in renovation hibernation meant that there was NO money coming in. The "run and hide" approach to volunteering became comfortable. So much so, that no role in the company was being fulfilled by the end, we had an office (sort of); a lot of bills, a lot of administative headaches, and no business.
The business died. We were out of cash and out of work. People were pissed that we took forever to complete our assignments. We worked out a painful exit strategy. The clients went away. We got out of the lease. I took on the expenses of the renovation (good bye credit rating). A year afterward, I returned to the office. I expected someone would have torn down our walls and remade the space in their own image. Instead, they left every thing as is, including our company logo etched in glass, surrounded by boxes and crap.
Whenever I hear a business thinking about building their own location, I think of them as doomed, like engineers who go into a reactor core to prevent a meltdown. They might succeed, but more likely they'll get a lethal dose from the construction. Our office turned out to be a coffin for our company, sealed up with a hammer and nail.
posted by A. Proud (Foolsoft Employee) at 4:07 PM
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