Can a head in the sand avoid a corpse in the water?

“We’re line down.”

Sorry to hear that. (Not really, but fake empathy makes them feel better.) They got the job as the low bidder. You reap what you sow.

“We’ve been building this product for five years. That’s 22,846 units manufactured successfully and counting.”

Congratulations. You just confirmed the adage that one “oh s--t” equals one million “attaboys.”

“Not a single electrocuted hot-tubber in that time.”

How reassuring. It is of such integral services as these that our gross national product is composed.

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“Customer” status comes with a catch: payments.

Another morning in America. Mornings bring trouble. In various guises, but always in simple declarative sentences.

“Trouble here. Line down. Big problem. Management screaming. We need your immediate help.”

Like clockwork.

No matter. Trouble is my business. (Cue breathy melancholic saxophone solo.)

This fine day’s episode comes in the form of defective batteries. The call, invariably frantic, continues thus with the symptoms:

“We have six defective batteries that need to be CT scanned. Field failures. Possible cracked electrodes. Very upset and belligerent customer, threatening litigation. You come well recommended for speed and precision. We need time on your machine now. Our entire production is halted until we identify the root cause of this field failure. Quarterly results hang in the balance. When can we come in? Today, hopefully?”

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