Typical Day
After twenty-two years of wearing a coat and tie to work every day, Ed Hunter left MegaGlop Hunters Are We, Inc. about five months ago. He hated the bureaucracy after a while and, more directly, he came to realize that his clients were no longer calling for MegaGlop services—they were calling for Ed. Or at least that's what he came to believe.
In fact, the clients were nervous and the many whom he quietly asked about giving him work if he left did not, in fact, do as they promised. They were nervous about performing a search with a true independent. The clients liked the big fancy office and the pro basketball tickets and the brand name and the perception of "thousands of people" working for them when they hired MegaGlop.
So Ed realized that from the 120 clients he thought he'd have, the real number was only about twenty-five—and he wasn't sure when his next gig would come from that group. So today he…sleeps in. It's an unusual feeling—for twenty-two years, he had to be in the office by 5:30AM because he ran the California office and there was always a conference call with New York at 8:30AM their time.
But today, he doesn't need to be anywhere until noon. So he sleeps in. Works out. Had a nice breakfast. Pats his dog (which was about all he had left after the divorce—his wife didn't love the twenty-two-years thing and all of the corporate "on command" performances).
He dresses casually and meets a potential client for lunch at a nice little bistro.
Ed greets the client casually. "Hey, John, "Whatchya got for me?"
John shrugs. "A few things coming up—the bosses don't wanna go indie though—too much risk."
"Risk? Me? I have twenty-two years on the ground…."
"Yeah, but you know how corporate is—nervous Nellies. And risk."
"What risk?"
John looks sheepish. "Well…if you give us an ax murderer, they get fired. If it was someone recommended by MegaGlop, they can just blame MegaGlop’s lousy due diligence process in researching bodies for our shop. That way they don't get fired. See?"
"Yes. Idiots. That's not how things work." Ed sighs. "What could I do to win this search?"
"Well, MegaGlop wants $150,000 guaranteed and a bunch of other crap. What could you do?"
That's good news for Ed. "Perfect! That's my sweet spot. I'll name that tune for $50,000 and will foot my own legal and research and due diligence fees."
Ed has a retired CIA researcher who likes to work for him for forty bucks an hour on "cases." He figures fifty hours (a.k.a $2,000 for his buddy) still nets him $48,000 in his pocket for doing this search.
John looks relieved. "Great. I'll take it back to corporate and the boys. So how's your short game these days?"
Ed leaves lunch and goes to the grocery store. He's throwing a little dinner party for execs looking for work, with a few client/buyers attending as well. He can't afford to buy the cheap wines and cheeses, or to scrimp on the waiter and clean-up service, so the whole thing's going to cost him about $2,000—but just doing one search will more than pay for that.
The rest of the afternoon is a blur. When the party starts, Ed wanders around, introducing people and hoping to spark a connection. "Bob, meet Boyd; Boyd, Bob. Plastics. You boys have a lot in common. You should chat." “Sue, meet Mr. Wu. Wu, Sue. Credit cards. Debit cards. Be pay pals, ha-ha! Have a beer."
It's an endless stream of snippets and octopussian glad-handing. Ed's thrown these things a hundred times in the past—but back then, it was all on MegaGlop's nickel and his secretary had handled the details. But now he has no secretary. It's all on him. The thought is liberating, but also stressful. In the MegaGlop era, he would've just taken everyone to a restaurant and spent $4,000 instead of $2,000; but when everything's on his nickel, the nickels are more carefully managed.
Ed had three searches going now—and two of them had been going on for over two months, and the clients are getting impatient. There are a half-dozen "targets" at this party whom he thinks might be a fit. And luckily, the clients are there as well. It's a low-risk way of doing a casual introduction and hoping that things work out.
Because Ed's a new kid on the block as a firm, all of his deals are "contingency" deals—that is, there aren't any guarantees. If he doesn't find a match for the search that the company was looking for, he doesn't get paid. At MegaGlop, there was always a big fat guarantee.
Plus, "hired" meant that the employee remained at the company in good standing for at least six months. If they quit or were fired, Ed can kiss his paycheck goodbye. There's a lot of breath-holding along the way.
His retired CIA buddy is there as well, hoping he'd find some hours. "Anything?"
"A few. Maybe that guy for Global Online Debit.”
The buddy shakes his head and frowns. "Fail."
It's Ed's turn to frown. "Why?"
"See the way he taps his left foot. Note the nostril snorts. That jowl thing. Biting."
"Uh…yeah, I guess a little weird." Ed pauses. "So what?"
The old guy gives him a look, like, What do you mean, "So what"? "Coke. He's got a cocaine problem. Stay away. Easy spot."
Ed's floored. "Do I owe ya forty bucks for that one?"
"No."
The CIA doesn't have a great sense of humor.*
Everyone finally leaves by 11:00PM. The liquor cabinet was empty. It had been a vastly long day—and Ed has earned exactly zero dollars. That's okay. There are whales out there. Hot streaks to be had. He knows he just has to be patient.
*There are no employees of Shmoop University (to our knowledge) who are alumni of the CIA or any of its affiliates, partners or "off balance sheet" managers.