The Process

Process: A particular method of doing something, generally involving a number of steps or operations.

One of my tasks as The Technical Guy for my company is to support the distributors who actually sell our product, which is quite technical. SuperK doesn't think too much of a company that uses me as tech support. "You can't turn on your computer without screaming for help," she says. "That's a hell of an organization they're running over there." I don't pay attention to her criticisms any more, especially when they're right and pretty funny to boot.


I used to call directly on the end-user which I liked because it meant I was IN CONTROL of the entire process. I qualified the prospect, ran the presentation, and followed up to try to close the deal. I like being in control. Everything works better when I'm making ALL OF THE DECISIONS. Everybody can see that. Everybody concurs. The arc of my life demonstrates that this is a fact.

Now I have to babysit distributors who handle the details with the end-user. Some of them are good at this and some of them really suck. None of them, of course, are AS GOOD AS I AM. Here's where that leaves me: I do as much as I can without being too annoying -- no small task -- and then let go of the process. I need to repeat that for my own sake. Let go of the process. Let go and let god. Let go and let distributor.


I let go of the process like I let go of everything: the process has claw marks and teeth marks and tire tracks all over it.

A few weeks ago a salesman at one of my distributors asked me to accompany him on what I thought was a dubious appointment. Apparently, I didn't respond with enough alacrity so he called my regional manager, whose entire purpose in life is to make the simplest process complicated and ponderous, copying everyone in the world while adding nothing to the conversation. He just gums up the works. Throws a wrench in the machinery, all the while protecting himself.

After much to-do about nothing, I show up at the distributor at the appointed time only to find out that the bitching salesman in question is off that day. His manager is going to pinch hit but can't leave the branch until some help shows up, which they do not do. So this dude complicated my life for no good reason and then doesn't show up, which leaves an unimaginably important person like me to stew in my own irritation juices, which are quite caustic and deadly to most organic life matter.

Guess what? I went out to the car, in some nice morning sunshine, and called some buddies in A.A.. Then I pulled out a notebook and did some writing.

How hard was that? How unpleasant was that?