Trespassing, Garbage, and Business Consultancing

Dimitry adjusted his slightly-too-tight tie. The “Synergistic Business Futures Confluence” brochure had promised cutting-edge insights. He was ready. “It is critical,” he murmured to himself, smoothing his lapels, “to expect the unexpected.”

The conference hall, however, was not what he expected. Instead of tiered seating and a PowerPoint presentation, there were small, intimately-lit tables, each with two chairs and a wilting carnation that looked like it had personally witnessed several failed startups.

A woman with a clipboard and an unnervingly familiar glint in her eye approached him. “Welcome, Dimitry! Delighted to have you. We’re just about to start the… accelerated networking round.”

“Accelerated networking?” Dimitry frowned. “The brochure mentioned keynote speakers on fiscal re-appropriation.”

“Ah, yes!” The woman chirped. “But first, dynamic interpersonal engagement! Find a seat, any seat!”

Dimitry, feeling a prickle of unease, sat opposite a woman who was intently studying her name tag as if it held the secrets of the universe. “Dimitry,” he said, extending a hand. “Squirrel Recruitment. We’re at the absolute frontline of technological innovation. Our printer doesn’t work.”

The woman looked up, her eyes widening. “Fascinating! I’m Dimitra. And I must say, the right answer is: I’m a bit of a perfectionist.”

Dimitry blinked. “An excellent quality. Can’t go wrong with that one. So, Dimitra, what are your thoughts on the current paradigm of client acquisition?”

“Well,” Dimitra leaned in conspiratorially, “there’s an old vaguely Eastern European saying, you know. It goes like this: Kokoshka kopishk, chish poposhka kata!” She winked. “Kokoko tatish sha! Shhh!”

Dimitry felt a cold dread mixed with a bizarre sense of recognition. “Can you tell me what this means to you?” he asked, his voice a little shaky.

Before Dimitra could reply, a bell dinged. “Time to rotate!” the clipboard woman called.

Dimitry found himself at another table, this time opposite a man with spectacles identical to his own. “Dimitry,” our Dimitry began, trying to regain his composure.

“Dimitrios,” the man corrected, though his name tag clearly read ‘Dimitry_2’. “And that is precisely what we’re here for: to ask the right questions. Such as, what came first, a chicken that crossed the road, or an egg salad?”

“An egg salad, of course,” Dimitry said automatically, then paused. “Wait, you ask the questions? I thought this was a confluence for fiscal futures.”

“You used to call us on the cell phone,” Dimitrios sighed, a hint of wistful accusation in his tone. “You used to.”

The bell dinged again. Next up was a woman, ‘Dimitrina’, who immediately launched into, “If you would like to now reach us by email, it doesn’t matter, our internet connection is down. Send us a textual message, attach your resume, your hopes, your dreams, your breakfast, your banking details.” She smiled sweetly. “Maybe we can break into your bank account.”

“If we can’t even break into your bank account,” Dimitry found himself retorting, “then why do business with us?” He clapped a hand over his mouth. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I’m a bit of a perfectionist.”

“Can’t go wrong with that one!” Dimitrina agreed enthusiastically.

The next few “dates” were a blur. A ‘Dimitrov’ explained, “We do action-packed role plays. We had this candidate interview this other candidate. They got into a fight. We called the security guard. They took him offline. Then they took him hostage. Then they took him to the cleaners. Then lunch. Squirrel Recruitment, sometimes catering.”

A ‘Dimitria’ mused, “You had a launch, we had a lunch. Who wore it better?”

Another ‘Dimitry’ (this one just ‘Dimitry Variant C’) informed him, “Recruitment is only one or two of the many services that we provide. Other services include trespassing, garbage, and business consultancing.”

“Business consultancing,” Dimitry echoed, feeling his sanity fray, “or consulting for short, involves hiring financial humans. We’ve trapped one of them, financial humans, for the interview.”

“Precisely!” said Variant C. “We ask him, what’s 5 x 25? He said 125. We said we have no way of knowing if that’s true or not. Then we ask him the same question again. Maybe he can give us a better answer. He couldn’t. Insisted on 125. You gotta be more flexible than that.”

Dimitry felt dizzy. He looked around the room. Every face, male or female, youngish or oldish, seemed to be a subtle variation of his own. The way they gestured, the particular tilt of their heads when confused, the slight frown lines that deepened when discussing non-functional printers. One of them, a woman in a power suit, adjusted her glasses with the exact, two-fingered push he favored. Another cleared his throat with Dimitry’s signature, slightly phlegmy “hrmph.”

The clipboard woman, who he now realized was just a slightly more organized-looking version of himself with a better haircut, and significantly more menacing stationery, clapped her hands. “Alright, everyone! I hope you’ve all had some… synergistic engagements! Any feedback, Dimitry?” She was looking directly at him. Or was she? Everyone was looking at him. Every Dimitry was looking at him.

He stood up, a strange calm descending. “We are at the absolute frontline of technological innovation,” he began, his voice resonating slightly differently in the suddenly silent room. “Our printer doesn’t work.” A murmur of agreement, like a faulty Xerox machine trying to collate, rippled through the Dimitrys. “We hired a guy to look into this, he didn’t know which way is up.” Nods. So many nods. “We got him an assistant and a supervisor. They formed a committee and commissioned a report.” Expectant silence. “Couldn’t print the report though, because guess what?”

A chorus of Dimitrys, perfectly synchronized, shouted: “THE PRINTER WAS UNPLUGGED!”

“Squirrel business consultancing,” Dimitry continued, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Technology is the least of our problems.” A collective sigh of profound, shared understanding. “It’s still a huge problem, though.”

Dimitry surveyed the scene. The room full of himselfs, all nodding, some muttering about banking details, others about egg salads. He felt a strange sense of triumph, of having finally, truly, expected the unexpected.

“We hold up the mirror to the recruitment community,” he announced, his voice clear and strong. “We would hold up two mirrors, but we don’t have the budget for that. Even one mirror is a stretch.” He paused, then looked directly at the clipboard-wielding Dimitry, then swept his gaze across all the others. “Because you, sir,” he pointed at a female version of himself, “haven’t sent us your banking details. And neither have you, madam.” He gestured to a male version.

He let that sink in. Then, with the quiet authority of a man who has seen the abyss and found it looking back with his own face, he delivered his final line.

“Squirrel Recruitment.” A beat. “Big mistake.” Another beat, longer this time, as every Dimitry in the room leaned in. “Huge.”

Dimitry turned and walked out of the Synergistic Business Futures Confluence, leaving behind a roomful of himselfs to ponder the existential implications of non-functional printers and the high cost of mirrors. He didn’t look back. After all, he was a bit of a perfectionist. And this, he had to admit, was a perfect exit.