We all have that one project that we look back on with nostalgia. Maybe it was the interesting work, or the good people, or even just the place we were. It’s the sort of memories that keeps consultants going through the bad times.
It was a very short project – only six weeks. And it was in
Los Angeles. I’d never actually been to Los Angeles before. Flying in for that first
week I had a window seat, which is my preference. I watched the desert pass
under the plane. I love the desert landscape, the way that ancient volcanos and
lava flows and the slow erosion of the land is all clearly visible without the
screen of greenery that obscures the geology in more verdant landscapes. Then
suddenly there were the folds of mountains, sprinkled with snow and the green
fuzz of vegetation. A little further and Los Angeles revealed itself, a sprawling
city under a haze of bright purple blossoms. No one told me that the city would
be smothered in flowers.
The project was for a public entity that needed
to replace or upgrade their telephony management system and knew that they
needed to document their current state processes before they could make a good
software choice.
True confessions – I didn’t know jack about telephone
technology before I started the project. But I do know how to talk to all kinds
of people and find stuff out.
Luckily, the client, knowing that the compressed time frame
would be a challenge, had already not only requested the necessary building and
network access for me, but had scheduled meetings for me with the key
stakeholders I’d need to interview. It’s the only project I’ve ever worked on where
the client was so proactive and prepared. Also, they gave me a corner office
with a conference table since they knew I’d have to meet with so many folks.
Wow.
But the most memorable part of the project wasn’t the
stakeholders or the office or even the fascinating exploration of telephony
technology (I got them to take me down into the basement and show me all the copper).
It was Los Angeles.
It wasn’t a cheap part of town, if there is one. I stayed in
a $300 a night hotel. For the last three weeks I managed to switch to a rather
nasty AirBnB to save money. I definitely preferred the hotel, which had free
wine in the lobby and a lovely restaurant with a panoramic view of the western
hills. Oh well, the things we do to stay on budget.
I chose not to rent a car, because obviously. So the first week, I got on
Craigslist and found a graduating college senior who was selling a bicycle for $50. I
bought it. It was a rusty mess but it took me all over town. I rode it to the
office and back, out to Santa Monica, and around town in search of cheap food.
And everywhere I walked or pedaled, the jacaranda blossoms fell on my head and
on the sidewalk, turning from a cloud of purple overhead to a slippery pile of
purple underfoot.
I made the rookie mistake of biking all the way down Sunset
Blvd. to the beach. Halfway along you lose both sidewalk and shoulder and the
cars go speeding around those blind turns and you begin to wish you’d updated
your will. After walking for a spell in the sand and dining on a burger at the
pier, I rode back up Wilshire, which was less scenic but a lot less terrifying.
As I pedaled along, slow and tired, I passed a barbershop where some older
black men sat out front playing checkers. I waved and they called out
pleasantries as I went by.
Friends told me to check out the “cemetery of the stars” so
with a little help from Google maps I located it and visited it during a lunch
hour. It felt odd to be a tourist at the tiny, intimate, extremely well-tended cemetery.
I walked slowly reading headstones. Farrah Fawcett, Walter Matthau, Jack
Lemmon, Marilyn Monroe (her marker covered with lipstick kisses), and Rodney
Dangerfield. His marker read simply “There Goes the Neighborhood” and I tossed back
my head and laughed.
The best was the weekend that my youngest flew out to join me. Renee had never flown by themselves and it was a bit of an ordeal for them. Luckily since they were a minor, I was able to go to the gate to meet them. I rented a tiny car so that we could get around more easily. We drove out past Marina Del Rey, and Renee raised an eyebrow at me, having just finished reading All the President’s Men. The two things Renee wanted to do were tour the Getty and go hiking in the hills. It made for a wonderful but exhausting weekend. Do you have any idea how big the Getty is? And how hard all those miles of white marble floors are? Not to mention how overwhelming it is to consume that much art in one day? You can’t process it all. It’s like trying to watch a movie in fast-forward.
The next day, hiking up in the hills, was a welcome respite.
The city, full of little bungalows and carefully manicured gardens full of
exotic plants, lacks life. There are few birds, few squirrels, no sweet smell
of untended nature. But get up above the city, and the hills are full of wildlife
and flowers of exquisite, unexpected beauty, and the golden warm smell that means
California to me. We wandered for hours, not quite sure where we were going,
but reluctant to turn back. To compensate for having to return to the sterile
streets of the city, I took Renee to my favorite little Italian spot for some
really kick-ass risotto. And then it was time to see them to their plane and
wave goodbye for another week.
And the project? It was a success. I worked long hours and
barely finished, but in the end I had a solid ecosystem map, a complete set of
process flows, an issues list, and a very pretty little presentation to show. It
was a satisfying conclusion, but there’s something about such a short project
that leaves you feeling disoriented. Just as soon as you’ve found your way
around, figured out who the players are, and really gotten your teeth into the
problems, you’re flying home and wondering what they’re going to do with all
your hard work. Not that I wanted to keep flying to the west coast every week.
That part was exhausting, and I’ve got nothing good to say about the LA
airport. I left the keys to the bike with the receptionist and told her to
do whatever she wanted with it. It wasn’t worth trying to sell again.
