It is a law of nature that meetings reproduce. Like rabbits, but with worse snacks and no natural predators. Researchers at the Institute of Calendar Studies (a building that does not exist) estimate the average meeting produces 2.4 offspring before it dies, and none of them has an agenda. The average employee, meanwhile, produces nothing before retirement, which has also been moved to a follow-up.
To understand it, we obtained the official minutes of a meeting at a fictional company in the fictional town of Lower Sprocketford. They are reproduced below. Nobody else will read them.
Minutes: Q3 Alignment Kick-Off
Date: Tuesday
Time: 10:00–11:00 (ran until 11:23)
Attendees: 14 (6 cameras on, 2 present in spirit, 0 present in any legal sense)
Purpose: To discuss the plan for the project.
10:00 — Meeting started. Four people present. Waited. Aged.
10:04 — Remaining attendees joined. Each said “sorry, back-to-back”. Nobody asked back-to-back what. Everybody knew. We are all coming from a meeting. We will all be going to a meeting. There is no other room.
10:06 — Could everyone hear? Brian could not hear. Brian was muted. Brian unmuted to say “can you hear me?” Everyone could. Brian remained confused for the rest of the meeting, and, it is understood, his career.
10:09 — Chair shared screen. Wrong screen. Attendees saw a shopping basket containing one garden gnome and a rice cooker. Nobody mentioned it. It will be the only thing anyone remembers about the chair at his leaving do.
10:11 — Correct screen. A slide titled “Agenda” contained the word “Agenda”.
The agenda just said “Agenda.” It was the most honest document in the building, and it had more content than the strategy.
10:14 — Discussion began. It was noted the project needed a plan. It was agreed the plan should be “robust”. It was not agreed what “robust” meant. A separate meeting was proposed.
10:22 — Priya asked what the project was. Silence. It was agreed this was “a really good question” and that a separate meeting would define scope. Priya’s question was noted. So was Priya.
10:31 — Marcus raised budget. Budget was “a bigger conversation” for a separate meeting with Finance. Finance had already spent it. Finance would explain this in a meeting.
10:38 — Finance would need context. A pre-meeting was proposed to prepare for the meeting.
10:44 — Someone said “I think we’re all saying the same thing.” Everyone agreed. Nobody could say what the thing was. Fourteen salaries were burning at the time.
10:52 — Agreed the meeting had been “really useful” and “surfaced great questions”. No answers surfaced. Answers are presumed to be in the next meeting, or the one after, or in a drawer at a company that no longer exists.
10:58 — Chair said “I’ll let you all go.” Nobody went. Nobody ever goes. That is the whole problem with this place, and with you.
11:00–11:23 — Discussion of who would send the invites. A working group was formed to coordinate the invites for the follow-ups.
11:23 — Meeting ended. Everyone left for their next meeting, where they said “sorry, back-to-back”.
Action Items
- Schedule scoping meeting (Owner: TBC — to be decided in a meeting)
- Schedule pre-meeting for Finance meeting (Owner: Marcus, against his will, as with most of his adult life)
- Schedule Finance meeting (Owner: whoever leaves the pre-meeting last)
- Form working group (Done. First meeting Thursday. It will still be meeting after the company is sold.)
- Send minutes (Owner: the person who said “I can take notes” and now understands regret on a cellular level)
Why This Keeps Happening
Meetings multiply because a meeting is the safest place to put a decision. A decision made by one person is a risk. A decision made in a meeting is a consensus. A decision moved to another meeting is a process. Nobody has ever been blamed for a process. People have only ever been blamed for doing something.
And the maths. Fourteen people contain 14 opinions, 9 concerns, 3 people on a train and 1 person who will say “just to play devil’s advocate” as though the devil needed help. Nothing that size can end in a decision. It can only end in a follow-up, and you.
Nobody has ever been fired for scheduling a follow-up. That’s why your calendar looks like a game of Tetris you are losing, and the blocks are years.
The Endgame
Every calendar eventually reaches saturation: the only free slot left is 8:30am on a Friday, and someone books it for “a quick catch-up on how we can have fewer meetings”.
It goes very well. Everyone agrees there are too many meetings. A follow-up is scheduled. Somewhere, quietly, a retirement date slides another year to the right.
Brian is still muted. Brian will be muted at his own leaving drinks.