When you squint into the jewel encrusted window of fabulous industry, you might naively conclude that the only truly powerful people in business are the show horses- the CEO’s, Presidents, and VP’s.  To be sure, these annointed ones do wield considerable power. They strut around like roosters, crowing the latest buzzwords with their Wharton MBA’s on their sleeves like the gold stripes on a Boeing 777 captain. They are, after all, “upper management”.  

You see, power in industry is the ability to allocate resources, that is, throw money at projects run by your stable of lackeys and courtiers.  However, there is a class of functionaries that you might mistakenly dismiss as mere scribblers or spreadsheet monkeys.  They quietly control a force so unspeakably powerful that they can make or break businesses, careers, or at least cause an unsightly crease in your trousers.  These dark lords of business are the keepers of the mighty industrial purse. The cashiers dispensing the elusive coin.

No, I do not mean those bovines of the cube farm, the accountants. I refer to (with utmost respect since one may be watching) Purchasing Managers. Purchasing managers, or supply chain managers, are the kingpins that award business contracts to that unworthy class of rabble called the “Vendor”. And what a loathsome bunch we are, always gnawing and clamoring nervously on our haunches across the moat for more scraps of fat. 

Just getting in to see a purchasing manager can be tricky. Forget about just popping in. Most businesses that buy specialty fine chemicals also have the réceptionniste sauvage who has -78 C acetone for blood.  Their role in life is to filter out the sales flotsam who may happen by.

You walk up to the reception desk in your dark suit with white shirt and blue and red tie and ask to see Mr. Smith.  In the world of sales men, fragrances are strictly for dandies from the European continent. Leave your airport duty-free store cologne in your suitcase where it belongs. 

The receptionist signs you in and phones the contact.  You stand there in waiting while Mr. Smith walks across the “campus” to meet you. He arrives and there is the exchange of pleasantries as security cards slap against sensors and you walk into a cubicle galleria. 

Mr. Smith leads you to a small sterile conference room with OfficeMax chairs where the clenched buttocks of countless other sales reps have plopped down before.  Bored looking people file in and business cards are exchanged with faint interest.  The door closes followed by what might be the faint slapping sound of sphincters slamming shut. The curtains open and you’re on center stage. It’s show time.