workingfortheman.com

Ashes to ashes,
Dust to dust,
First came the boom.
Now the bust.
Sellah.

Humans are much better prepared to deal with individual deaths than with the demise of corporations. Think about it: over the millennia we have sought consolation in the Pyramids, Viking-ship immolations, sitting shiva, wakes, and New Orleans jazz parades.

Yet when a company dies, we can do little but stare into utter blankness. Where are the memorials to, say, Nash-Kelvinator, E. F. Hutton, or Braniff International Airways? There is no place to mourn, no way to remember except for the stereotypical trip to a local bar for the pink-slip party. That, my friends, is not enough.

We really need rituals now that the Black Plague is sweeping through Internet start-ups and click-and-mortar companies. As they die and decompose at Internet speed, these operations leave mourners exceedingly few keepsakes to be passed from Gen X to Gen Y to Gen B2BK (back-to-Burger-King). All that remains are boxes of putrid press releases, useless mousepads, dog-eared copies of Business 2.0 - nothing profound except for that damned Pets.com sock puppet. Paleolithic tribes left us more fitting memento mori.

It remains the task of us, the living, to create rituals that give meaning to the death of the dotcoms, those vague entities that streaked so brilliantly through our lives on wings of hype and stock options. The New Economy will rush on, oblivious to the dotcoms that fought so hard to create a better world of 24/7 shopping and pee-cams. They are easy to forget, but remember, the New Economy will become the Old New Economy, replaced by the New New New Economy, which ultimately will be merely the Old New Old New Economy - well, you get the picture. Even if we have no way to rage against the dying of the 17-inch (15.7 inch viewable area) light, that doesn't mean our children should lack a dotcom book of the dead.

How to begin the mourning process that moves inexorably from denial to anger to grief to rewriting your resume? First, let us recall how they died:

Cancer. Healthy brand wasted away as infection metastasized throughout the business model. Amputations (a/k/a layoffs), VChemotherapy, and sudden but misleading lurches of recovery (always around Christmas) all marked the trajectory of dotcom cancer. Garden.com and APBnews.com kicked the server this way. eToys.com just got wheeled into the hospice.

Massive coronary. Occurred when VCHMOs suddenly withdraw life support funding. Typically the patient died just before profits kicked in, according to company executives. This was a lie, of course, but it let dotcommers retain a scrap of self-respect when they applied for unemployment.

Flaming train wreck. A most public and painful form of death, marked by screeching metal and spilled ink as money-burning Super Chiefs smashed headlong against economic reality. Hideous to view but impossible to ignore as bodies came flying through the windows. Appropriate hymn: the Grateful Dead's "Casey Jones" with lyrics adjusted to say, "Trouble ahead, trouble behind, don't you know my options just crossed my mind." Think Priceline, Marchfirst, Drkoop, and Webvan.

We can take comfort knowing dotcoms did not die alone. No, many were the attendants as they were born, matured, and croaked. Let us pause to identify and honor them:

The faith healers. A/K/A "turnaround executives." Attempted to cast out the foul demons of cash burn and find a buyer. They almost always failed, but they had great fun.

The nurses. Also called "management consultants." Advisors to the faith healers. Fiddled with the ER equipment, enjoyed deploying rectal thermometers, and encouraged the faith healers to lop off fingers, toes, and other appendages in a procedure known as "streamlining the enterprise for future profitability."

The grieving relatives. Otherwise known as "investors." They huddled in the sick ward, weeping and lamenting their losses, which were always described as "mounting." Sometimes sought therapy from securities-fraud attorneys.

The morgue attendants. Popularly known as "journalists." Colorful characters who gyrated between serving as cheerleaders for and assassins of dotcoms. Many were soothsayers, with a remarkable skill at forecasting the past. Prone to excessive shrieking and thrashing when they were the ones getting strapped to the slab.

Now is the time to prepare for the next death in the dotcom family. This sample program for a mourning ritual will, in your time of agony, lend comfort and support second only to a buy-out offer from Microsoft. Feel free to adjust according to your personal theology and modem speed.

Opening of service: mourners file in to chapel as ushers beam programs and hymns into their Palm Pilots. AT&T call-in number available for mourners stuck at O'Hare or Hartsfield. Catering provided by George Shaheen.

Introductory benediction delivered by Father (of the Internet) Albert Gore Jr.

Dirge of the Self-Flagellating 401(k) Investors.

Hymn "How Great Thou Wert" as performed by the Wall Street Analysts' Castrati Choir.

"Quiet period" for personal reflection, enforced by SEC.

Interpretive dance, "Naked Before Mine Enemies," performed by Miss Pamela Anderson Lee.

Sermon, "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry Bear Market," by Rev. Dr. David Wetherell, C.Mgi.

Musical interlude, "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue," by Mr. Robert Zimmerman, downloaded from Napster.

Closing benediction and blessing, "The Cyber-Lord's Prayer," rewritten and performed by Rabbi William Shatner.

Following the service, mourners shred their stock options and stock certificates, then proceed to the nearest sewer grate to dispose of them in a purification ritual. Cell phones ring simultaneously to the tune of "You Can't Always Get What You Want."

Van Wallach is a freelance writer in Westport, Connecticut. He was laid off by Video Store Magazine in 1995.

Back to the archives.

Return to the main page.