The Short List

These three words can inspire both great hope and intense fear in engineers: “the short list.”

After working hard on a proposal for a new project, the proposal team compiles and prints the reports, and the boxes are carted off to the prospective client. Then it’s time to wait. In some cases the client’s decision may be almost immediate. In others, it may take several weeks to learn about a project proposal’s fate. The odds being what they are, most proposals don’t make it much farther than the initial stage. But every now and then, initial pay dirt is struck, and the client announces that you have made it to the short list.

At this point, the herd is whittled down to a handful of competing firms. Winning the job is still not assured. But achieving success is a lot closer than it was before the announcement. Once you’re on the short list, the job is a possibility and not just wishful thinking.

After a brief respite for kudos, the proposal team reconvenes and works at a furious pace to assemble the final documents. Unlike the qualifications phase, the final proposal phase typically requires much more detailed engineering and planning. If it’s a design-build project tender, a tremendous amount of design must be completed quickly, and many more boxes will be filled and delivered before the work is done.

But there is one more event to address after making the short list. In most cases, project teams will present their work at an oral interview. For many engineers, therein lies the cause of intense fear. At the interview, it will be necessary to get up and speak, live, in front of a critical audience.

At my firm, making the short list triggers a series of events for planning the presentation. There are PowerPoint slideshows to power up, presentation scripts to write and perfect, late-night pizzas to be eaten. Many clients require the presentation to be completed within a specified time limit, so we practice the timing over and over again to get it right. Each presenter has an allotted number of minutes. Those who are uncomfortable with public speaking may ramble on too long, and then we need contingency plans to cut back on the overall time. Some presenters mumble and others speak too softly. Some are nice people in real life who unfortunately are just deadly dull on the podium. Granted, it’s an engineering project and perhaps the topics overall are not that exciting. But the client will listen to many presentations that day and will appreciate being entertained, even a little bit, instead of feeling as though it’s a day at the dentist.

After weeks of practice, the fateful day arrives. Interview day is a thing of ritual for many engineers. There are rigid customs and traditions to be followed before the show. Some offices avoid practice the day of the presentation. Others will go through a few more dry runs. Depending on the time of the interview, the last meal may be eaten. For an afternoon interview, the team gets together for lunch. Engineering team members, not often the most socially adept bunch to begin with, nervously attempt small talk and nibble on cold sandwiches as a clock loudly ticks off the seconds. Eating too much food is not a good idea at this point. Indigestion or worse would not add to the luster of the presentation.

After the meal, it is time. The team leaves in a caravan with projectors, laptops, display boards, and other paraphernalia. In the Middle Ages, a group leaving for battle would carry swords, picks, and other weapons, ready to slay the competing firm. It’s funny how many times I’ve had that vision of preparing for battle when leaving for a presentation. The city is teaming with life, and the sidewalks are packed, but strangely it’s like High Noon. We cross the busy streets, and there is not a soul in sight. A cold wind blows, tossing forlorn tumbleweeds.

Grimly, our group assembles outside the conference room. An earlier presentation team is leaving, and since everyone knows everyone, we are all friendly and chatty. But of course they have their game faces on. Their body language communicates to us that they slayed them in the aisles. It was a superb performance, a flawless presentation. Probably the client decided to pick them on the spot, so now there is no need to bother with us. We smile politely, not pointing out that their project manager has dark rings of sweat on his shirt or that one of lead presenters has a visibly congested nose.

Inside the conference room, the client’s evaluation team sits stone-faced as we assemble our paraphernalia. In the distant past, a slide projector would be assembled. Dinosaur that I am, I still remember the time when the tray malfunctioned and slides popped into the air each time they were changed. It was funny but a little distracting. Today we have no slide trays. We rely on modern technology: the laptop, projector, and PowerPoint all must perform. Each component has one or more backups, depending on the prospective job’s importance.

The tension is thick as we engineers prepare to engage. Finally, the talking begins and process takes over. We introduce ourselves and present. The presentation that seemed to take a day in practice is over in a flash. Our speakers stick to the scripts, more or less; the timing works; the graphics and animations are of startling clarity and brilliance. In a moment our prepared talks are over, and then it’s time for some questions and answers. We engineers dread this too, of course, but for many, this part is a little bit easier than the timed, canned performance. Fortunately, the client has some softballs for us, and the hitters smack each question pitch deep into the outfield. After a few more questions, it’s all over. The client thanks us for our time. We thank the client for the opportunity. We shake sweaty, clammy hands. Then we pack up the laptop, projector, and boards, and soon we’re back on the street.

Over a few beers, we relive the excitement: smiles from the client (if any), jokes told, opportunities realized. The postmortem is usually deflating—after all that nervous worry and adrenalin, it’s time for reentry into real engineering life. The next day we hover over our computers for calculations and analysis. Our special presentation suits are sent to the dry cleaner, and we’re back in our mismatched daily engineering garb. The results are due sometime in the immediate but seemingly distant future. For now, we engineers have survived the short list.