What happens when I screw up?

This story begins innocently enough.

I wrote a direct mail recommendation for a client that included a rough cost estimate and a projected mail quantity. I developed the estimate using a fairly logical set of assumptions based on my (more than I care to admit) years of experience, and I felt I was safe with the number.

My client liked what I presented and gave us approval to proceed. I wrote a brief, confirmed a schedule, and met with the creative team. After some back-and-forth with the writer, art director, and creative director, we arrived at a couple of ideas we liked. We took them to the client. After a few more back-and-forths, we arrived at a plan that pleased all of us. I then wrote detailed specifications for the idea and put the job out to bid.

The numbers came back. We were over budget. Not by 10 percent, or even 20 percent, which I might have been able to defend. No, as I added up the costs, it became clear that we were over by more than twice the amount I had estimated earlier. Yes, that’s right: the actual cost was more than double what I had said the work would cost.

These were not hourly fees that we could absorb, which would be bad enough; these were hard costs due to third parties. It’s a good thing the windows didn’t open because I might have been inclined to jump.

In truth, going airborne was not an option; I needed another solution. I thought about revising or eliminating some of the pieces that would go in the package, but in the end, it became clear only one thing would truly make an impact: a cut in the mailing quantity.

I asked our printer to refigure the package at 50 percent of the original press run. To my eternal relief, the numbers came back nearly on target. Although the final mailing would be half the initial estimate, it still would be larger and more ambitious than anything the client had previously attempted. That at least was one positive note in what had become an otherwise grim reality.

Now all I had to do was sell this to the client, but there was one complicating factor: I was scheduled to go out of town the following week, and I wouldn’t be able to speak with him face to face. No problem, I thought; I’ll write him an email.

I crafted a long, meticulously detailed analysis of the problem, described the various solutions I explored, then offered a solution. Before I pressed “send,” I wanted another opinion, so I emailed the document to a colleague for a comment. He wrote back: “Youcannot send this email. This problem is too serious, and the solution too complicated, for email. It needs a ‘live’ discussion.”

He was right, of course. It was as if he had read my book and I hadn’t. I thought about it for a minute, and decided to reschedule my out-of-town meeting. I then called my client and scheduled a meeting on Monday.

On Monday, I took him through the whole situation: the source of the problem, the possible solutions, and the recommendation. I admit I cringed when he said, “You are actually double the budget? How can that possibly be!?” But without further complaint, with no invective, and to his eternal credit, he focused on the problem. He was largely responsible for our working out something satisfactory. It wasn’t a happy meeting, but we got done what we needed to get done.

Now I could say this outcome would have been very different had I not gotten to know this client well and had I not developed a measure of trust and mutual respect along the way. But that’s not what I’m going to say.

I’ve been in this business for more than 30 years and certainly knew better, yet I still managed to screw up big-time. The lesson? Do not assume anything, and never, ever, be as glib or as cavalier as I was about money. Check and recheck your claims, then check them again. Above all, remember your own advice: no screw-ups about money or time.

And then, by God, make sure you follow it.