"Galahad, this is God!"
    "No, really?"  Sir Galahad pushed the visor of his helmet back and looked around.  The voice seemed to come from nowhere.
    "Galahad!" repeated the voice.  "Since you are pure of soul, I have decided to give you the Holy Grail."  A golden arm stretched forth from the clouds.  At the end of the golden arm was a golden hand, and in the golden hand was a golden vessel.  "Snatch the Grail from my hand, Galahad."
    "Cool!" said Sir Galahad, and did as he was instructed.
    "Use it in good health," said God.

    The summons to the palace wasn't entirely unexpected.  After all, the quest for the Grail had been long, aggravating, and fruitless.  Many a good knight and true had tried and failed, so Galahad felt a bit like the cat who had swallowed the canary as he waited for his audience with King Arthur.
    "Sir Galahad" said the King seriously.  "You may have noticed that Camelot has been less than idyllic lately.  Our stock has plummeted following Mordred of London's 'sell' recommendation."
    "But Sire," objected Galahad.  "We are still Number One in Dragons Slain, Damsels Rescued, Black Knights Vanquished, and Successful Quests."
    "True, true," said the King.  "But none of that counts for squat because our percentage increase in Damsels Rescued is 3% less than the Street forecast."
    "Why do you care what Mordred of London says?  Your jealous, illegitimate nephew is never going to give you a break."
    "Tut, tut!" chided King Arthur.  "We have to live with the system.  But don't worry!  I know how to turn this around, and you're going to help!  I want you to find the Holy Grail!  Not even Mordred of London can trash us if we find the Grail!"
    "I have a surprise for you, Sire," said Galahad, holding up the Grail.  "God has already given it to me!"
    "No, no, no!" snapped the monarch, impatiently waving the relic away.  "You can't just waltz in with the Grail and call it done!  You have to do it the right way.  I didn't get where I am today by doing things the wrong way.  Do you know how Camelot got to be Number 1?"
    "Intelligence, courage, and innovation, I thought, Sire.  Maybe a little dumb luck.  Everyone knows the story of how, in your youth, you drew the sword Excalibur from the stone!  While all the pretenders hired consultants, prepared Sword Extraction Plans, and enlisted middlemen to withdraw the sword for them, you just walked up and pulled it out.  Then you hired great knights, put swords in their hands, and sent them forth to serve the people!  You were an inspiration to us all, Sire.  Ever since, we have lived by your motto, 'Seize the Sword!'   So, when God offered me the Grail, I remembered your motto and seized the Grail."
    "Yeah, yeah," said the King.  "That may be what got us to the top, but it isn't what's going to keep us there."
    "And, um, what would that be, Sire?"
    "Process, my lad!  Process!  Follow procedures!  Conform to standards!  Keep metrics!"
    "I don't understand, Sire.  You always said that you hated red tape and would root it out wherever you saw it."
    "Times have changed, lad," sighed the Monarch.  "Camelot is too big now.  Mordred of London is watching.  Every mistake we make is costly.  And there's that other kingdom up the road in Liverpool, just waiting to knock us off.  I can't trust the knights anymore."
    "Can't trust the knights?" gasped Galahad, shocked.  "Why not?  We're the lifeblood of Camelot!  We made Camelot what it is today!  Along with you, of course, Sire."
    "But knights make mistakes," explained the King.  "We can't afford mistakes."
    "We are only human, Sire.  How can you eliminate mistakes?"
    King Arthur looked at Sir Galahad as if he were the slow kid in the class.  "I already told you.  Process!"
    Galahad scratched his helmet.  "I'm sorry, Sire," he said.  "I don't understand.  I don't know anything about this 'process' of which you speak.  What is it?  Who will implement it?  And how will it eliminate error?"
    "Glad you asked!" boomed the King.  "There are actually many processes.  I can't tell you how many because there are more every day, and they change constantly."
    "Then how will I know what they are?"
    "Simple.  You will be informed at the proper time."
    "Um, when would that be?" asked the knight.
    "Whenever our professional staff deem it appropriate.  Typically, whenever one of them sees that you are in danger of making a mistake, they will inform you of a procedure to stop you from doing so."
    "How are you sure that there will be an applicable procedure?"
    "Oh, there will be," the Sovereign assured him.  "If there isn't one already, they'll make one up on the spot."
    "Your Majesty, this all sounds perfectly horrible, but we can cut through a lot of this because I already have the Grail."
    King Arthur gave a wave of dismissal.  "You think you're the first knight who ever stumbled in here with a grail?"
    "Not a grail," sputtered Galahad.  "The Grail.  This is it.  God himself gave it to me.  Does Your Majesty want proof?  I'm sure that, if I pray, God will provide it."
    "Proof, shmoof!" barked the king.  "I believe you!  I believe that that is the true Grail.  But that's not good enough."
    "Not good enough, Sire?"  Galahad was flummoxed.  "I'm flummoxed," he said.
    "Not good enough," King Arthur repeated slowly.  "What you do isn't nearly as important as all the tedious, pointless, bureaucratic crap you have to go through to do it.  You have to do things a certain way!  You can't just walk in without so much as a howdy-do, hand me the Grail, and say you're finished!  I can't just say, 'Sir Galahad found the Holy Grail.  Here it is!'"
    "You can't, Sire?"
    "Heavens, no!  Where's the audit trail?  How are we supposed to measure that?  Process!  I need process!  Plus I have dozens of employees who need to justify their existence."
    "So, what do you want me to do, Sire?" Galahad sighed.
    "You must embark on The Quest for the Grail!" puffed King Arthur.  "You must overcome four great ordeals!"
    "Are these ordeals thrown up by enemies of the Faith?" asked Galahad, aghast.
    "No!" said the king.
    "Enemies of the Realm, then?"
    "No!"
    "Political foes?"
    "Not at all!"
    "Then what fiends are these that seek to confound the Quest?"
    "Oh, they're our people," said the king.  "I've hired them specifically to thwart you."

The First Ordeal:  The Trolls

    And so Sir Galahad returned to the office to speak to his supervisor, Sir Fidget, Knight Manager.  As he was about to enter Sir Fidget's cubicle, he sensed that something was amiss.  It was hard at first to put one's finger on.  Perhaps it was a subtle change in the balance of the elements, a minuscule shift in the office chemistry, or that stench that could choke a horse.
    "Trolls!" shouted Sir Galahad as he drew his sword.  "I'll soon take care of that!"
    "No, Galahad, no!" screamed Sir Fidget.  "Do not slay the trolls!"
    "Why not?" pouted the knight, reluctantly sheathing his sword.
    "They're part of our team," explained Sir Fidget.  "They're here to help you with your quest."
    "Help me?" squeaked Sir Galahad.  "How?"
    "Hi," said what appeared to be the head troll, extending his paw.  "I'm Gorf, and we're the Quest Support Team.  We're here to make sure that you get everything you need for your quest."
    "Um, thank you very much," said Sir Galahad, pretending not to notice the paw and striving manfully not to hold his nose, "but I think I have everything I need.  In fact, I already have the Grail, so the rest doesn't matter much."
    "Not matter much?"  Gorf and the guys were scandalized.  "No quest moves without our assistance!"
    "He's right," said Sir Fidget.  "You have to ask them to get you your sword, armor, lance, horse ... whatever you need for the quest."
    "I already have that stuff," Sir Galahad protested.
    "No, no, no," corrected Gorf.  "You only think you have it.  You have to follow procedure.  First you have to request the item.  Let's say it's a sword.  We will then get your sword and bring it to you."
    "Why can't I get my own sword?"
    "Now, Sir Galahad," crooned Gorf patiently, "what would we have if everyone just went and got their own swords?"
    "Armed knights?" ventured Sir Galahad.
    "No!  Chaos!" said Gorf passionately.  "Think about it!  What if two knights wanted the same sword?  What if we had a dozen knights for half a dozen swords?  What if a knight took a dragon-slaying sword out on a relic retrieval?  Would you want to be the one facing the dragon with a mere shish kebab skewer in your hand?  You need professionals to manage this stuff.  That's where we come in."
    "Please let me slay these trolls,"  Sir Galahad begged.
    "Sorry," replied Sir Fidget.  "No can do."
    "Just one?"
    "No!  We all have to follow procedure."
    "Ok," sighed the knight.  "So, I'll just go back to my cube and jot down what I, uh, need."
    "Not so fast!" said Gorf.  "Or so simple.  Our forms are on the web.  You have to get them there and e-mail them to us."
    "So, that would be on the Camelot intranet?"
    "Uh, no," Gorf continued.  "This is a real web.  You might have to hack your way through some nasty mutant spiders to get to the forms.  One more thing.  Don't think you can get by with one request, and we get 24 hours lead time on each request.  But it's all very logical.  One request for each logical unit.  For example, you have to request a horse before you request a cart.  What good is a cart to you if you don't have a horse?  See?"
    "Right," sighed Sir Galahad.  "Can't put the cart before the horse."
    "What?" asked Gorf.
    "Just one?" pleaded Sir Galahad.
    Sir Fidget scowled.

    After a harrowing experience with the spiders, Sir Galahad submitted his first request, for a horse.  The next day, he received a return e-mail:  "Request rejected."
    "Whaddaya mean, rejected?" he screeched, storming into Gorf's cube.
    "Your organization number is incorrect," said Gorf.
    "Well, since you seem to know that it isn't correct, couldn't you also find the correct one?"
    "Not my job," said Gorf.
    "Ok," sighed Galahad, calming down a little.  "I'll get you the correct number."
    "That will require a new request," said Gorf.
    "Why? What's wrong with this one?" squawked Galahad, heating up again.
    "Org number's incorrect," said Gorf.  "Thought I told you that."
    "But if all you need is an org number, I can just give it to you, and you can fill the original request."
    "Can't do that," said Gorf.  "Messes up our metrics.  If I left this request open, it would show that we took more than 24 hours to complete it.  This way, we completed it in less than 24.  Anyway, there may be other mistakes on your request."
    "What other errors?" yelped Galahad.
    "I don't know," said Gorf.  "As soon as we find one, we reject the request.  If we took the time to find every error on the first request, it would be bad for our metrics."

    Seventeen requests later, Sir Galahad received his "request approved" e-mail.  The next day, a donkey was delivered to his door.

The Second Ordeal: The Managers

    "Well, Sir Galahad, it looks like you've survived the First Ordeal."  Sir Fidget grinned broadly.  "I have an e-mail of congratulations for you from Duke Moe.  Here.  Read it:  'You are what you repeatedly do.'"
    "My God!" said Galahad.  "I repeatedly request supplies from Quest Support.  What does that make me?"
    "You're ready to embark on the Quest for the Grail!" continued Sir Fidget.
    "Did I tell you that I already have the Grail?" Sir Galahad offered.
    "Although, I expect that donkey is going to slow us down a little."
    "What do you mean, 'us?'"  Sir Galahad was already sorry that he'd asked.
    "Oh, we're coming along to make sure you don't make any mistakes," said Sir Fidget.  Still the grin.  "That would be me,  Count Larry, Earl Curly, and Duke Moe."
    "I don't understand," fumbled Sir Galahad.  "What do I need all those nobles for?"
    "New policy," explained Sir Fidget.  "The knights have been making too many mistakes.  Didn't King Arthur tell you?  Everything has to be approved by a Duke now.  And of course, you can't just go straight to the Duke for approval.  You have to use the chain of command.  So, we're all going with you to make sure you don't do anything stupid."
    Sir Galahad decided it was wisest not to ask what "everything" included.
    "Excuse me," he said.  "I need to go to the little boys' room before we set out."
    "You're on quest now," Sir Fidget chided.  "You'll need to get that approved."
    "Going to the bathroom?!" Galahad shrieked.
    "Relax," Sir Fidget laughed.  "You've got my approval already!"
    "You are what you repeatedly do," interjected Duke Moe.
    "Oy!  I'm an approval collector!"

    The quest proceeded slowly from there.  The chronicles are unclear as to the reason.  Many believe the reason was Sir Galahad's unwise choice of a donkey as steed.  Be that as it may, some six months later, Sir Galahad and his retinue of approvers at last emerged from the gates of Camelot.
    "You're way behind on this quest, my boy," said Sir Fidget.  "The Duke has asked what's holding you up."
    "You're kidding, right?"
    "I never kid," said Sir Fidget.  "Neither do the Count, the Earl, or the Duke."
    "Right," said the knight.  "I don't know what I was thinking.  Why am I behind?  How about having to get four approvals every time I have to take a whizz?  How about bone-headed trolls?  How about ..."
    "Now, now, Sir Galahad," said Sir Fidget patiently.  "Nobody likes a whiner.  You should know that, as a knight of the realm, this entire quest is your responsibility."
    "Then how come I don't have any authority to go with the responsibility?"
    "Because knights are prone to error.  How can we give you any authority when you might make a mistake?"
    "Fine.  If I have no authority, how can I be responsible for the quest?"
    "Galahad, Galahad," oozed Sir Fidget.  "It's your quest.  You've got to own it!  Drive it!  Who else would be responsible?"
    "Well, I'm trying to drive with no gas, a busted transmission, a suspended license, and four traffic cops looking over my shoulder."
    "Exactly!  You're the driver!" said Sir Fidget.  "But enough of this chatter.  Since the project is so far behind, Duke Moe is requiring a daily status report."

    Sir Galahad's first status report was returned for further work.  The entourage had still not traversed the drawbridge from Camelot's main gate.
    "So, what's wrong with this report?" asked the knight.
    "Galahad, my boy, just listen to this:  'No progress today.  Another exercise in anal retentive micromanagement.  No end in sight.'  What kind of a report is that?"
    "An accurate one," said Sir Galahad.
    "I can't give this to my management," chided Sir Fidget.  "You have to put a positive, proactive spin on it.  You can't say 'no progress.'  You have to say something professional, like 'Issues are under investigation.  Solutions will be reported when investigation is complete.'  And what's all this stuff about 'anal retentiveness?'  This is going to be read by a Duke, for Pete's sake.  He's not going to understand that!  Say, 'Solutions will be presented to management for evaluation and approval.'  Instead of 'no end in sight,' say 'The quest schedule is being re-evaluated and will be presented when completed for management approval.'"
    "Then why don't you write the damn report?" retorted Sir Galahad.
    "Because it's not my quest," replied Sir Fidget reasonably.  "You're responsible!"
    At that point, Duke Moe walked by.  "Remember! You are what you repeatedly do, my boy!" he said.
    "Oh, great!" sighed Sir Galahad.  "I'm a report writer."
 

The Third Ordeal:  The Hornets

    Despite the rigors of the quest, Sir Galahad's little troop eventually did complete the journey across the drawbridge.  Just as the donkey set foot on terra firma, he inadvertently stumbled right into an underground yellow jacket nest.  In a twinkling, the party was surrounded by angry, buzzing hornets.  But, strangely, they seemed to concentrate on Sir Galahad.  As he thrashed about at them, Sir Fidget's voice floated through the swarm.
    "Sir Galahad, don't kill the hornets!"
    "Whaddaya mean, don't kill them?  They're trying to kill me!"
    "No, Galahad.  Listen to them!  They're operatives of the King!"
    "You've gotta be ... No, that's right.  You never kid."
    And then the buzzing did start to take on coherence.
    "Did you consider seeking this relic from another source?"
     "Have you had your quest plan reviewed by a peer?  Have you submitted it to Quest Tech Support for extensive nitpicking?"
    "That other kingdom in Liverpool might get wind of this.  What security measures have you taken?"
    "You'll have to document how the relic is to be delivered to the king."
    "There's been too much expensive knight errantry.  Many things can be done cheaper and more effectively in-house.  You need to get the Division of Gold and Silver Smithing to certify that they can't do it."
    "This could draw resources away from Damsel Rescue, Black Knight Vanquishing, and Dragon Slaying.  Have you gotten their approvals?"
 

The Final Ordeal

    The onslaught of the hornets did have one salutary effect.  It accelerated our little party's forward progress.  By the time the angry, buzzing, nitpicking insects had given up the chase, our heroes had left Camelot far behind.  When they looked up, they found themselves on the shore of a mighty river.  Sir Galahad was a mass of hornet stings.  He had stings on his face.  Stings on his hands.  Stings on his armor.  Stings on his stings.  As he was taking inventory of his various stings, he heard an unfamiliar voice.
    "What are you doing on my river bank?"
    When Sir Galahad looked up, he saw an enormous serpent, about three stories high, rising from the river.
    "Whaddaya want?" asked the serpent again.  "Don't make me ask a third time."
    "We just want to cross the river," said Sir Galahad.
    "Well, that's gonna cost you," said the serpent.  "A cow and two pigs will do nicely.  I'm pretty hungry today."
    "We don't have any cows or pigs," said Sir Galahad, "and I'm not going to steal anyone else's to gratify your greedy gut."
    "My, my," said the serpent.  "What a mouth you've got!  The donkey might do for starters, while you find something better.  Or I could just eat you.  It doesn't really matter to me."
    Sir Galahad cast a tired but knowing glance over his shoulder.  "Ok, this is the Fourth Ordeal, right?"
    "Um, no, actually," said Sir Fidget.  "The Fourth Ordeal is a battalion of Sumo wrestlers that you have to defeat to get your quest scheduled for final implementation.  I've never seen this serpent before."
    "Me, either," said Count Larry.
    "Don't look at me," said Earl Curly.
    "You are what you repeatedly do," said Duke Moe.
    "Ok, I'm just going to slay this sucker, then," said Sir Galahad, drawing his sword.
    The serpent proceeded to coil itself around the knight's waist.
    "Not so fast," said Sir Fidget.  "You still have to follow procedure.  You'll need the Duke's approval."
    The serpent started to squeeze.
    "Well," gasped Sir Galahad, "do you approve?"
    "Don't forget your chain of command," cautioned the Duke.  "Remember, you are ..."
    "Yeah, yeah, I know," wheezed the knight.  "But this is an emergency."
    "Then you can do it as a process exception," said Sir Fidget.
    The serpent squeezed tighter.
    "How do I do that?" squeaked Sir Galahad.
    "Well, it requires a Duke's signature."
    The serpent opened its maw and began to insert Sir Galahad's head.
    "How is that different from the normal process?" Sir Galahad squawked in muffled tones.
    "What's that?" asked Sir Fidget.  "You'll  have to speak more clearly."
    "Remember, you are what you repeatedly do," said Duke Moe sagaciously.
    "Look," said Sir Galahad to the serpent, "I think I have a solution that will make both of us happy."

The Fate of the Grail

    "Galahad, this is God!"
    "I've been expecting you."  Sir Galahad pushed the visor of his helmet back.  "I suppose you want the Grail back."
    "You guessed it, my son."
    "Guess I shouldn't have fed all my managers to the serpent, huh?"
    "Oh, no, my son, that isn't it."  The Deity laughed.  "I thought you showed amazing patience.  If I had been in your place, they would have been toast long ago.  No, the people just don't deserve the Grail.  Not these people, at least.  Pity.  Young Arthur had such potential.  Guess I'll just have to hold on to it for awhile.  How about you, my son?  I don't think you can go back to Camelot."
    "God, no!  Um, excuse me.  No, I think I'll just do some old fashioned knight-errantry.  See if I can do some good without worrying about how it affects the stock market."
    The knight patted his donkey on the rump.  "Let's go," he said.