Size Matters
There are moments in life when you realize you’ve made a mistake. And then there are moments when that realization comes while standing on the 14th hole of a golf course, gripping a 9-iron, and wondering why grown men are calling you with barely contained hysteria.
It all started with urgency. A critical plant repair was needed in Abu Dhabi, and the parts had to arrive by Sunday to avoid costly delays. Our transport partner was brilliant—efficient, proactive, and unfazed by logistical nightmares. Despite the Friday prayers traffic in Dubai, they pulled off the impossible: securing an 18-wheeler truck at midday to collect the shipment from the supplier’s warehouse.
I should have been thrilled. Everything was running smoothly. But when the team at the warehouse went silent for an hour before calling me, I should have known something was terribly, hilariously wrong.
“Daniel… we have a situation.”
Now, at this point, I was playing beautifully. The kind of round where confidence was high, shots were clean, and the weekend felt promising. So I did what any responsible project manager would do—I took the call, prepared to problem-solve.
“What’s the issue?” I asked, adjusting my grip on the club.
“… It’s the cargo.”
“What about the cargo?”
“… You ordered an 18-wheeler truck for four bolts.”
Silence.
Then it hit me.
Four. Tiny. Ten-inch. Bolts.
Bolts so small they could fit inside a cereal box.
And yet, here they were, waiting solemnly in a cavernous warehouse—alone, dwarfed by the sheer absurdity of the transport solution. The truck driver, who had powered through traffic and logistics hurdles like a champion, was standing beside his vehicle in stunned disbelief.
I could feel the sheer amusement through the phone. And then, to my great horror, I heard the first snickers.
By the time I managed a reply—something vaguely professional, mostly mortified—it was too late. The news had spread. The supplier was laughing. The transport team was laughing. I swear even the bolts were laughing.
Despite the unnecessary grand entrance, the bolts were successfully delivered, the project continued, and the world did not end. But let’s just say the next four holes of golf went spectacularly downhill. It’s hard to focus on your swing when your ego is rolling away on an 18-wheeler loaded with nothing but embarrassment.
Lesson learned? Always double-check your cargo specs before booking a vehicle. And perhaps, don’t answer work calls mid-birdie attempt.