(D)GipS

On gleaming silver motorcycles they ride the highways of California, searching in the sun for another overload of the State Administrative Manual. They are the Department of General Services, they are (D)GipS.....

Tate Agency piloted his long black Cadillac down the long black strip of I-5, heading for L.A. He was relaxed behind the wheel, confident of his ability to handle his vehicle in all conditions despite being new to California and its freeways. Management was management, he knew, and the basic rules of the road didn't change when you crossed an arbitrary dotted line on a map.

He was so lost in thought that he failed to notice the flashing red and blue lights behind him for nearly a minute. When he finally saw them, he snapped to attention, fully alert. "Damn," he said aloud to no one as he slowed his car and gently steered it toward the shoulder, being careful to signal the lane changes. He glanced in the mirror and watched as the motorcycles herded him sheep fashion through the four lanes. Tate crossed the row of orange lane markers and came to a full stop. He shut off the engine and reached for his registration.

The two officers, helmets off, walked cautiously toward the driver's side window. Tate stared up from his seat into two gleaming pairs of sunglasses and kakhi shirts so stiffly starched that even a days hard riding had made not a single dent in their perfection. The taller of the two had a notebook in his right hand, its black leather cover worn and tattered from years of use.

"What's the problem officers?" Tate had always believed in starting the conversation, hoping an assertive nature would play well with the troopers. He held his license and registration out in a helpful gesture. The taller officer took it and glanced over it quickly.

"I'm John, this is my partner Ponch," he said pointing to the other officer. "You made an illegal computer purchase back there Mr. Agency." He handed the license and reg sheet to Ponch.

Tate sighed in relief. He was an expert at computer deals, so this had to be a mistake. "I'm sure you're mistaken," he tried to be gentle, "Let me show you what I've got and you can see for yourself."

"There's no mistake," John responded.

"No mistake," Ponch echoed.

Tate opened the car door and led the two officers toward the trunk. He opened it carefully and showed them the still sealed boxes labeled with the emblem of a major computer company.

"Look," he said, "The latest in technology, there's nothing newer. And I got them well below list price, in fact, below the normal state discounts. With the extras the vendor threw in, this is one of the most cost effective purchases I've ever made." Tate's pride was overflowing. It had been a great deal, and he wanted everyone to know.

"So you admit that it was illegal," John's voice was stronger now, "Why don't you save yourself a lot of trouble and just take this ticket. We wouldn't want to have to get rough."

Tate was stunned. "What do you mean, I admitted it was illegal?"

"Latest technology," John replied.

"Latest technology," Ponch echoed.

"This is California," John continued.

"California," Ponch nodded knowingly.

"You can't buy the latest technology here. We have a law, 'in-use' we call it, and it says that computer has to be in use by someone for four to six months before you buy it."

"That's stupid," Tate's surprise caused the words to leave his mouth before he could stuff them back inside. "The industry releases new products every six months, that policy guarantees the state is buying obsolete equipment!"

"What's your point?", John asked.

"Yeah, point?" Ponch echoed.

"Its really no big deal," John explained, "It takes us a minimum of 180 days to do a procurement, so everything meets in use. Besides, we've been doing this the same way for 20 years, there's no reason to change. It's not like California's in trouble or anything."

"Perfect state," Ponch agreed.

"How'd you get this brand new one?," John asked.

Tate was slightly confused, but he knew he had saved the state so much money that they'd see the light.

"When the dealer was ready to ship, the computer they originally bid had been superseded by a newer model, so they gave me one twice as fast that cost less money. It's perfect. The state couldn't have gotten a better bargain."

"And you took it? Didn't you know that violates state law? You can't take a better deal, you have to live with the one you got." John was trying to explain it gently, thinking that perhaps Tate was not too bright.

"Even if it means paying higher than list price on obsolete equipment?"

John and Ponch looked at each other quizzically. John raised his hand to his glasses and took them off so that he could look Tate in the eye.

"What's your problem here? It's not your money, who cares about cost? Just follow the rules. And we need to talk about this dealer you picked. Didn't do your meebeeweebeeveebees did you?"

"Got you there, officer," Tate responded, "This dealer is 100 percent minority owned. Can't be a problem."

"Ignorance is no excuse. You can't contract with a 100 percent minority business. The state won't allow it. They would still have to advertise and give part of the business to a woman, and part to a veteran."

"But that's silly," Tate responded, "That's a very expensive process for a small minority business to go through. What if they don't get the bid? They'd be out hundreds or thousands of dollars just for the privilege of bidding on a contract they lost! And everyone's got to pass that on. It must raise the cost of state operations by millions! How can you justify that?"

"Justify? We're the state."

"Yeah, the state."

Tate just stared at the two officers, unbelieving. John opened the soft leather cover of his notebook and removed a carefully folded piece of paper ripped from a yellow pad. Tate recognized it as the list of requirements he had sent to the state to start the procurement process.

"We're going to have to redo your entire procurement," John began, " and some of these requirements will have to go."

"For example?" Tate asked.

"This 'FCC Certified,' all this stuff about the size of the company, the type of materials. It's all got to go."

"But we need that to separate out quality equipment and vendors from little fly by night shops that start up, build junk, sell it and then disappear. We want support and service when something goes wrong," Tate clarified.

"The state of California is not interested in quality, Mr. Agency," John responded formally, his posture becoming more erect as he spoke. "And I'd appreciate getting a list from you of every fly by night shop you know so we can add them to the bidders list."

"Excuse me," Tate asked, "but why doesn't the state use its buying muscle to establish contracts for huge discounts from a group of companies and then buy without bids? Right now you go out to bid for every single computer. The costs of the bids to the state is enormous, and you never take advantage of the incredible volume of state purchases to increase your discounts."

"You don't understand," John spoke, shaking his head in disbelief.

"No clue," Ponch agreed.

John was fingering his gun as he spoke again. "Every department that makes a bid has to pay us five percent to do it. If we stopped going out to bid for every little item then we wouldn't need so much staff, and we wouldn't get a piece of every state budget. It would lower our budget by millions if we found ways to cut down on procurements. Can't have that. We wouldn't control this state anymore."

"Scary." Ponch shuddered as he voiced his fear.

John unsnapped the leather strap holding his pistol in its holster and gripped the handle.

"You wouldn't be thinking of causing us trouble, now would you?" He looked Tate straight in the eye, unblinking.

Tate had many business skills that had prepared him for his rise through the ranks, but none was so useful as his ability to think quickly on his feet. He spoke quickly and confidently.

"No problem. I'll take this computer right back and find me a cheap cardboard computer that runs programs no one uses from a company on the verge of bankruptcy, pay the vendor 20 percent more than list price, and make sure they do as much paper work as possible. And if you like, I'll pay you your five percent fee right up front so there's no question. I might even throw in a couple extra PCs for you guys."

"You're really getting the hang of California, Mr. Agency," John's words barely escaped around his broad smile. He snapped the strap back on his gun.

"Yeah, hang. Especially those PCs. We ordered some a couple years ago, but they're still in process."