I'm Feeling Lucky_ The Confessions of Google Employee Number 59 - Douglas Edwards [135]
Marissa chose Sparrow as the basis for an online launch calendar in November 2001: our first intranet-based accounting of every project that would ultimately be visible to users. Each project page had toggle switches that needed to be changed from "No" to "OK" before a product was officially ready to launch. I owned the switch labeled "copy." No product was supposed to launch if I hadn't flipped my switch approving all the text appearing within it. I didn't abuse my power to stop the production line, in part because I wasn't convinced anything would actually happen if I pushed my big red button. Once everyone had given approval, a note went out to a Googler mailing list named "Visible Changes." That ensured, in theory at least, that half-baked products would not slip out the door and Googlers would not awaken to find their world radically changed without warning.
Each week Marissa led a meeting to review launch-calendar projects about to become public or stuck in limbo awaiting approval. The meetings were an extremely effective way to generate buy-in or to force naysayers to articulate their objections face-to-face with product managers. For all the emphasis on electronic communications at Internet companies, regular meetings in which people had to explain themselves to their peers were swords that cut the Gordian knots of bureaucratic red tape.
If a PM showed up at a meeting without having procured all the "flipped bits" needed for a launch, Marissa would ask why those approvals were being withheld and what had been done to address outstanding concerns. People scurried frantically immediately prior to the meetings, but things got done. Skipping the meeting was not an option if your approval was the gating factor for a launch or if your product didn't have all the sign-offs you needed. The minutes were published, so no one needed to point fingers. It would be obvious who had held up progress.
Launch calendar grew to include dozens of engineers and PMs, and Marissa kept the meetings clipping along. I enjoyed going, though (or perhaps because) meetings were occasionally contentious. On rare occasions a product launched without everyone's okay, but for the most part you had to win over approvers or expect delays. The people in the room knew their stuff and, when challenged, fired back with live data and true passion. There was intellectual satisfaction in finding flaws in well-constructed logic or uncovering unseen and potentially problematic aspects of new products. If the engineers and PMs were blacksmiths beating code into new plowshares, I was the anvil against which they hammered. I wanted to ensure that each new product tempered our brand rather than introducing a weak link into a chain of successes. I always amped up with a double espresso before taking my seat.
I knew I was playing the role of roadblock, raising red flags left and right, but my colleagues were driven by youth, enthusiasm, and energy to just do things and damn the consequences. I think we struck a healthy balance, even as we struck sparks along the way. Marissa made sure my concerns were given serious consideration, and once they were answered, I gladly flipped my bit to OK.
Ego eruptions were rare in the meetings, but intensity visibly increased if debate threatened to become delay. When copy was the gating factor, I made sure that it was done on time or that the reason it wasn't lay with lack of final specifications from engineering or product management. Marketing would not hold up a launch. No one at the table with any sense of self-preservation wanted to violate Larry and Sergey's most sacrosanct