If you had asked Pomeroy P. McPickle (Scrooge’s lesser known cousin) why he clung to PMBOK 2004, he would have proclaimed, without irony, that it represented the last pure era of project management.
His beloved copy sat on the desk, its edges yellowed and its pages bristling with color coded tabs he had added over the years like battle scars. It was the kind of book that seemed less read and more survived.
Mulberry Milton, his gentle and unflappably polite assistant, approached from the doorway. He sipped from a chipped mug that read 0 to PMP in 5 Days, complete with a faded cheetah paw print.
“Mr. McPickle,” Milton said softly, “with the PMP exam changing soon, it might be time to try again for your PMP certification.”
Pomeroy raised a brow, offended on behalf of the PMBOK.
“Try again, Milton. There is no need to modernize what was already perfected.” He patted the PMBOK’s cover affectionately.
Milton rallied his courage. “Well, it is just that Cheetah has this program”
“Milton,” Pomeroy snapped. “If I wanted speed, I would take up sprinting. Mastery is forged in patience, long nights, and properly color coded tabs. Now hand me the rotary phone. I need to deliver a status update.”
Milton handed him the phone with the resigned air of someone who has tried for years.
Before Pomeroy could place his call, the lights flickered. A cold gust swept through the office. The PMBOK’s tabs fluttered like tiny flags in a storm.
Then, with a sudden bright pop, a tall dusty figure materialized. He was draped in a tattered academic robe, and half moon spectacles teetered on the end of his nose.
“I am Professor Pumblesworth,” the ghost announced in a voice filled with scholarly drama. “I come on behalf of your project past, Pomeroy P. McPickle.”
Before Pomeroy could protest, Pumblesworth lifted the PMBOK 2004 as though unveiling a holy relic. He blew across its cover.
A colossal dust cloud erupted. Milton vanished behind it. The desk disappeared. Pomeroy staggered backward, coughing wildly.
“Holy Work Breakdown Structure,” he wheezed.
Professor Pumblesworth nodded gravely. “Yes. This is your past. Endless memorization. ITTOs etched into flashcards. Flowcharts memorized by candlelight.”
Pomeroy’s eyes misted. “Those were noble days”
“Noble” cried a new voice that was bright, energetic, and slightly chaotic.
Mistress Moxy burst into the room in a blur of neon sticky notes. She twirled once, and a swirl of kanban columns appeared in the air. To Do, Doing, and Done all snapped into place like a magic trick.
“Pomeroy, look alive,” she chirped. “Welcome to your present. Agile, hybrid, iterative, value driven. Hello”
A sticky note labeled Daily Standup hit Pomeroy squarely on the forehead.
“What is happening,” he protested, swatting the notes away.
Moxy grinned. “The PMP exam today is about practical thinking and value delivery, not memorizing every input, output, or how many processes one can list in alphabetical order.”
Pomeroy clutched his PMBOK protectively. “But where are my forty seven processes”
“They are still around,” Moxy said breezily. “But they are not the point anymore. Value is.”
Before Pomeroy could argue, the lights dimmed again. A chill settled in the room. Mist curled at their feet.
A third figure stepped forward, tall and tranquil, glowing faintly like a benefits dashboard set to green.
“I am Master Meridian,” he said in a resonant calm voice. “And I bring the future.”
With a sweep of his arm, the office dissolved into fog. They stood in a shadowy graveyard. Tombstones stretched endlessly.
Master Meridian gestured toward one.
Its inscription read:
R I P ITTO
What Good Were You
Pomeroy recoiled. “This is blasphemy.”
“It is progress,” Meridian said gently. “The future of project leadership is value delivery, not blind adherence to outdated rituals.”
From the ground, a skeletal hand that was a zombie ITTO scraped upward. Pomeroy shrieked. Meridian raised a glowing Benefits Roadmap, and the zombie dissolved in a flare of golden light.
“Let go,” Meridian said, “and embrace what creates real outcomes.”
The fog lifted.
Pomeroy found himself back in his office. Milton watched him with concern.
“Sir, are you all right”
Before Pomeroy could answer, a small voice piped up from the hallway.
A tiny child shuffled inside, bundled in a scarf too big for him, clutching a toy wooden Gantt chart like a treasured artifact.
“Hi mister,” the child said. “I heard you were thinking about the PMP exam.”
Pomeroy blinked. “I suppose I might be.”
“My grandpa says Cheetah makes it super easy. He says there are five quick steps to becoming PMP certified.”
Pomeroy stared at him. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, “there may be some value in trying Cheetah’s approach.”
And as Pomeroy begins to see the value in a new way forward, here is what we want students to know.