The five stages of a bid: denial, bargaining, rage, coffee, submission
All bids are different.
All bid teams are different.
But beneath the writing plan, drawing lists and compliance matrices lies a universal truth:
Tenders are emotional journeys.
Often traumatic.
Occasionally caffeinated.
Always character-building.
I never run a bid the same way twice. I tailor it to the team, the client, the scope, and the general level of desperation. The only constant is this:
The five stages of a bid.
Stage 1: Denial
This is the honeymoon period where everyone is optimistic, hydrated and pretending this will be the bid that doesn’t hurt. All the lessons learnt from painful bids past will be applied. No one will work late. Everything will be fine.
The kickoff workshop is positive. Everyone volunteers to write sections. You start getting concerned when the same person’s name is next to 50 items on the writing plan, but you tell yourself it’ll be okay. Hello denial.
This is also the phase where SMEs promise first drafts in two weeks. They assure you their “bronze draft” will actually be closer to silver. You foolishly believe them.
We set up the folder structure, colour the Gantt chart, and type words like “collaboration” without irony. We actually believe we’ll be collaborative. NO SILOS! The team even goes out for a function at the local where everyone is congenial and happy.
“We’ve got heaps of time.”
Denial is beautiful.
Denial is peaceful.
Denial never lasts.
Stage 2: Bargaining
This is where hope goes to die.
Suddenly:
Key SMEs disappear to “site” or to do their “real job” (cue eye roll)
The client drops 47 addenda in one day
The new schedules are in super-encrypted PDF that doesn’t allow copy, paste or print
Someone whispers “cohesive narrative” and “one voice,” and it spreads like wildfire
Two people have a heated debate about Oxford commas and it ends in tears.
This where we start negotiating with the universe.
“If the this engineer can write his report on time, I will give up chips for a week.”
“If the Project Director actually makes a decision, I will sleep.”
“If someone can just send the org chart, I will not lose the will to live.”
This is also when I start watching police body-cam arrest videos to feel better about my life choices.
Bargaining is a fragile ecosystem of:
half-drafts
misplaced track changes
files mysteriously vanishing or SharePoint not syncing (IT will tell you to clear your cache, whatever that is. Also, how do you prounounce it?)
people saying “It’s pretty much done, just needs a polish” (It is not done. It does not need a polish. Lies. All lies.)
Stage 3: Rage
This is the real core of bid culture.
This is where someone:
uses Arial Narrow 9pt (instead of the mandated 11pt normal arial font)
reduces margins to 0.5cm
makes the entire draft a one column table because the table font is one point smaller
copies in text from an old bid and doesn’t bother to change the project name or client
does their staging diagrams in Excel (?!)
They are certain no one will notice. We notice.
Besides the “superseded”folder, there is also a folder called “Old”, one called “Do not submit” and another called “Backup”. I don’t know the difference. No one does.
We change half the team we’ve already written CVs for.
Someone decides that syncing SharePoint to their OneDrive isn’t for them and then somehow deletes all the files from SharePoint.
The project manager says I’m empowered to make decisions but I don't choose what he wants/expects so changes it. Every. Time.
Documents appear in sharepoint labeled “12Nov4pm_JohnEdits”
Someone pastes 583 screenshots of tables.
Key decision makers decide now is the right time to go on holiday for two weeks.
Suddenly people start having opinions about fonts and colours - you know, the things that will win the bid.
I scream into a pillow.
We stop asking politely. We start using phrases like:
“As per my last email”
“Just a friendly reminder” (spoiler: it’s not friendly)
“Please confirm that “V25 FINAL FINAL” of the org chart is the one we should use”
“Can you get out of the file you’ve been in for a week but clearly have not done any work in”
We use multiple “!!” and “??” now because we are tetchy and easily triggered.
I call this the “Lord of the Flies” phase. Everyone is feral AF.
Stage 4: Coffee
The caffeine-only stage. Time to pull out the bag of tricks to make this happen.
Lunch breaks? What are those?
We watch the sun rise and set from behind the same monitor.
We live on long blacks and sheer will. My morning magic doesn’t seem so magical anymore.
But suddenly:
We can edit 30 pages in an hour
We can redesign a whole section using only trauma and stubbornness
MVPs finally emerge (hallelujah)
The team starts sending memes just to survive.
There is laughter. A lot of laughter. Mostly hysterical, sleep-deprived laughter.
Sometimes people cry (I don’t deal well with crying. Don’t cry.)
I have ten SharePoint tabs open at all times, and yet when I try to open a file, I must authenticate. AGAIN.
Why? Why must I suffer?
We are unwell, but productive. People marvel at our efficiency and professionalism (ha!)
Stage 5: Submission
The portal doesn’t crash.
Someone finally moves “V32_FINAL” to the superseded folder (or the backup folder… it doesn’t matter)
It’s uploaded. It’s done.
Nobody knows what day it is.
People hug.
People high-five.
Someone opens bubbles.
I get my proverbial flowers.
I’m still jaded but smile politely at the SME I haven’t seen for the entire bid who suddenly appears for the free booze and a plastic bowl of Mentos and snack-sizes timeout bars. Nice of him to show up now that all the hard work is done. I commit his name and face to memory. I don’t hold grudges, but good to remember the challenging ones. I have my own Mean Girls Burn Book - the bid edition.
After the second glass, I start to relax. I feel like I can talk to people without sounding like I’m bossing them around. I even congratulate the Project Director for… I don’t know… Project Directing?
And then someone asks:
“You’ll be around for the Revise and Confirm submission, right?”
The remedy
I said at the start this was a universal truth, and it is. At least for big, complex, soul-sucking bids. No matter how many processes I put in place or how experienced the team is, the emotional rollercoaster still happens. Sometimes the extremes aren’t as extreme. The rage is less… rageful. But it’s always there.
So what’s the answer?
A good team around you.
I’ve been on some awful bids (if you couldn’t already tell from my narrative, unfortunately, based on real events). The only thing that made them bearable was the people.
We laughed. A lot.
We judged the SMEs and management, but never each other.
We supported each other without question.
We vented, but didn’t wallow.
Whatever it took, WE GOT IT DONE.
A good team doesn’t remove the pain. It just makes it survivable. And honestly, sometimes even fun.
