You wake up in a cold sweat. The calendar says “CMMC Readiness QBR,” the invite says “mandatory,” and your inbox says “57 unread: URGENT.” Congratulations: you are now the CMMC Project Manager. You didn’t apply for this job. That’s how you know it’s real.
Your mission: get your defense shop to CMMC Level 2 without losing your contracts, your sanity, or your MSP.
Rule #1: When prompted, choose an option.
Rule #2: There are no good options, just less‑terrible ones.
Rule #3: The POA&M always wins in the end.
Your CISO bursts into your office: “We got the gap assessment back. It’s… not great.” He hands you a 60‑page PDF that uses the phrase “significant findings” more than is medically advisable.
You:
You receive a calendar invite titled “Follow‑up on critical findings.” It is recurring. Forever. You are now the proud owner of a problem that grows every week it is ignored.
Your MSP replies with a 3‑phase remediation plan, a quote, and a list of things they can’t do without your team’s help. You are suddenly aware that your biggest risk isn’t the tech—it’s convincing Steve in Engineering to stop sharing CUI over Slack.
Six months later, you rediscover the page while searching for the lunch menu. Your C3PAO is scheduled for next week. You seriously consider faking your own death.
The assessor has spoken: you have open items. Many open items. You are introduced to your new best frenemies: the Plan of Action & Milestones.
You:
Three months later, a leadership meeting: “So, are we good for the certification?” You nod confidently and say, “We have a plan.” That plan lives in a spreadsheet last updated during a solar eclipse. Spoiler: you are not good.
The MSP hates you a little, your engineers hate you a lot, but your control coverage jumps and your SPRS score finally looks like something you’d show another human. You begin to suspect “annoyingly persistent” is actually a core CMMC competency.
Your assessor compares the new POA&M to the old one. The only thing that has changed is the font. You are now a training example in their “what not to do” slide deck.
Your CEO has one question: “Why are we paying these people again?” They point at the MSP invoice. You point at the 320‑line control matrix and say, “Because I like having time to sleep at night.”
You:
Your environment is mostly patched, sometimes backed up, and vaguely monitored. Your documentation, however, reads like fan fiction. When the auditor asks, “How do you enforce this policy?” you reply, “Vibes.”
You end up with mapped controls, named owners, and an evidence folder that doesn’t make you cry. Your MSP starts using you as their “mature client” reference. You are not sure whether to be proud or concerned.
Your MSP replies: “We’d love to help! None of the things you listed are in scope.” You spend the next week bribing people with donuts to sit through emergency training and documentation sessions.
The compliance dashboard shows “Security Awareness Training: 43% complete.” The other 57% of your users are out there living their best, least‑compliant lives.
You:
You move the needle to 47%. You start drafting a policy that mandates reading policies. You realize this is how villains are created.
Training completion spikes to 98%. Someone creates a meme of you as a drill sergeant. You print it out and hang it above your desk like a war trophy.
Incident report: “User emailed CUI to personal Gmail to ‘work from home more efficiently.’” You stare into the middle distance and contemplate a career in beekeeping.
The assessor logs into the Zoom call. The little red “recording” dot appears. Executives suddenly remember your name. This is your Super Bowl, if the Super Bowl had more spreadsheets.
You:
You spend half the audit hunting for documents you swear existed. The phrase “we’ll have to get back to you on that” becomes your catchphrase. No one laughs, including the assessor.
You click through tickets, logs, and policies like a seasoned speedrunner. The assessor says, “That was… smooth.” You briefly wonder if you could put “didn’t totally implode during audit” on your LinkedIn.
You recover, everyone chuckles, and the assessor says, “We’ve seen worse.” Later, your playlist becomes a team in‑joke and, inexplicably, the unofficial soundtrack to next year’s readiness project.
Count your choices:
Mostly A’s: You Become a Cautionary Tale
Your company survives, but only after a painful scramble and a near‑miss on a key contract. New hires hear, “We don’t do it like we did during the 2025 CMMC debacle.” They are talking about you.
Mostly B’s: You Survive and Get Invited to Capture Meetings
You are now “the compliance person” and mysteriously get pulled into every major bid review. It’s exhausting, but your contracts keep renewing, and your MSP sends you a holiday gift basket instead of a passive‑aggressive email.
Mostly C’s: You Become an Urban Legend in the DIB
Rumor has it someone once recycled an entire POA&M, ghosted their MSP, and still pulled off certification. Every time you hear that story at a conference, you just smile and sip your coffee.
Moral of the adventure: you can’t choose whether CMMC shows up on your calendar — but you can choose whether it shows up as a horror story, a running joke, or a competitive advantage.