“This is a good idea. It’s economically viable and it’s fully in tune with the demands of the market,” Marreese Speights said in his best “fancy” voice, sitting in a suit across from a banker who was also wearing a suit. He slid a folder of papers across the desk. “My business plan is flawless, as you will see from these documents.”
The bespectacled lender opened the folder with a furrowed brow. Minutes passed while he pursed his lips and flipped through the documents, which contained a detailed business plan as well as some mock marketing materials. Marreese waited patiently with hands clasped as his hard work of the past two weeks was examined.
Finally, the lender handed the folder back to its originator. “I’m sorry, Mr. Speights, but I don’t think we can give you a loan at this time. You’ll need to refine your business model and we can talk again.”
“Speighetti Shack is a good friggin’ idea!” Marreese exclaimed. “How can you not see it?”
The lender sighed as if this wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with uninformed wannabe entrepreneurs. “To start, nobody knows what ‘Speighetti’ is. Your restaurant would never get off the ground selling a product that nobody can identify.”
“It’s spaghetti with the Speights touch,” Marreese clarified. “Made with only the freshest, finest ingredients by the most talented chefs in the world. The customer is our first priority,” he continued, reciting his practiced lines.
This explanation was ignored by the lender. “I’m sure those chefs will love cooking with the purple Jolly Ranchers and the instant gravy that you’ve listed in your recipes. Anyway, you don’t even have a budget in here. All these spreadsheets look to be filled with fabricated, nonsensical numbers.”
“It’s just some ballpark estimates,” Marreese responded, waving his hand as if to dismiss the bank’s concerns. “I’ve got all the money stuff figured out for sure.”
“And you included an example of the restaurant’s signage drawn in crayon,” the lender said, holding up a crude, lopsided drawing of a red sign that read “Speighetti Shack”. “It’s not like we even care about what your sign looks like, but this lack of professionalism reflects poorly on you as a small business owner.”
Marreese stood up in anger. “I don’t need to be insulted like this! I’ll find a bank that will finance me, and we’ll see who lacks professionalism then!” He snatched his manilla folder off the desk and stormed out the door. Before he left, though, he stuck his head back in the office. “Speighetti Shack will be making millions! Millions! No, billions! BILLIONS! Remember that!”