Posted in
adventure,
antics,
business model,
kindergarten,
manipulation,
scheme
My schemes and antics haven't been confined to just secondary school. They're as old as my oldest memory and as fresh as today. Let me tell you about a little business I tried to run in kindergarten. And while it was not very successful, it was certainly more original than selling lemonade.
I grew up in a brick house with a gravel driveway. (Unlike your driveway, which is cement, mine was gravel.) You know what gravel is don't you? Small gray stones spread everywhere. The kind that sneak into your shoes just to bug your feet, and leave behind huge puddles of mud when they wash away in the yearly snow. That was my driveway, and it was as much a part of my home as the tall grass and dry air. I wouldn't have had it any other way.
One day, while playing on that driveway with one of my best friends, I realized those misshapen gray stones were actually gold.
But first a little background:
My friend Matt (a different Matt than in previous stories. Yes, I know many Matts. In fact, I've been best friends [or very close friends] with a Matt B., a Matt L., and two different Matt M.'s.) But this particular day, I was hanging out with Matt L.
We became friends because we were in the same class at school and shortly after our two families became very close. And many of my best memories are connected to that family, even now.
So that particular day, a lightbulb hovered over my head and I realized I could make some cash. So I smooth-talked Matt L. into joining my business. Which was based on a pretty simple scheme. We wash off rocks from my yard, make them look as pretty as they can (I was a kindergartner what'd you expect?) then we hawk them to the neighbors at a dollar a rock. And by we I mean he, he hawks them. My services are in management. I manage the business, not to mention providing the wares (it was my yard after all) and he does the sales. We split the profits fifty-fifty. All Matt had to do was sell 400,000 rocks and I could buy the Lamborghini in my poster. Failing that, I could at least get a sandwich from McDonalds---I was pretty sure.
So we cleaned off a bunch of rocks with a garden hose, loaded them into a bucket, and he was on his way to the neighbors... alone. I stayed behind. (Yes, partly because I didn't want to do the work, and partly because I would've been embarassed selling rocks.) But let's think of it this way. I wasn't so much taking advantage of my friend, rather I was concerned for his employment and wanted him to have a steady job. What with the tough economic times of the booming bull-market 90's. I even offered a generous 50% commission, can't beat that!
I think Matt visited three houses before he officially quit the business, which subsequently dissolved. "No one wants to buy rocks," he told me, to our dismay.
He did manage to make one sale though. I think it was to a nice elderly lady who lived next door. I believe, out of sympathy, she bought one splinter of gravel for one dollar. (But don't feel too bad for her, because I earned off that dollar a thousand times over by shoveling her walk every year as often as it snowed, and refusing her payment every time. It was my pleasure. Plus Mom would have kill us if my brothers and I didn't do it.)
So Matt and I split the earnings and then went back to playing around, sword-fighting with sticks, and I quickly forgot the whole thing. Until now.
I grew up in a brick house with a gravel driveway. (Unlike your driveway, which is cement, mine was gravel.) You know what gravel is don't you? Small gray stones spread everywhere. The kind that sneak into your shoes just to bug your feet, and leave behind huge puddles of mud when they wash away in the yearly snow. That was my driveway, and it was as much a part of my home as the tall grass and dry air. I wouldn't have had it any other way.
One day, while playing on that driveway with one of my best friends, I realized those misshapen gray stones were actually gold.
But first a little background:
My friend Matt (a different Matt than in previous stories. Yes, I know many Matts. In fact, I've been best friends [or very close friends] with a Matt B., a Matt L., and two different Matt M.'s.) But this particular day, I was hanging out with Matt L.
We became friends because we were in the same class at school and shortly after our two families became very close. And many of my best memories are connected to that family, even now.
So that particular day, a lightbulb hovered over my head and I realized I could make some cash. So I smooth-talked Matt L. into joining my business. Which was based on a pretty simple scheme. We wash off rocks from my yard, make them look as pretty as they can (I was a kindergartner what'd you expect?) then we hawk them to the neighbors at a dollar a rock. And by we I mean he, he hawks them. My services are in management. I manage the business, not to mention providing the wares (it was my yard after all) and he does the sales. We split the profits fifty-fifty. All Matt had to do was sell 400,000 rocks and I could buy the Lamborghini in my poster. Failing that, I could at least get a sandwich from McDonalds---I was pretty sure.
So we cleaned off a bunch of rocks with a garden hose, loaded them into a bucket, and he was on his way to the neighbors... alone. I stayed behind. (Yes, partly because I didn't want to do the work, and partly because I would've been embarassed selling rocks.) But let's think of it this way. I wasn't so much taking advantage of my friend, rather I was concerned for his employment and wanted him to have a steady job. What with the tough economic times of the booming bull-market 90's. I even offered a generous 50% commission, can't beat that!
I think Matt visited three houses before he officially quit the business, which subsequently dissolved. "No one wants to buy rocks," he told me, to our dismay.
He did manage to make one sale though. I think it was to a nice elderly lady who lived next door. I believe, out of sympathy, she bought one splinter of gravel for one dollar. (But don't feel too bad for her, because I earned off that dollar a thousand times over by shoveling her walk every year as often as it snowed, and refusing her payment every time. It was my pleasure. Plus Mom would have kill us if my brothers and I didn't do it.)
So Matt and I split the earnings and then went back to playing around, sword-fighting with sticks, and I quickly forgot the whole thing. Until now.
