by Jacob Taylor
“So it might be better to measure yourself against all of the competitors who are meeting a certain need, not some arbitrary industry classification?” I asked.
“Exactly,” he said. “I’ll give you an example. In the early days, who was Southwest Airlines biggest competition?”
“Delta or United?” I guessed.
“Nope. Here’s a hint: Southwest focused on short trips between smaller cities.”
“Hmm… smaller regional airlines?” I said. I couldn’t name any of them.
“No, don’t be so orthodox,” he said.
I thought for a quiet beat. Who moved people between small cities? Then it hit me like a bus: “Greyhound!”
“That’s right,” Mr. X said. “Southwest was competing against Greyhound Bus Lines in the early days. Flying Southwest was obviously a major upgrade from taking a bus, so they were able to dominate that niche before they ever had to worry about taking on the entrenched big boys like Delta or United. The broader point here is that you need to be crystal clear with which human need you’re addressing. Measure yourself against others addressing that same need.”
“That makes sense,” I said.
“Of course it does,” he said. “Now, you have five minutes to ask me about my life or else I’m going to be late for my doctor’s appointment.”
I looked through my notes searching for something easy to get him warmed up. “You’ve already told the story of your father passing away and you taking over the business. What was your mindset in those early years of being in charge?”
“Survival. Next question,” he said.
“Umm, let’s see,” I said as I paged through. “How did you meet your wife?”
“At church. Next question.” Is he stonewalling me or just being efficient?
“Tell me about your daughter,” I said. I knew it was a delicate question, but I wanted to shake him up a little.
He was quiet for a few beats. “She’s amazing--takes after her mother. I love her and it breaks my heart that we aren’t speaking.”
“When did…” I started, but he cut me off.
“That’s all the time we have today. I have to get to my appointment. Cathy will make sure you get to the airport. See you in a few weeks.”
And with that, this trip to Wichita was over. That definitely wasn’t five minutes. Why were his answers so curt? Did he not trust me? He would talk about business all day, but the personal side was one-word answers. What gives?
CHAPTER 24
Every year Big Rock threw a large gala for the employees. Heavy appetizers and even heavier booze. It gave the higher-ups a chance to assemble and congratulate each other on being masters of the universe. Us lowly peons were invited to eat a few shrimp and look on in admiration.
I invited Stephanie to be my plus one, but I was nervous. I wasn’t sure how she’d react to the frat boy culture of Big Rock, especially after adding dangerous levels of alcohol to the flowing testosterone. And if I’m being honest, I was worried about being the butt of every emasculating joke in front of my girlfriend. The girlfriend deflector shields can only withstand so many proton torpedoes before your manhood comes into question. (They can only stand so many nerdy Star Trek analogies as well.) I thought about the quiet serenity of our nature hikes that were so magical. This event would be the exact opposite: loud, crowded, and fake. My cortisol level spiked just thinking about the social minefield.
I picked Stephanie up before the party. She looked simply stunning. I almost didn’t recognize her at first. She wore a little black dress and more makeup than I’d seen before. It was like that cliche movie scene where the mousy girl takes off her glasses and lets her hair down to reveal a beauty queen. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Whenever I started to think I had her figured out, she had a deeper layer or another gear. There was always more below the surface.
Based on the noise level, we arrived about three drinks in. We filled up our plates with hors d'oeuvres, grabbed two glasses of something cold and stiff, and found a place to sit away from the main fray. I dished dirt on all of my co-workers as we people-watched. The water cooler never wanted for salacious material at Big Rock; I had ample stories to share. We were having fun in our own little bubble. After we’d finished our plates, I left her at the table to fetch fresh drinks.
I returned to a nightmare. Vance was sitting next to Stephanie at the table, along with two of his closest Big Rock cronies and their two dates. What, no supermodels joining us tonight, Vance? Awww, poor fella. Based on his body language and proximity to Stephanie, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what Vance’s plans were. That mother....
I walked up to the table, mustering up all of the faux confidence I had. In my head, George McFly was stuttering, “Get your damn hands off her.”
Vance saw me coming and didn’t miss his chance. “Oh good, we’ll take another round of Manhattans, boy.” The cronies thought this was hilarious.
“Very funny, Vance.” I said.
I was checkmated by the seating arrangements. I had the option of hovering near Vance and Steph--the awkward third wheel. Or there was a free seat on the far side of the table. Of course, Vance didn’t offer to vacate my chair. That seat was his birthright. I banished myself to social Siberia on the other side of the table to avoid confrontation. Like a total wuss.
I ignored the vapid conversation of the cronies and their girls. I kept my eyes on Stephanie and Vance who were having their own conversation. It was too noisy for me to hear what they were saying, but I was looking for clues. Did she need my help? It didn’t seem like it. I watched her laugh at something he said, a jealous green acid coursing through my veins. Did she like Vance? He was tall, handsome, and suave. Who wouldn’t like him? Was she thinking about trading up from a dented Camry to the high-end Ferrari? I was deflated and wondering how many drinks it would take to render me oblivious to this mess. Bartender...
Vance leaned in close to whisper something. Stephanie’s body went rigid and a sour look crossed her face. Vance touched her arm and she pulled away.
Something in me snapped.
Without thought, I shot out of my chair and was around the table in a flash. Vance popped out his chair and we were suddenly face to face. Nevermind that Vance had 4 inches and at least thirty pounds of muscle on me. The scent of alcohol on his breath brought me back to the reality that I was way outside my weight class.
“What are you doing?” I seethed.
“None of your business, bro. Don’t you have some trees to plant or whales to save?”
“What did you say to her?” I said.
“Who cares? She’s not my type anyway. You can have her,” he said. She’s too good for you.
In my mind, I reached back to punch him. Then I saw myself in a ball on the ground, Vance and his cronies kicking me like they were on the pitch at the World Cup. I saw myself getting fired from Big Rock for punching their Golden Boy. I saw myself homeless under a bridge, sharing a can of beans with my parents.
I felt Stephanie pull on my arm. “C’mon, Nick.”
I could only think in shredded fragments with all my swirling rage. We walked off, my fists clenched, white hot anger my only impulse. Over my shoulder I heard Vance say, “That’s what I thought.”
I almost turned around and hit play on the scenario that would lead to my world imploding. But Stephanie squeezed my arm assuringly and I kept walking. My adrenalized tunnel vision made it hard to do anything but put one foot in front of the other. The rage slowly drained.
We made the rounds so I could introduce Stephanie to my bosses and get credit for having been at the gala. It was a tactical error not to have done so earlier in the night. The bosses had rounded ‘in the bag’ and were headed toward blackout. I doubted my presence even registered. Oh well, I guess there’s always next year. If I don’t get fired first.
After an especially slurry and pawsy encounter, I asked Stephanie, “Are you ready to get outta here?”
“Yes, please,�
�� she said. Her eyes pleaded that she was done.
We couldn’t get to the coat check fast enough.
CHAPTER 25
I received a Warren Buffett pre-trip trifecta from Mr. X:
-- "While deals often fail in practice, they never fail in projections."
-- “The higher return a business earns on the capital that is invested in the business, the more cash it is producing and the more value is being created.”
-- “Growth can destroy value if it requires cash inputs in the early years of a project or enterprise that exceed the discounted value of the cash that those assets will generate in later years. Growth is simply a component--usually a plus, sometimes a minus--in the value equation.”
I had no idea where Mr. X was leading with his quotes, but I kind of enjoyed the surprise of finding out.
Cathy had given me a time and address in Wichita where I was to meet Mr. X. When the taxi dropped me off at the nearest cross streets, I was surprised to see a silver RV shining in a vacant lot. The air was crisp and clear, carrying kitchen sounds and delicious smells from the truck. The rig was branded with sharp Cootie Burger markings. I finally recognized the RV for what it really was: a Cootie-themed food truck. The line to order was at least ten deep. Several wooden picnic tables held patrons enjoying burgers and fries. At the farthest table, I saw the old man surreptitiously observing the scene. I walked over and sat down across from him.
“Hi, Mr. X,” I greeted.
“What do you think of this operation?” he asked, his eyes still studying.
“It’s making me hungry, if that’s your question,” I said.
“Good, I took the liberty of ordering you a burger and fries. It should be out shortly now that you’ve arrived.”
“Wow, thanks. Are you going to eat?” I asked.
“I’m not very hungry these days,” he said. He smiled meekly before coughing into a handkerchief.
“I bet. How did your tests go last week?”
“Not well, actually. But what do doctors know, right?” Fighting the good fight. “How would you feel about the same procedure as last time? I’ll teach at the beginning and then you can ask me some personal questions.”
“Sure thing,” I said.
“Let’s get started then,” he said, all business. “About twenty percent of the funding a company uses comes from external financing. Do you know where the other eighty percent comes from?”
“I’m going to take your hint and guess it’s internal financing?” I said.
“I spoonfed you that one--but what does ‘internal’ really mean?” he said.
“Money that comes in from just the course of doing business?” I offered.
“OK, but let’s see if we can improve on that,” he said. “I would modify to say it’s taking all of the inputs, combining them in some magical way, and being able to sell the result for more than it costs. Remember back to our straws. What was the triangle that was formed by the Price and Cost straws?”
After all of the practice, it was easy to reconstruct the straws in my mind’s eye. “Profit, Mr. X.”
“Good, you haven’t forgotten,” he said. “So eighty percent of a typical company’s funding is financed through their own profits. In business school, have they must have taught you about return on invested capital. R-O-I-C, for short.”
“I’m not sure if we’ve gotten to it yet. Sounds like another acronym to add to the pile,” I said.
“All it means is, for every dollar that’s put into the business for operations, how much comes out?”
“That’s it?” I said.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “So if you put a dollar into a business, and it throws off fifty cents of profit, what was your return on invested capital?”
“Fifty percent,” I said. “That seems pretty straightforward.”
“Typically for a public company, ROIC is measured in yearly increments,“ Mr. X said before coughing violently into his handkerchief.
I gave him some time to recover before I asked, “What is Cootie’s ROIC?”
“Sorry, this damn cough,” he apologized. “For Cootie? Last year it was twenty-one percent.”
“Is that good?”
“We have a good business. The historical ROIC in the U.S. is around 6%, but that can vary widely any given year and by industry,” he said.
“Cootie must be a great business then,” I said. “Was last year typical?”
“That’s slightly higher than normal, but not atypical. Any particular year is not how I like to think about it though. In spite of our desire for order, business usually doesn’t map well to one trip around the sun.”
“How do you like to think about it then?” I asked. I was starting to figure out how to ask questions that kept him engaged. A regular billionaire tycoon whisperer.
“Many companies will measure the ROIC of individual projects, which probably makes more sense than any given year. But internally at Cootie, we do something even more different.”
“What’s that, you rebel?” I said.
“We measure the ROIC of strategies,” he said.
“Sorry, but what’s the difference between a project and a strategy? They sound the same to me.”
“A strategy is a bigger goal we’re trying to accomplish as a team. If you recall our previous conversations, a good strategy for us involves finding ways to better delight our customers or lower our costs. There are usually several projects that make up a strategy. Like a bundle,” he said.
“How about this for an analogy?” I said after a moment’s thought. “A strategy is a direction you’re hiking, like east or west, and the projects would be the different paths through the woods you can take to get there.” I must have had hiking with Stephanie in my subconscious.
“That’s a decent analogy. I might even start using that one,” he said. He appeared to perk up at my catching on.
“I have my moments…”
“I haven’t seen many,” he said with a wink before continuing. “We prefer to assess and fund strategies and not individual projects for several reasons. First, we’re aiming to succeed in the long term. A strategy is inherently more long term focused than a single project.”
“Alright, I’ll buy that,” I said. A man from the food truck in crisp Cootie attire found his way to our table and placed a delectable burger and piping hot fries in front of me. He smiled earnestly and left, not wanting to interrupt.
“Please, go ahead and eat. I wish I was hungry. I’ll keep talking though,” Mr. X said. “Now… where was I?”
“Funding strategies instead of projects,” I said with a mouth full of burger.
“Right,” he said, frowning at my table manners. “There are important human dynamics to consider. Don’t forget that it’s people who are coming up with these ideas. It’s easy to fudge the projections on individual projects and make the numbers work. Not due to any maleficence--it could be they’re simply enthusiastic. Humans tend to be overconfident and extrapolate in straight upward lines when they get excited.”
“The first Buffett quote makes sense now,” I said between bites. “The projections never fail to show a profit.”
“Very good,” he said. “My view is that it’s harder to overestimate an entire strategy. So thinking in strategies keeps the numbers more honest and your team pulling in the same direction.”
“I see,” I said.
“We pursue a strategy together, not pet projects that make an individual champion look good. Innovation is often best done in teams by combining ideas in novel ways. How’s your burger?” he asked.
“Amazing!” I said. “I’m not sure why, but the fried egg really adds to the experience. Put me down for a nine Net Promoter Score.”
“Why not a ten?” he asked.
“There’s always room for improvement, right?” I said. “Anyway, back to our lesson. So the group is collectively aimed at going west, rather than focusing on any individual path to take?” I asked.
“E
xactly,” he replied. “It has a unifying effect. Here’s another takeaway: thinking in strategies can open your eyes to new paths in the forest. Sometimes a great idea is staring you right in the face and you don’t see it until you look at your bigger strategy.”
“Can you give me an example of that at Cootie?” I said, looking for a concrete anchor point.
“Absolutely,” he replied. “It’s the very reason I had you meet me here. We have a strategy to lower the cost of testing restaurant locations.”
“Did you and your team actually brainstorm together all the different ways you could lower the cost of testing?” I asked.
“Yes, we did,” he said. “We have to determine where people want to eat our hamburgers. And any costs we can save figuring that out are meaningful. Those saved resources mean we have more left to test other projects and fund other strategies to lower costs or wow our customers.”
“Being a good steward of capital,” I said like a true teacher’s pet. I still felt like the old man was keeping me at arm’s distance.
He smiled, “Very good, Nick. Back to the testing. When we first started out, it was based on my gut feelings of different locations and communities. We’d build a new location, crossing our fingers it would work out--not very scientific at all. We got better by funding a project to measure traffic patterns to make better decisions. Then one day, one of our employees went on vacation to Disneyland. Los Angeles was the birthplace of the food truck scene and as soon as he saw one, he had a great idea. We could use food trucks to test out a location in small scale to see if our brand of burgers and shakes would be popular in an area.”
“That’s genius,” I said.
“The employee was relatively low in our organization, but was eager to share his breakthrough. A good idea is a good idea; we encourage every employee to contribute their insights,” he said. “We realized we could use food trucks to test locations without having to spend anywhere near the money required for a full restaurant build. A food truck costs about $60,000 to outfit. One of our restaurants is around $1.5 million to build. Granted, it’s not a perfect correlation that a successful truck test will become a good permanent location. But a new truck is less than five percent the cost of a restaurant, and we can keep reusing the trucks.”