Steve's Bad Day

“I’m sorry, Steve,” J.P. said. “It’s not going to happen. There’s no stomach for long term investments right now.”

       Steve’s eyes closed, and his head sagged. He had been pretty sure that this was the answer he was going to get, but now hearing it was even more deflating.

       Steve Morris was sitting with J.P. MacAllister of the venture capital firm MacAllister and Johnson at the Cattleman’s Steakhouse just off the I-5 Freeway in Carlsbad, CA. A pleasant dinner had just been finished as they watched the sun set over the Pacific Ocean.

It had been a business meal, and while the conversation and company had been pleasant, the vibes Steve had been getting ever since they were seated were not good. He knew he was going to get an answer tonight about the funding of his company, and his hopes had been high since he had such a good working relationship with J.P. But eye contact had been rare; too often J.P. had looked at his hands when he spoke. Now Steve had his answer.

“You couldn’t have done a better job,” J.P. said. “Your presentation to the board this afternoon was as good as it gets. Your company is a great investment. You have a huge customer base that needs your products. Your pricing and market entry strategy are sound. Your cost structure is realistic, and your margins are enviable. Your estimates of the total investment needed to get to market and the time it will take are reasonable. And the size of your ‘B’ round makes sense.

But the timing couldn’t be worse. We’re in the middle of a great recession right now. In more normal times, the four years to market entry and the six years to profitability would be no problem given the size of the opportunity. But not this year. Or next year, for that matter. There’s too much uncertainty about where the economy is headed. Opinions of what the economy will be like in six years are all over the map. We need an investment in diabetes care, but we can’t wait six years to see a return.

As you probably know, we’ve been looking at another company. Theirs is a smaller opportunity, but they will launch their product in 18 months and be profitable in the third year. We’re going to invest in them.”

“I appreciate your candor,” Steve said, sadly. “And as always, I have enjoyed our time together. We would have made a great team to get my products to market. And we both would have smiled all the way to the bank. But you really need to reconsider. As you say, it is a great opportunity.”

“As much as I want us to, we just can’t,” J.P. said. “This is a board decision. You know that I would do it. Your company has been my first choice ever since we first met a little over a year ago. I have argued long and hard for you. But the board makes the final decisions, and in this case, they decided against my recommendation. And they made me the bad news messenger.”

“Can you suggest another firm that might be interested?” Steve asked. “I really wanted to work with you, but since I can’t….”

“All the VCs are in the same boat,” J.P. said. “Nobody is doing long term deals right now.”

“I see,” Steve sighed. Looking at his watch, he said, “It’s after nine. I better get on the road. I have a red eye back to the city in a couple of hours.”

“Look, Steve, I’ll make a few calls,” J.P. said. “I still think you have one of the best investment opportunities available today. I’ll let you know. And the meal is on me. It’s the least I can do. I hope to see you again. Have a good flight.”

“Goodbye,” Steve said. They both stood up. Steve shook J.P.’s hand and headed for the door.

Once in the car and heading out of the parking lot onto the Pacific Coast Highway, he called home. Even though it was midnight back in the city, his wife answered immediately. Steve related the bad news about the investment and said that he was on his way down to San Diego for his flight back east.

“Well, at least it’s over,” his wife said sadly. “For six years you put your heart and soul into that company. It’s been hard on both of us, but finally we can move on. Give me a call once you land.”

“OK,” Steve said. And he hung up.

At a little after nine in the evening Steve expected the traffic on the I-5 freeway to be relatively light. But it was a parking lot. Four full lanes of traffic lurching forward at about 5 miles per hour. He seethed as he crept along. The fumes from the 18-wheeler in front of him burned in his nostrils. Not even Dvorak’s New World Symphony on the radio brightened his mood. He felt trapped. First no investment, now this. He had no choice but to slowly inch forward, car length by car length. As time passed, for the first time he began to wonder if he would make the 11:30 departure.

It was 9:40 when he finally cleared the accident. He had another 30 minutes of driving to get to the airport. Then he had to return the car, take the bus over to the terminal, and then clear security. It was going to be close. At least he didn’t have any bags to check. And he had obtained his boarding pass for his return flight when he got off the inbound flight that morning. His mood brightened.

The ride down to San Diego from the accident was smooth, but Steve was getting anxious. One of the things Steve hated was being late for an appointment. It was part of his personality. He felt that if someone was late, it was because they were lazy and didn’t plan properly. And now here he was, likely to do just that--be late for an appointment.

He had a little less than an hour to go when he exited the I-5 and made his way onto North Harbor Drive, the location of the rental car company. As he entered North Harbor Drive, it, too, was full of traffic. But it was moving steadily.

Soon he made the left turn into the rental car company lot and drove up to the return line. To his dismay there were eight other cars in front of him. Frustrated, he realized, “Of course it’s this busy. All the red eyes leave at about the same time. I should have left the restaurant earlier.” His fingers drummed the roof of his car as he stood by the car door with his carry-on, waiting his turn. Each minute seemed like an hour. When he finally had his receipt, it was 10:45.

He rushed over to the loading zone for the bus to the terminal only to watch the taillights of a departing bus fade out of view. Even in the cool sixty-degree weather as he waited, he could feel the perspiration on his forehead. Finally, at 10:55 he was on a bus entering North Harbor Drive headed for the terminal.

At 11:02 the bus pulled up at Terminal One. For an agonizing three minutes passengers unloaded and then new passengers boarded, stashed their luggage, and seated themselves. At 11:05 the bus started off for Terminal Two. As usual, it stopped at every crosswalk to allow travelers to cross the road. And the bus had to stop for each different airline. It was 11:10 when he was finally off the bus and approaching the security line.

As he stood in line, slowly inching towards the luggage scanners, Steve was now sure he was going to miss his flight. He had been making business trips for over thirty years and had never missed a flight. This was going to be a first. A miserable first.

But the security line moved faster than expected. At 11:20 he had taken his carry-on off the security conveyor belt, put on his shoes and belt, and was heading for his gate. He groaned when he saw that his flight was at the last gate in this section. He started running.

Gasping for breath he arrived at the gate at 11:26. It was empty. There were no other passengers around. “They must all be on board,” he thought. Breathing a huge sigh of relief, he handed his boarding pass to the agent.

“I’m sorry, sir. You’re too late. All cabin doors are closed five minutes before scheduled departure time.”

“But, but, but…” he stammered.

“I’m sorry, sir,” was all she would say.

Dejected, he booked the earliest flight back the next morning. It was now quarter to midnight; there was no point in trying to get a room for the night. He’d have to be here two hours before the new flight’s departure time of 5:30 am. He’d just head over to the gate for his morning flight and try to catch a few z’s on one of the chairs.

Steve thought about calling his wife. But decided against it. It was just before 3 am back on the east coast. No point in waking her. He’d call just before he boarded in the morning. It would be a little after eight back east then. That’s when he would tell her he had missed his flight.

Trying to catch a few z’s proved difficult. The chair was uncomfortable. And he couldn’t get over how bad the day had been. His mind kept repeating the events of the day. So close. Oh, so close! If it weren’t for the dammed recession J.P. would have made the investment. And if it weren’t for the accident, he would have made the flight. What else was going to go wrong?

The sound of his phone ringing woke him from a restless sleep. Groggily he answered. It was his wife. “Oh my God, Steve. Is that really you?” she asked, sounding amazed. “I can’t believe I got through. Are you OK?”

“Of course I’m OK,” Steve mumbled, confused. “You sound alarmed. What’s going on?”

“Then they didn’t take you?” she asked, still surprised. “They took other businessmen.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” Steve asked, puzzled, and now fully awake. “What other businessmen? What are you talking about?”

“The hijackers,” his wife replied. “They’re holding a bunch of businessmen hostage in first class.”

“Hijackers? What in the world are you talking about? I’m sitting in San Diego waiting for my flight back east. I missed my flight last night.”

“YOU MISSED YOUR FLIGHT?” his wife screamed. “OH MY GOD, Steve. Thank heaven. There were hijackers on that flight. It’s about to land in Havana.”