Due Diligence - July's Refrain

I’m not so great at the whole work nonstop thing. Checklists and to-do lists keep me productive when I don’t have solid deadlines—sometimes. This is problematic, turns out, when working from home. It is also problematic when I should be working on pro-formas for the business. Pro-formas are the basic finances for the business. Costs, expenses, and revenue. Blech. Boring. I’d much rather pin stuff to my Pinterest board for the café (check it out! https://pinterest.com/kalynmc/trade-cafe-in-pictures/). See? Isn’t that cool and fun and exciting?! You can actually visualize the business! Unlike the numbers, which are the business. Or the heart of it anyway.

But I have been doing research. Real research. The kind involving numbers and talking to people who are older and smarter. My brother and I have had a two-hour meeting with a CPA, a four-hour meeting with the OKSBDC (Oklahoma Small Business Development Center), and a two-hour meeting with a host of lawyers. We’re getting their counsel for free in exchange for every intern in the building sitting in on our meeting. There were eight people in on the meeting, only one of whom will be our lawyer. It was similar, I think, to be operated on in a medical school by a doctor with a host of med students watching on in the amphitheatre classroom.

The only new information we got from the meeting was that we needed to slow down and adjust our expectations. My brother and I were thinking we’d have the café up and running by October. That’s so far away. An entire season. Well, not long enough apparently. Our legal counsel suggested we begin changing our business plan to reflect a January start date—at the absolute soonest.

That deflated my balloon. Motivation crashed. The reason why it affected me so negatively, I think, is because I’m unemployed. I really, truly thought I would be employed sooner than that. So now I have to get a part-time job on top of my other pursuits: freelance editing, crafting, gift wrapping, and baking. I’m also doing some handiwork for the ‘rents. How am I supposed to get anything done on my non-paying  (boring) business planning when I’m doing all that?

My father, God bless him, gave my brother and me what I’m sure he would consider a pep talk or paternal advice. It came out more of a browbeating on—you guessed it—diligence.

Grant and I have been hearing it a lot lately. Our CPA mentioned the bankers will check for due diligence on our financial projections. Did we take every possible expense, even the unexpected ones, into consideration? Are our numbers conservative enough? And then again, the SBDC said to look at every piece of the plan and pro-forma in 360 degrees, doing our due diligence to ensure a complete and sound business plan.

Diligence was again brought up by our lawyer. “Be diligent with your numbers.” Hearing that was super annoying because we’d made sure they knew before we came in that our numbers were nowhere near complete. We only had a preliminary business plan that focused on concept. Of course the plan needed more research and numbers. Thanks for repeating that over and over again for two hours. (But I’m not complaining because it’s free advice!) And really, what advice can they give us until the business plan is complete, even if incorrectly complete? They have to have something before they can make corrections.

So all that to say, diligence has been on the tip of everyone’s tongue. And I have gotten an earful about it. Which my father added to this afternoon. His message, in a nutshell, was to be diligent in every single thing…otherwise, why would we think that we would be diligent with the business? If I am going to Tulsa or watching movies rather than being diligent about…other undetermined things…then I’ll obviously just leave work all the time once the café is open to go see movies or go to Tulsa. Because that’s how life is. And then we’ll fail.

My parents are the most supportive people in the world while simultaneously saying everything they can to discourage us from starting up a business. It’s pretty frustrating. I can’t be angry with them, because through their connections and help, we’re getting much further along in the business plan more quickly than we ever could on our own. They do have really good advice. But mixed in is all these backhanded comments that convey to us (whether my parents believe it to convey this message or not) that we’re incompetent idiots destined to fail.

Is it any wonder that I’m feeling unmotivated? Up until now, I’ve been sending my brother action items, with a to-do list for both of us, pretty much every other day. Now he’s the one calling me and making sure I’m doing my end of things. An unhappy reversal. I’m supposed to be the annoying one in this relationship!

The number of things I need to do is overwhelming. I have a set of three edits to complete as soon as possible because I need money in a bad, desperate sort of way. Slides to edit for a relative (Powerpoint presentation). A paper to edit for a friend. Call OG&E for utility information for our pro-forma. Call two suppliers for pricing. Talk to the potential baker about equipment so we can price it—again for the pro-formas. A baby shower I’m hosting at the end of the month. Apply to coffee houses/cafes so I can learn on someone else’s dime and get some industry experience. Decide on a theme for the indie crafters thing in Tulsa in August. Get with the two friends who are renting the booth with me to do the crafts. Populate Etsy page so that it can generate money. Complete pro-formas, meet with cpa and lawyers and SBDC again, pitch to banks until get one that bites, find a private investor(s), find suppliers for more than just coffee beans (furniture, cups, to-go cups, equipment, kitchen supplies, etc.,), find a place to lease/buy, and on and on and on.

There’s a lot to be diligent about. Of that my father is correct. It’s hard to stay motivated, though, when the payoff is so far away. Patience has never been my virtue. And the payoff is uncertain. It feels as if the further away we are from starting the business, the more unlikely it is it will actually start. And that’s what is terrifying me and sapping my motivation. Suck. I’m trying to rally this weekend, and tomorrow is the beginning of a new, productive week!

P.S. If you’re super good friends with an architect or a contractor that would talk to me for free as a kind of favor or for a lark, that would be super duper awesome. Because somehow I graduated OSU without knowing one. Or if you have good friends that graduated from OSU’s HRAD program and know the ins and outs of suppliers, that would also be helpful. 

A Retelling of the Cockamouse Tale

I admit it. I’m a How I Met Your Mother fanatic. Don’t worry. This isn’t a romance story (or I’m sorry, this isn’t a romance story). This is verifiable proof that the cockamouse is real.

This weekend I’m in Tulsa. I was supposed to meet with a potential supplier—Topeca coffee—but that fell through, unfortunately. Fortunately, I was staying with my good friend—we’ll call her Sprinkle—and we managed to fill up our time. I had previously done some work for her, and in repayment, she was going to list and ship all of my used books I was trying to offload. My bookcases are so heavily burdened I have run out of places to stack books, of which I could not possibly stop buying/borrowing/burglaring. I only brought two giant tote bags of books.

It bears mentioning that the previous night she found a spider in the apartment. I have full-fledged arachnophobia. She’s not much better. I’m way worse. Sprinkle had to coerce me from all the way across the room to within five feet of her and the spider so I could be on standby with a shoe in case her broom didn’t kill it. And then instead of whacking the hell out of the spider, I simply threw the shoe at it, screamed, and ran back to the other side of the room. She ended up picking up the shoe and stomping it to death. The next morning we saw Spiderman. (It was good. You should totally go see it.)

So that afternoon, after Spiderman made us want superhero boyfriends, we ran into a situation requiring a superhero boyfriend…or at the very least a boyfriend.

I was sitting on the couch working on Pinterest—a full-time occupation in my unemployed status—while Sprinkle pulled tome after tome from the depths of a truly cavernous black tote bag. With a gasp and a bang she dropped several novels at once.

“What is it?” I asked, but considerably more strident in tone than necessary. I had not forgotten the spider of last night.

“Okay! I’m done. It’s a spider. A huge spider.” She held up her fingers to indicate a near tarantula-sized monster that now lurked in the depths of the bag.

She didn’t have to say it out loud. We both knew after my cowardly behavior last night that it was my turn up to bat. I slowly placed my laptop on the couch beside me. Stood up. Tentatively approached the bag resting on the coffee table, which I swear was radiating evil or something. And timidly peeked into the shadow opening.

Nothing. I only saw books at the very bottom. I shook the top of the bag a little bit as I muttered about Andrew Garfield knowing what to do. Something truly giant ran out from under a book and up the side of the tote bag—directly toward me. I screamed and fell over Sprinkle in my mad scramble backward.

“Not a spider!”

“What?” (She was yelling at the top of her voice too.)

“Giant cockroach. Radioactively large cockroach. Oh my Lord. The cockamouse is real.”

Except I wasn’t laughing. I was near puking at the size of the thing. And while I’m not scared of cockroaches—I’d even had a considerably larger Moroccan cockroach riding around on me at the OKC zoo when I was a junior curator—this beast didn’t belong in my tote bag in Sprinkle’s apartment in Oklahoma. It belonged in a zoo. Or halfway around the world. Or in a lab. Cockroaches are gross, and I had a full case of the willies.

But still, it wasn’t a spider. So I could handle it. I could handle it. I could handle it. I repeated my new mantra as I sidled back up to the bag, poking at the side so it would scurry back to the bottom before I peered in once more. Sprinkle joined me.

“Here, let’s each take out a book—two. Two books.”

She pulled out two, shaking them quickly above the bag and stacking them. I jerked two out as if the bag was on fire. An idea I quickly latched on to.

“You know, we could just light the books. They’re flammable. A cockroach can survive a nuclear attack, not a fire, right?”

Sprinkle just stared at me, nonplussed.

“No? No? All right. No, yeah, you’re right.”

She pulled another book, so did I, and screamed. That thing had it out for me. It was charging up the side of the bag at my hand every time. I flapped my arms in fright.

“Maybe…maybe if we got the vacuum cleaner out…”

“Yes!” I shouted. “Yes, let’s do that.” I tried to talk more quietly. We were in an apartment after all. Someone was going to call the cops. But really I was beginning to think that that would not be an overreaction. At the very least it needed other eye witnesses.

Sprinkle got the vacuum out and I had to take the attachment off the hose because there was no way that the cockamouse would fit in the small opening. That meant that the hose and my entire hand had to disappear into the bag to find the monster. It was hidden again. With the vacuum cleaner on, I shoved around books with the hose, poised to suck the sucker up. There was a flash of black. I thought I had him. I crowed in victory. And then he was there, by my hand, and I fell backwards on the vacuum cleaner, screaming like a loon once more, and took down Sprinkle and the vacuum with me. We lay in a pile regrouping.

“Okay, okay. I can do this. I’m not scared of cockroaches. It isn’t a spider. It’s not like it will bite me.”

Sprinkle gave me an even look. “Yeah, but it’s so big!”

At least she understood. She wasn’t laughing at my fright.

Shaking my hands to get the willies out, I stepped up to the bag of terror once more. Hidden again. That cockroach was wily! But I was determined he would meet his end. This time when he charged at me, I was ready, and for sure sucked him up. There would be no uncertainty though. I vacuumed all around that bag. Sprinkle’s vacuum cleaner has a clear canister, and she saw him in there. Scurrying through the dog hair (she has two pugs and a cat and I brought my two up for the weekend). We had caught him. And he’s still in her vacuum. We’re scared to dump it.

So if anyone has a good name for a cockamouse… leave a comment!