My Big Fat (sort of) Greek Experience
Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a complete lack of imagination.
Oscar Wilde
The soap opera “As The Grecian World Turns” unearthed some disturbing recollections from my days of funding a series of never-ending bailouts. I hope you enjoy this stroll down Memory Lane more than I do.
May 2008– “Thanks, Dude!” said Mad Max, the founder of 50’s Boy, a high-end motorcycle accessories company. “The bridge loan you’re floatin’ us will definitely cover our expenses for the next 6-9 months. Trust me, man, by the end of the year your older bro’ will find us an equity partner who will repay you lock, stock and pig barrel. You’re goin’ to make a ton of money off this deal.” Of course I am.
July 2008– My iPhone informs me that Big Brother wants to talk to me. “Little Brother,” he yells into the speakerphone of his leased Mercedes, “if you don’t put more into 50’s Boy ASAP, then we’ll have to shut down operations and you’ll lose all of your original investment.” I can’t remember if he bothered to say “Hello.” What part of 6-9 months didn’t I understand?
October 2008– “We owe our manufacturer how much?” I asked after picking my jaw up off the floor. “How come I never knew about this?” Mad Max, deep into a Taco Bell burrito grande, swatted some leftover morsels of sour cream clinging to his salt and pepper beard. “Because we thought we’d have it paid off by now. Sturgis (a huge motorcycle rally held annually in South Dakota) turned out to be a big money loser. No big deal, though. Stuff happens. But I wouldn’t worry if I were you. This economic slowdown from that subprime mortgage meltdown ain’t nothin’ more than a speed bump. By the way, if we don’t settle up with our manufacturer by Friday, he’s cutting us off.” I check my watch. It’s Thursday. Night.
November 2008– “Isn’t this place beautiful?” asks Big Brother, showing off the new and extravagant 15,000 square foot 50’s Boy headquarters. “It sure is,” I said between peeks at my iPhone to see if the value of my kid’s 529 college savings account had turned negative. “But how much more beautiful is the rent?” Big Brother put his beefy arm around my shoulder. “Stop worrying so much, Little Brother. This is money well spent. Besides, in order to get new investors, we have to look like we know what we’re doing.” Of course we do.
December 2008– Big Brother dials me up again. “We’ve got new investors lined up,” he says while cruising thru Malibu, “but they won’t give us any new money unless you convert your loans into equity.” Backed into the proverbial corner, I agree. “Any other demands?” I ask. Big Brother pauses long enough to open his sunroof. “Actually, yes. They also won’t invest unless you become the company’s new CEO.” Why not, I figure. I’m not doing anything else.
April 2009– I take Big Brother out for breakfast. “I’m sorry, Big Brother, but the only way this original investor won’t sue us is if you’re no longer associated with the company.” Big Brother breathes a sigh of relief before reacquainting himself with a breakfast of steak and eggs. “I’m fine with that, Little Brother,” he says between bites, “just so long as I still get paid.”
June 2009– “Sorry, but we’re not interested,” said Mr. Potential Buyer. He said this to me AFTER I blew $10,000 on an elaborate dinner party at the Four Seasons hotel to float a Hail Mary proposal that his company buy 50’s Boy. He would have said the same thing had we dined at Chipotles.
September 2009– Mad Max calls to request yet another bailout. “But we’re THIS CLOSE, dude!!!” he pleads. I realize at this point that his definition of “this close” includes a check with two commas. “Forget it,” I say, satisfied in the knowledge that I’d get a better return on my money if I set it on fire. “It’s over.”
October 2009– I write one last check to buyout the remaining two years on the 50’s Boy lease. “Don’t worry about it, Little Brother,” says Big Brother from the office of his thrice-mortgaged house. “It’s only money.”
The moral of the story? There’s never a Grexit around when you need one.