Business

Not a lot happened today, so I thought I'd get the courage up to talk about the business I tried to set up. It was a bit of a catastrophe and I'm still smarting from it a bit, so this is intended as a bit of therapy.
About five years ago, I decided that the only way I was going to get to live the life I wanted was to set up a stunningly brilliant business and go for it. I came up with the idea of selling cards. Not normal boring card but a range of birthday, chrismas and occasional cards with a difference. Mine were all sick and I mean that literally. I don't know why I thought this idea would work but in my twisted brain it seemed to be a sure thing. Basically, each card would have the picture of sick or someone being sick and a suitably relevant comment, e.g. "Get well soon" (basic one) or "Happy Brithday, you sick freak" (a personal favourite of mine). Sadly, noone saw the potential and after going to see all the main card manufacturers and getting either politely declined or laughed at, I decided the only way that the world was going to benefit from my genius was to do it myself. I set up "Robo's Sick Cards" and started on my climb to glory. I couldn't get any bank to lend me money, despite a very optimistic business plan (which they said was unviable and based on financial fiction). I dug out my savings and persuaded an unimpressed Mags that I could do it. We agreed that I could give it three months and five grand and then I'd have to get a "proper job" (her term for it) or we'd all starve and she'd have to work the streets (my amusing counter idea, which she did not see as amusing).
I got my designs drawn up and the photos professionally taken (by my mate Jeff, who is a photography wizard, or rather was until he got caught taking photos of a voyeuristic nature and received a heavy fine) and got my first load of stock. I went on a sales blitz, I sent a card to each of the retail outlets in the area with my contact details inside and waited for the orders to come rolling in. They didn't. I got one reply. It was a one liner on company headed paper which read:

Dear Mr Wildman,

You must be joking.

Your etc etc.

Mags pulled the plug after that and I ended up spending the next two months trying to get a job anyway, so I guess it was for the best.