Rambling Confessions of a Recovering Entrepreneur

I told my family that I finally accepted that myinto micro-brew's face. I told him he was
passion had become an ob- session, and you couldunder-capitalized. He was giving away his
even call it an addiction. They all laughed. Whatintellectual property. His burn rate was twice as
had taken me 25 years to accept, they hadfast as this so-called "angel" investor was
known for years.revealing. Big Pharma would pay a much higher
My wife detected my addiction as early as ourmultiple for the company if he would listen to my
honeymoon in Paris. All I wanted to do was spendsuggestions.He looked bewildered. I said it again,
time at the Bourse trading francs on the spot"Don't make the deal - you'll lose your company
market. She kept on nudging me to see some oldto this chamber of commerce man of the year
picture in the Louvre.For my daughter, it becamewanna-be in seven months."The conversation on
clear when I demanded that her prom date be anthe cell phone ended, and Mister Single Malt
officer in Junior Achievement. I thought it was aScotch asked, "Do we have a deal? " Micro-brew
good way to ensure that she dated a young manlooked at him, then me, and said.... "No way!" He
with career aspirations. She saw it differently.Itreached for his beer and slid into my booth.I don't
had been six months since I had read a businesshave to tell you what happened next. You all
plan. And I missed it. I mumbled when the Wallknow it too well. We sat for three and a half
Street Journal driver came down my block... onlyhours, re-doing spreadsheets on his laptop, and
to skip my house. My wife had a block on ourplaying out various pro-formas.I finally stumbled
cable television - no more MSNBC, and it was nohome, embarrassed and yet delirious with joy
better on the Internet; I couldn't accessover the deal I had structured. My wife could see
Bloomberg.Last Tuesday, a power stronger thenme hiding the business plan under my coat. She
myself won out. I don't know how, but I endeddemanded to see my cell phone. Quickly she
up at the Harvard-Yale-Princeton Club. My eyeswent through the calls I had made in the last four
focused on the booths along the back wall. Ihours. She knew the area codes: New York,
immediately saw the signs. A shot of single-maltBrussels, London, and my newest haunt, New
Scotch, half finished, was being used as aDelhi. I had been lining up angel investors.What
paperweight on a four-color business plan. Thecould I say? I had already used up my inventory
reader, a silver-haired executive withof "I promise it will never happen again." She had
monogrammed reading glasses, was analyzingbeen going to her own meetings and knew that
spreadsheets as he simultaneously served volleysshe needed to go on with her life and not let my
of staccato-like questions at the young manaddiction manipulate her.Had I called my sponsor?
across the table.This young man was obviouslyShe had not seen his number in my cell phone's
new to the game. His dark blue suit looked like hecall list. " No," I whispered.She made me return to
had not worn it since his bar mitzvah, and the tieEntrepreneurs Anonymous (EA). I had stopped
must have been knotted eight years ago andgoing to my meetings. I had beaten it or so I
never unraveled. He had ordered the latestthought. But the truth is, we never do. I was just
micro-brew, but had not taken even one sip.I satlike everyone else in EA. I matched the profile
at the next booth and listened in. I smiled as Iperfectly. Eighty percent of members have a
heard the two argue over burn rates, tractionrelapse within their first six months. I was now
projections, alpha/ beta sites, and most stridentlyanother data-point confirming that statistic.Hesh
about valuations.A cell phone rang, and theReinfeld writes a syndicated business humor
single-malt Scotch stood and walked a few stepscolumn.
to take the call in private. I jumped up and got