Saturday, June 26, 2010

And all HE had was Chickens!

His name was Frank Perdue, an unassuming man at best. Pretty average.
If he bought me a drink in a bar, I probably would not go out with him.

Oh, I'd drink his drink- maybe dance just one or two slow songs at the most, but then excuse myself from discovering the greatest marketer and visionary that America has ever seen.

Let's be honest. Can you cuddle up to this guy after a few shots of Patron and "Sexual Healing"? I think not.

But as an entrepreneur what you can cuddle up to is the way in which this man, and even his father before him, looked around them to find the every day, ho-hum, humble chicken as something of an extraordinary money making opportunity.

For most of us, that's akin to gazing upon dirt and seeing dollar signs.
Who can make money out of dirt? It's everywhere! Hello, Hoover.
Who can make money out of chickens? They're everywhere! At least, back then they were.

This father and son duo set their minds upon knowing everything there was to know about chickens.
Would you think of feeding them marigold blossoms to the end that your chickens would be a nice color of yellow?
They did.

"It takes a tough man to make a tender chicken."

What does this mean to Entrepreneur Chick?

Well, I do like a tough man and I do enjoy tender chicken; yet in the same way that the Perdues willingly and tirelessly educated themselves regarding chickens, I become dead set in my mission to learn everything I can about the companies I own (one in particular) and become so knowledgeable that not only do I blow my competitors out of the water, I make my clients so successful, why, they'll turn green from all those wads of cash they'll have to cart around!

Now this is the cool part.

My strategy is actually working.

When I meet back with my clients after I have sold them on our services, and after they have reviewed their bottom line numbers and see, sure enough, that those numbers are UP, just like I told them they would be- I feel like I'm floating out of those meetings on a cloud. A big, fat, white, fluffy cloud of ridiculous self assurance (in our company).

Though I wouldn't have brought Frank Baby home to meet Momma, and though I've no chickens, I know exactly how he feels.