I failed at my first startup because putting two Coca-cola crates on top each other did not allow me to stand high enough to address the crowds arriving daily on the Greyhound buses. And I would have liked to sell nail polish to the ladies with runs in their stockings however I was also too busy at counting on George when I should have Ben Frankly counting on myself, because pennies matter — every one on the griddle. Then there were the cabinet meetings — Oh god how awful meetings are when all you want is to watch WKRP and only smoke the marijuana which comes from Acapulco. Still I have fond memories of the noxious gases from large tall trucks moving into and out of the multinational conglomerate I managed as co-owner and VP of operations from my happy grandpappy before my brains went along side them. His counting jelly beans still resides in my head of state still.