There I was aged 48, standing in front of who were known as The Big 5. Marshall, Diego, Hereford, Thomas and Faulkner. They were the men to go to if you had an invention. And I had one hell of a fucking invention. I had come up with a toy for everyone could enjoy.
In preparation for this meeting I had bought myself my first suit and supplementary briefcase. I got them from Old Pat’s Charity Shop on Bristle Street. Although she had warned me that both the suit and the briefcase are duplicitous in appearance and that they have been about for a good many a year, I didn’t pay much attention to it and I maybe should have. No wait, I definitely should have. But at the time all I could think about how I wish I had the money for the real deal. But no job plus 5 years equals a painfully limited budget. And even though Old Pat gave me a discount it still formed a gaping hole in my wallet.
After a brief introduction to the big five I opened my briefcase. It contained all of the sketches of my idea, my exemplar advertisement campaign and the notes needed for my pitch. Well that is what I thought. But when I opened it there was nothing. Nothing at all. No sketches, no advertisement preparation or notes. Or in other words I was fucked.
I frantically searched all sections of my briefcase knowing all too well that it wasn’t in there. That is when I came face to face with the hole in the bottom of the main section. A hole which seized to exist yesterday. ‘Duplicitous’.
Even after my impromptu pitch they laughed me out of the building. I walked down the arduous stairs and spotted all my documents lying in a pile at the bottom. I gathered them up and tried to re-enter the room but they were already gone. My chances of success ruined.
I cried for a bit. And then a bit more. I was consoled by my brother Walter. I explained to him what had happened and then he had a thought. He suggested that he could pitch my idea in front of The Big 5.
So, he did. A month later. I said no at the beginning and continued to hold my ground for a good time afterward. Then with days of persuasion I gave in. He said it would give me peace of mind to know that the idea wasn’t disposed of at the first hurdle. I suppose this was true at the time. They would look at him like an extra-terrestrial creature and would like be unable to endured the pitch until the end. He didn’t have my spark. My exclusive pitching styles.
Except, it didn’t fail. My idea for a disc that could glide through the air went on to be one of the best-selling children’s toys of all time. Selling nearly 300 million in the last 40 years.
But when people think of the frisbee they think Walter Frisbee, they don’t think of Richard stupid-hole-in-the-bottom-of-his-briefcase Frisbee.
The only thing that has halted me from driving to my brother’s house and shoving a frisbee down his throat until he dies of asphyxiation is that I got 50% of the riches.
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