I’m famous at Lightbank for giving one of the most memorable pitches of all time. Eric Lefkofsky and Paul Lee may still reminisce about it in board meetings. And it’s not because I hypnotized them with dazzling pitch theatrics or tickled them with titillating traction. It’s because I did something incredibly clumsy.
Here’s what went down:
An email from Lightbank
It all started with an email I got from an analyst named David Wald on February 21st, 2012. It read, “Hi Ross, Thanks for the submission to Lightbank. Are you available to catch up later this or next week to learn a little more about what you guys are up to?”
It caught me off guard. I submitted the deck for my company, CraftJack, about six weeks earlier and I assumed Lightbank had no interest because they didn’t initially respond. (I later found out that the high volume of applications to Lightbank occasionally delays their response times). I reread the two-line email. Then I read it again a little slower. Thanks. For. The. Submission… Are. You. Available. To. Catch. Up…
Uhhhhh. Drrrrrrr. WOW! A response from LIGHTBANK! It took a few minutes to absorb the reality of the twenty-nine-word, three punctuation-mark email from david wald (that’s how he cased it). Thousands of Chicago founders wait for an email just like it and here was mine, so full of brevity and power. I took a deep breath and tried to play it cool:
“Hey David,
“I would love to catch up with you and tell you a bit about CraftJack. One thing to point out, we had an interesting turn of events since I filled out the form and we actually have 2-3 companies talking to us now about possibly acquiring us. Depending on how that plays out over the next few weeks, we may consider selling. However, we may also turn down their offers and go the route of scaling and seeking outside investment to promote that growth.
“So, it's up in the air and I'll probably know more within the next 2-3 weeks. Either way, I would still love the opportunity to speak with you and tell you about what we're doing. All that being said, when is good for you?”
David set up a call and two days later I called him to tell everything he ever wanted to know about CraftJack and more. The call went well. David sent me another email asking me to come in on March 6th at 9am.
The pitch
That morning, my excitement gave my kids the day off and woke me up at 6:00am. I got out of bed to review my deck, my numbers, and my talking points. I went through a list of everything I needed before I left the house. Laptop; check. Extra deodorant; check. Notebook; check. Game face; check. I left my house at 8:00am and headed to the Lightbank offices at 600 W. Chicago Ave.
I arrived at the receptionist’s desk at 8:45am and she asked me to have a seat as she went to get David. I sat next to the reception desk disappointed at my deodorant deployment strategy. I already started sweating. With each breath, my lungs ran out of room in my chest. My heels took turns tapping the ground. Then David came.
I stood up to shake his hand and introduce myself. He was just as casual as his emails implied. I’m not sure if that calmed me down or made me more nervous. We went to the conference room. I sat down and took out my Macbook Pro. He asked me if I wanted a drink and said the partners would be in shortly. I asked for a bottle of water. He left.
Something about being in the conference room made me less nervous. In fact, it pumped me up. Adrenaline flushed away my anxiety. A few minutes later David was back with my water bottle, a principal (Bill), and two partners (Eric and Paul). We all shook hands and introduced ourselves. I opened my water bottle and got rolling.
This is a good time to point out an important fact: I’m 6 feet 4 inches tall. (Hence @tallross on twitter). My height is a great asset. I’m always the first one asked to reach things at the supermarket. I’m a pretty good basketball player. They say I’ll get paid more at work (although, as an entrepreneur, I pay myself less). However, my height can also suck. Like when I’m shoe shopping or walking under low ceilings or pitching the largest VC firm in the Midwest with a bottle of water six inches away from my laptop.
Back to the story…
My pitch sounds great. I answer many of the questions asked by the partners with insightfulness and tact. My data, projecting on the whiteboard through my laptop, clearly illustrates our early growth. My palms dried long ago and now they move like a maestro’s as they conduct a brilliant symphony. My passion and love for CraftJack swells in my shoulders and with an emphatic sweep of my arm I accidentally backhand-slap my open water bottle directly onto my Macbook Pro.
Room: “…”
Me: “…”
Water bottle: “glug, glug, glug.
Room: “…”
Me: “…”
Lefkofsky: “You may want to pick that up.”
Paul: “And turn off your computer.”
Yeeeeeah. I’m the guy who spilled his water bottle on his laptop in the middle of pitching the largest VC firm in the Midwest.
Pulling it together
After a few dozen napkins and some great advice from Paul about sticking my laptop in a bag of rice for a few days (It soaks up the moisture. Worked like a charm!), I fired up one of their computers and tried to pick up where I left off prior to turning my laptop into a Chinese Water Fountain. Understandably, my nerves started to tense up again. But everyone else seemed to be pretty cool about it. In fact, it surprised me how cool they were—as though founders come in and hose down expensive electronics all the time. It was nice to see how down to earth VCs could be.
I took a deep breath, composed myself, and proceeded to pitch my business. Forty minutes later Paul went outside to talk with Eric. When he came back, I had my first-ever VC offer. And Brad Keywell missed the whole thing.
Have questions or comments about this post? Comment below or tweet me @tallross.
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