Apparently, I’m Not Qualified to Invent Lunch A few days ago, I had an idea. Not just any idea. An idea so remarkably simple that I couldn’t believe a multibillion-dollar corporation hadn’t already thought of it. So, I did what any reasonable person recovering from surgery with time on their hands would do.
I submitted it to corporate. I even gave it a name. A good name. The kind of name that practically sells the product before anyone takes the first bite. And then I waited. Within hours, I received a response thanking me for contacting the company and directing me to its existing menu.
Apparently, the first person to read my suggestion thought I was having trouble ordering lunch. So, I wrote back. No, thank you. I’ve seen your menu. That’s precisely why I’m suggesting something that isn’t on it.
I even submitted a second idea. At this point, I was practically running an unpaid research and development department from a coffee shop.
And then came the response.
Apparently, I’m Not Qualified
Corporate thanked me for my passion, enthusiasm and creativity. That’s never a good sign.
Whenever a large corporation begins a letter by telling you how much it appreciates your enthusiasm, you can generally assume the next paragraph is going to explain why your enthusiasm is no longer welcome.
Sure enough, they informed me that company policy prohibits them from reviewing or considering unsolicited ideas from anyone outside their approved network of employees, franchisees and suppliers.
Let me make sure I understand this. I can purchase your products. I can eat your products. I can complain when your employees forget to put half the ingredients on your products. I can even recommend your products to friends. But I cannot suggest a new product unless I work for you.
Apparently, the ability to recognize a potentially marketable hamburger is a professional qualification. And here I’ve been wasting my time earning college degrees.
Meanwhile, Somewhere in Corporate America…
Remember Kevin? Kevin is the imaginary employee I previously suspected would steal my idea, present it to management and become the youngest Executive Vice President of Culinary Innovation in company history. Well, Kevin’s career has taken an unexpected turn.
It turns out that corporate policy prohibits employees from reviewing my suggestion. Which raises an important question. If nobody is allowed to read my idea, how did they determine it was an idea they weren’t allowed to read?
I’m beginning to suspect Kevin read it anyway. Kevin is probably sitting in his cubicle right now, staring at my email, wondering how to introduce my creation at next Thursday’s executive meeting without admitting where he got it.
And I know exactly what’s going to happen. He’s going to screw it up. He’s going to add French fries to the top. I don’t know why, but somewhere in corporate America, there is always a man who believes every successful food product can be improved by adding French fries.
The executives will love it. Marketing will spend $40 million promoting it. And six months later, Kevin will be standing in front of a giant promotional display explaining how he revolutionized the fast-food industry. I’ll be standing at the counter explaining that they forgot my lettuce.
Again.
So, What Have We Learned?
First, apparently, you cannot simply send a good idea to a major corporation and expect someone to consider it. There are procedures. There are policies. There are legal departments. There are probably seventeen committees responsible for determining whether a suggestion qualifies as a suggestion.
Second, I have discovered that having free time does not necessarily mean you have nothing productive to do. In the past few months, I’ve been writing books, developing businesses, building websites, exploring new career opportunities and recovering from surgery. Now I can add unsolicited fast-food product development to my résumé.
Third, I’ve discovered an entirely new career obstacle. I apparently need a job with a hamburger company before I’m qualified to tell a hamburger company how to make a hamburger. And finally, I’ve learned that even when you have a potentially good idea, there’s no guarantee the person who needs to hear it will ever be allowed to read it.
But I’m not giving up. Somewhere out there is a franchise owner who might appreciate a customer with an overactive imagination and entirely too much time on his hands.
Or perhaps I should just open my own restaurant. I already have two products. I have the names. I have the marketing slogans. And I have a sworn enemy named Kevin. All I need now is a grill.
The Final Insult
I can already picture myself walking into one of these restaurants a year from now. There it is. My creation. Right there on the menu board. The exact product I suggested, with the exact name I proposed. And beneath it, in enormous letters:
NEW! FROM THE INNOVATIVE MINDS OF OUR CULINARY DEVELOPMENT TEAM!
I’ll approach the counter. “I’d like one of those, please.” “Would you like fries with that?” “No. Absolutely not.” “Anything else?” “Yes. I’d like to speak to Kevin.” “Who’s Kevin?” “Never mind. Just make sure you put the lettuce on it.”
And when I finally get home, I’ll open the bag.
Wrong sandwich.
One final thought.
Some people spend their lives waiting for permission to have ideas. Others simply have them, pursue them and see where they lead. Not every idea will become a business. Not every opportunity will open a door. But you never know which seemingly ridiculous thought might turn into something worthwhile.
And if you’ve ever wondered what else an overactive imagination can produce, explore my books and other adventures at The Library. Because apparently, I’m not qualified to invent lunch.
But nobody has told me I can’t write about it. Yet.
