The Gavinaw Process by Carl Tait
Pascal's expensive manufacturing process leads his business to great success, to the extent that he refuses to negotiate with potential new clients.
Pascal Gavinaw loved telling customers his prices were not negotiable.
His fees were ridiculous. Astronomical. And not subject to change for any reason. Why would they be? The Gavinaw Process was the industry standard and was protected by nine separate patents. Anyone who wanted to use the process had to pay, and pay well.
From his corner office high above the city, Pascal strutted and surveyed. He admired the cotton-candy clouds in the brilliant blue sky as the man behind him continued to speak with quiet urgency.
"Mr. Gavinaw, let me be frank. We both know that your manufacturing process is without equal, and it's ideally suited to my own requirements."
Pascal turned away from the massive windows. "You say that as if it were meaningful. I'm not going to give you a discount, but at least try making an original argument, Mr. ..."
He glanced down at his visitor's business card, which he had tossed onto the corner of his desk.
"...Mr. Boudreaux. How big is your company? What are your prospects?"
Orion Boudreaux flushed. "Oribeaux is a vibrant startup that has already stirred interest among major investors."
"'Vibrant startup.' So maybe forty employees?"
"Thirty. And growing. Full of smart people with forward-looking ideas. My team can come up with alternative processes, but that will take time and effort."
"That's a better argument, but it still isn't persuasive. Generally, the companies that want to make use of our ideas are much larger. They can afford it."
Orion's dark eyes remained fixed on Pascal. "I am offering you a significant stake in my venture in exchange for a long-term contract."
"No. I won't do that."
"Why not?"
"Call me old-fashioned, but I like money. I have something of immense value, and if you want to use it, you have to pay for it."
"I'm not trying to get it for free. I firmly believe that the share I am offering you in Oribeaux is a valuable one."
Pascal laughed, stepping forward onto the large Isfahan carpet that covered most of the floor.
"Oh, I'm sure you believe that. Just like people used to believe that leeches could cure diseases."
Orion frowned. "I don't appreciate being compared to a leech."
"I wasn't making that comparison, but I understand why you took offense. Frankly, your reaction is the most impressive thing I've seen since you walked in. You're standing up for yourself. That comes in handy as you get older."
"I wouldn't have said you were especially old, sir."
Pascal ran a hand through his thick black hair. "I'm ancient. Just turned forty last week. They can't put me in the list of Superstars Under Forty next year."
Orion visibly relaxed and allowed himself a small smile. "I imagine your accomplishments will compensate for that annoyance."
"Indeed they will. I think we're done here."
The men shook hands. Orion turned and left, his steps firm but careful on the antique carpet.
Washing his hands in the men's room, Pascal looked in the mirror and noted the salt-and-pepper grey in his hair with distaste. When did he start getting old? Was he under any obligation to celebrate his birthday the following day? Turning forty-five was not a cause for revelry.
He made his way to the conference room where his chief of staff was already waiting. She was tapping her fingers on her knee. From long experience, Pascal knew this foreshadowed a difficult discussion. He sat down and steeled himself.
Mindy Baker cleared her throat. "We're losing market share," she said. "The downturn is significant."
Pascal scoffed. "We've been through soft periods before. The Gavinaw Process is still the best in the business, and everyone in manufacturing knows that."
Mindy adjusted her glasses as she sighed.
"I agree with your assessment of the process, but there are two alarming issues. First, this is an extended period of contraction, not a transient weakness. Second, there are now viable competitors, and they're drawing business away."
"Are they as good as we are?"
"No. But their processes produce acceptable results, and they are substantially less expensive."
Pascal grimaced. "The bad drives out the good."
"That's not it. We could fight bad products with aggressive advertising. Something that's pretty good is more difficult to compete against."
"What do you suggest?"
Mindy pushed a heavy binder across the table. "One of our strongest competitors is interested in being acquired."
Pascal flipped back the brown cardboard cover and frowned.
ORIBEAUX INC / ORION BOUDREAUX, FOUNDER AND CEO
"That name sounds familiar," he said.
"You talked to him about five years ago, according to your records. An intense young guy with a startup."
The conversation flooded back. "Yeah, I remember. He offered me part of his company in exchange for a lease from us. Seemed like a terrible idea."
"It wasn't," Mindy said. "I have often urged you to consider non-cash deals."
Pascal enjoyed confrontations only when he was the one doing the confronting. He steered away rapidly.
"Well, I guess my crystal ball wasn't working so well that day. What do you recommend?"
"Mr. Boudreaux has proposed a purchase price for his company, and I advise you to move forward." She named an amount that struck Pascal as obscene.
"That's ridiculous. It can't be worth that much."
"It is. We have looked into the financials and projections with great care."
"Make him a counteroffer."
"He has stressed that the price is not negotiable."
"Everything's negotiable."
Mindy pulled out her notebook. "He won't budge. He asked me to quote the following to you: 'Leeches do not cure diseases.'"
Pascal laughed. "I admire his audacity, but that price is impossible. Tell him no."
Mindy closed her notebook, pursing her lips. "As you wish. But I believe you are making a serious miscalculation."
Pascal shrugged.
More than half of the birthday cake remained uneaten. It sat on Pascal's walnut desk, surrounded by yellow crumbs and flecks of white icing. The large red 5 on the cake remained intact, which Pascal considered unfortunate. He would have preferred fewer reminders of "the big 5-0," as at least six people had called it during the day.
He looked up from the cake and into the eyes of his chief of staff. "How bad is it?" he asked.
"It is not clear the company can remain solvent for much longer," Mindy answered.
"Wow. Happy birthday to me."
"I'm sorry. You've always asked me to be blunt with you."
"And I appreciate that. I'm just not used to feeling desperate. What do you suggest?"
"I feel compelled to point out that you have disregarded many of my earlier suggestions that would have avoided the current circumstances."
"I didn't ask for a sermon."
"But you deserve one. You are a brilliant man but your business acumen is inferior to your engineering skills."
Gavinaw was taken aback by the cold ferocity of Mindy's anger. "Anything else?"
"Yes. You can be impossibly stubborn. But I'm hopeful you will make one final effort to save the company, even if it requires groveling."
"Okay, groveling it is. Who's the lucky recipient?"
"The most likely candidate to purchase our remaining assets. Orion Boudreaux."
Pascal sighed. "Of course it is. How did he get so far ahead?"
"Your inability to answer that question largely explains our financial predicament."
He glared at her, picking up the phone and asking his secretary to call Boudreaux. He pushed a lock of grey hair out of his eyes as he waited. He knew the CEO was a busy man and was pleasantly surprised to hear his voice after only a brief delay.
"Mr. Gavinaw, it is a pleasure to take your call. What can I do for you?"
"I've decided to retire," Pascal lied. "Relax. Find a hobby. Travel the world buying Persian rugs." He eyed the beloved Isfahan on the floor of his office, idly wondering how much money it would bring at auction.
"Well earned, sir. I wish you well."
"I'm looking to place my company in good hands and naturally I thought of you."
There was an unexpected silence.
"Orion? Are you still there?"
"I'm here. You caught me off guard and I was trying to compose a diplomatic answer to your question."
"No diplomacy required. Are you interested?"
"In a word, no."
Now it was Pascal's turn for silence. He finally spoke.
"For God's sake, why not? The Gavinaw Process is still the standard."
"In some circles, yes. But to be honest, our own process is now the equal of yours. And it is both less expensive and more eco-friendly. It is no accident that we now service many of your former customers."
"We still hold our patents."
"For a few more years, yes. But at this point, you could give those patents away for free and have a hard time finding any takers."
Pascal's last hope flickered out like an old light bulb.
"I see. I underestimated you, Orion."
"You're not the first. Best of luck to you."
There was a click.
The Gavinaw Company evaporated with an ease and passivity that depressed Pascal. The bankruptcy filing, the disheartening and pathetic sums realized in liquidation, the enormous debts, the loss of everything he owned. Mindy had advised him not to encumber his personal assets with business-related liabilities, but he hadn't listened to that, either. His ruin was complete.
Pascal had assumed that his name and reputation would make it easy for him to find other work. But most of the industry regarded him as an eccentric dinosaur whose once-lauded Gavinaw Process was no more than a billboard in the rearview mirror. He was occasionally offered low-level positions, which he refused with disdain.
He ended up working a succession of odd jobs in unrelated fields. His new coworkers had never heard of him, which he appreciated. Better to be a complete nonentity than a vaguely remembered figure who had trashed his own company.
Years passed. Pascal's jobs became more and more pedestrian, and he found himself curiously satisfied with this arrangement. If he could no longer do the work he loved, then boring work that paid his bills was fine. He had gone from collecting antique Persian rugs to clipping coupons from the neighborhood newspaper. He did not consider himself happy, but was no longer miserable.
He was currently working as a server at Mr. Freezy, which was around the corner from his tiny apartment. He took special delight in preparing the ice cream orders, always trying to add a note of grace to the frozen treats.
"Hey, Pascal, we need a banana split," called Mr. Landry from the register. "This gentleman said you made him a really nice one yesterday and he wants another one made the same way." The familiar customer waved to Pascal, who nodded in return.
"Sure thing. Coming right up."
Pascal built the caloric dessert in an unusual fashion. He layered the traditional toppings between strata of ice cream, resulting in a rainbow effect that was visible through the clear plastic sides of the long dish. He paused to admire his handiwork before passing it to his manager on a tray.
Mr. Landry pushed the massive treat toward his customer. "Enjoy your food, sir."
A woman placing her order at the next register looked at the banana split with lust. "I want one just like that."
Pascal laughed. "I'm on it."
As he worked, his colleague at the ice cream station looked on with approval.
"That's great. I'm gonna start making them that way, too."
The day was a long one. Pascal was almost able to ignore the thought that kept pricking his mind: it was his fifty-fifth birthday. He had even less interest in celebrating this year than he'd had in more successful times. He planned to go home after work and watch a horror movie.
At closing time, Mr. Landry locked the door and turned around with a mischievous grin. "Who knows what day it is?"
Oh, God, no, thought Pascal. My birth date is in his personnel file.
"It's the birthday of one of our most beloved employees, Pascal Gavinaw! Let's give him a hand."
There was warm applause and even some cheers. Pascal was touched, pretending to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye while smiling broadly.
"And look what we made for you!" Mr. Landry continued. A grinning coworker appeared, bearing a dessert that featured a familiar rainbow pattern.
"It's really a knockout," said Mr. Landry. "Your way of making a banana split deserves a special name. I'm gonna call it the Gavinaw Process."
This time, Pascal's tears were real.
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His fees were ridiculous. Astronomical. And not subject to change for any reason. Why would they be? The Gavinaw Process was the industry standard and was protected by nine separate patents. Anyone who wanted to use the process had to pay, and pay well.
From his corner office high above the city, Pascal strutted and surveyed. He admired the cotton-candy clouds in the brilliant blue sky as the man behind him continued to speak with quiet urgency.
"Mr. Gavinaw, let me be frank. We both know that your manufacturing process is without equal, and it's ideally suited to my own requirements."
Pascal turned away from the massive windows. "You say that as if it were meaningful. I'm not going to give you a discount, but at least try making an original argument, Mr. ..."
He glanced down at his visitor's business card, which he had tossed onto the corner of his desk.
"...Mr. Boudreaux. How big is your company? What are your prospects?"
Orion Boudreaux flushed. "Oribeaux is a vibrant startup that has already stirred interest among major investors."
"'Vibrant startup.' So maybe forty employees?"
"Thirty. And growing. Full of smart people with forward-looking ideas. My team can come up with alternative processes, but that will take time and effort."
"That's a better argument, but it still isn't persuasive. Generally, the companies that want to make use of our ideas are much larger. They can afford it."
Orion's dark eyes remained fixed on Pascal. "I am offering you a significant stake in my venture in exchange for a long-term contract."
"No. I won't do that."
"Why not?"
"Call me old-fashioned, but I like money. I have something of immense value, and if you want to use it, you have to pay for it."
"I'm not trying to get it for free. I firmly believe that the share I am offering you in Oribeaux is a valuable one."
Pascal laughed, stepping forward onto the large Isfahan carpet that covered most of the floor.
"Oh, I'm sure you believe that. Just like people used to believe that leeches could cure diseases."
Orion frowned. "I don't appreciate being compared to a leech."
"I wasn't making that comparison, but I understand why you took offense. Frankly, your reaction is the most impressive thing I've seen since you walked in. You're standing up for yourself. That comes in handy as you get older."
"I wouldn't have said you were especially old, sir."
Pascal ran a hand through his thick black hair. "I'm ancient. Just turned forty last week. They can't put me in the list of Superstars Under Forty next year."
Orion visibly relaxed and allowed himself a small smile. "I imagine your accomplishments will compensate for that annoyance."
"Indeed they will. I think we're done here."
The men shook hands. Orion turned and left, his steps firm but careful on the antique carpet.
Washing his hands in the men's room, Pascal looked in the mirror and noted the salt-and-pepper grey in his hair with distaste. When did he start getting old? Was he under any obligation to celebrate his birthday the following day? Turning forty-five was not a cause for revelry.
He made his way to the conference room where his chief of staff was already waiting. She was tapping her fingers on her knee. From long experience, Pascal knew this foreshadowed a difficult discussion. He sat down and steeled himself.
Mindy Baker cleared her throat. "We're losing market share," she said. "The downturn is significant."
Pascal scoffed. "We've been through soft periods before. The Gavinaw Process is still the best in the business, and everyone in manufacturing knows that."
Mindy adjusted her glasses as she sighed.
"I agree with your assessment of the process, but there are two alarming issues. First, this is an extended period of contraction, not a transient weakness. Second, there are now viable competitors, and they're drawing business away."
"Are they as good as we are?"
"No. But their processes produce acceptable results, and they are substantially less expensive."
Pascal grimaced. "The bad drives out the good."
"That's not it. We could fight bad products with aggressive advertising. Something that's pretty good is more difficult to compete against."
"What do you suggest?"
Mindy pushed a heavy binder across the table. "One of our strongest competitors is interested in being acquired."
Pascal flipped back the brown cardboard cover and frowned.
ORIBEAUX INC / ORION BOUDREAUX, FOUNDER AND CEO
"That name sounds familiar," he said.
"You talked to him about five years ago, according to your records. An intense young guy with a startup."
The conversation flooded back. "Yeah, I remember. He offered me part of his company in exchange for a lease from us. Seemed like a terrible idea."
"It wasn't," Mindy said. "I have often urged you to consider non-cash deals."
Pascal enjoyed confrontations only when he was the one doing the confronting. He steered away rapidly.
"Well, I guess my crystal ball wasn't working so well that day. What do you recommend?"
"Mr. Boudreaux has proposed a purchase price for his company, and I advise you to move forward." She named an amount that struck Pascal as obscene.
"That's ridiculous. It can't be worth that much."
"It is. We have looked into the financials and projections with great care."
"Make him a counteroffer."
"He has stressed that the price is not negotiable."
"Everything's negotiable."
Mindy pulled out her notebook. "He won't budge. He asked me to quote the following to you: 'Leeches do not cure diseases.'"
Pascal laughed. "I admire his audacity, but that price is impossible. Tell him no."
Mindy closed her notebook, pursing her lips. "As you wish. But I believe you are making a serious miscalculation."
Pascal shrugged.
More than half of the birthday cake remained uneaten. It sat on Pascal's walnut desk, surrounded by yellow crumbs and flecks of white icing. The large red 5 on the cake remained intact, which Pascal considered unfortunate. He would have preferred fewer reminders of "the big 5-0," as at least six people had called it during the day.
He looked up from the cake and into the eyes of his chief of staff. "How bad is it?" he asked.
"It is not clear the company can remain solvent for much longer," Mindy answered.
"Wow. Happy birthday to me."
"I'm sorry. You've always asked me to be blunt with you."
"And I appreciate that. I'm just not used to feeling desperate. What do you suggest?"
"I feel compelled to point out that you have disregarded many of my earlier suggestions that would have avoided the current circumstances."
"I didn't ask for a sermon."
"But you deserve one. You are a brilliant man but your business acumen is inferior to your engineering skills."
Gavinaw was taken aback by the cold ferocity of Mindy's anger. "Anything else?"
"Yes. You can be impossibly stubborn. But I'm hopeful you will make one final effort to save the company, even if it requires groveling."
"Okay, groveling it is. Who's the lucky recipient?"
"The most likely candidate to purchase our remaining assets. Orion Boudreaux."
Pascal sighed. "Of course it is. How did he get so far ahead?"
"Your inability to answer that question largely explains our financial predicament."
He glared at her, picking up the phone and asking his secretary to call Boudreaux. He pushed a lock of grey hair out of his eyes as he waited. He knew the CEO was a busy man and was pleasantly surprised to hear his voice after only a brief delay.
"Mr. Gavinaw, it is a pleasure to take your call. What can I do for you?"
"I've decided to retire," Pascal lied. "Relax. Find a hobby. Travel the world buying Persian rugs." He eyed the beloved Isfahan on the floor of his office, idly wondering how much money it would bring at auction.
"Well earned, sir. I wish you well."
"I'm looking to place my company in good hands and naturally I thought of you."
There was an unexpected silence.
"Orion? Are you still there?"
"I'm here. You caught me off guard and I was trying to compose a diplomatic answer to your question."
"No diplomacy required. Are you interested?"
"In a word, no."
Now it was Pascal's turn for silence. He finally spoke.
"For God's sake, why not? The Gavinaw Process is still the standard."
"In some circles, yes. But to be honest, our own process is now the equal of yours. And it is both less expensive and more eco-friendly. It is no accident that we now service many of your former customers."
"We still hold our patents."
"For a few more years, yes. But at this point, you could give those patents away for free and have a hard time finding any takers."
Pascal's last hope flickered out like an old light bulb.
"I see. I underestimated you, Orion."
"You're not the first. Best of luck to you."
There was a click.
The Gavinaw Company evaporated with an ease and passivity that depressed Pascal. The bankruptcy filing, the disheartening and pathetic sums realized in liquidation, the enormous debts, the loss of everything he owned. Mindy had advised him not to encumber his personal assets with business-related liabilities, but he hadn't listened to that, either. His ruin was complete.
Pascal had assumed that his name and reputation would make it easy for him to find other work. But most of the industry regarded him as an eccentric dinosaur whose once-lauded Gavinaw Process was no more than a billboard in the rearview mirror. He was occasionally offered low-level positions, which he refused with disdain.
He ended up working a succession of odd jobs in unrelated fields. His new coworkers had never heard of him, which he appreciated. Better to be a complete nonentity than a vaguely remembered figure who had trashed his own company.
Years passed. Pascal's jobs became more and more pedestrian, and he found himself curiously satisfied with this arrangement. If he could no longer do the work he loved, then boring work that paid his bills was fine. He had gone from collecting antique Persian rugs to clipping coupons from the neighborhood newspaper. He did not consider himself happy, but was no longer miserable.
He was currently working as a server at Mr. Freezy, which was around the corner from his tiny apartment. He took special delight in preparing the ice cream orders, always trying to add a note of grace to the frozen treats.
"Hey, Pascal, we need a banana split," called Mr. Landry from the register. "This gentleman said you made him a really nice one yesterday and he wants another one made the same way." The familiar customer waved to Pascal, who nodded in return.
"Sure thing. Coming right up."
Pascal built the caloric dessert in an unusual fashion. He layered the traditional toppings between strata of ice cream, resulting in a rainbow effect that was visible through the clear plastic sides of the long dish. He paused to admire his handiwork before passing it to his manager on a tray.
Mr. Landry pushed the massive treat toward his customer. "Enjoy your food, sir."
A woman placing her order at the next register looked at the banana split with lust. "I want one just like that."
Pascal laughed. "I'm on it."
As he worked, his colleague at the ice cream station looked on with approval.
"That's great. I'm gonna start making them that way, too."
The day was a long one. Pascal was almost able to ignore the thought that kept pricking his mind: it was his fifty-fifth birthday. He had even less interest in celebrating this year than he'd had in more successful times. He planned to go home after work and watch a horror movie.
At closing time, Mr. Landry locked the door and turned around with a mischievous grin. "Who knows what day it is?"
Oh, God, no, thought Pascal. My birth date is in his personnel file.
"It's the birthday of one of our most beloved employees, Pascal Gavinaw! Let's give him a hand."
There was warm applause and even some cheers. Pascal was touched, pretending to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye while smiling broadly.
"And look what we made for you!" Mr. Landry continued. A grinning coworker appeared, bearing a dessert that featured a familiar rainbow pattern.
"It's really a knockout," said Mr. Landry. "Your way of making a banana split deserves a special name. I'm gonna call it the Gavinaw Process."
This time, Pascal's tears were real.
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