The Client Is Never Right

I spent hours this Sunday toiling over my beautiful model, unsure as to why it wasn’t balancing. I checked all the numbers, examined every formula and audited every assumption – yet still it was off. Moreover, the difference was but a measly $291,000. That won’t even buy you a half-decent yacht anymore. Why is my extremely valuable time being spent trying to find such a trivial amount, I pondered. After all, I could be lounging out by the pool in the refreshingly nippy 65 degree weather, hoping that the chilly gusts of wind will have the desired effect on the bust of the nubile young fox stretched out across from me.

Instead, there I was: buried under a pile of marked up financials, my only sources of sustenance being Cheddar Cheez-its and a bottle of Knob Creek. Bleakness all around me, save for the pale glow radiating from the monitor. If an artist is to be qualified by how much he suffered for his work then I was fuckin’ Michelangelo. The afternoon turned to night and the bottle of Knob, much like me, turned into an empty vessel, devoid of all utility. I threw the bottle into the trash and myself into bed.

This morning, feeling equal parts refreshed and hungover, I once again attacked the model with the resolve of a snared pitbull. After several more hours of futility I finally found the root of all evil. It was hidden, quite literally, in one of the 50 columns in one of the 25 worksheets in the client’s Excel financials. Turns out that when putting together their quarterly balance sheet the client decided, for no apparent reason, to omit one of the line items and thought it wasn’t worth footnoting. Now I understand why they have metal detectors in most office buildings. Then again, it doesn't seem like these guys have much of a brain to blow out anyways.

In the next issue: How to turn a $1M cow with negative cash flows into a $70M sexy beast.