|Handy Surefire Business Tactics - #5||.|
Managing Your Warehouse
Okay, pencils down. This isn't a time for note-taking. This is a time for honesty. Honesty, and a milkshake. But that can wait.
No, I mean the honesty can wait. I need that milkshake now. Pronto.
Okay, let's get down to business. We'll start with your warehouse.
When you open the door to your warehouse each morning, what do you see? Nothing. That's because you forgot to turn the lights on. That's very important in a business setting, unless you're dealing with blind people, in which case they probably shouldn't be in your warehouse in the first place, seeing as you're always dropping nails all over the place like some sort of confused carpenter.
I like to think that a warehouse is just like an anthill. Minus the sand, of course, unless you sell a wide array or do-it-yourself desert kits. The items in your warehouse are dead ants. Why? Because they just sit there quietly and are of no use to you.
The only thing you can use dead ants for is to build a massive pyramid of knowledge. But first you'll need some glue, and none of the stores on your block sell the right kind. Why? Because it's midnight on Thursday. Besides, you also need to have knowledge to fill the pyramid with, and the only accepted form of dead-ant pyramid knowledge-storage devices are human brains, which are also very hard to find on your block at midnight on Thursday.
That's why you need to get rid of your warehouse.
Just sell it. The trick is to take whatever someone offers for it. Do it fast, or they will realize that all they are buying is a garage full of immobile insects. The only thing you shouldn't accept is a handful of live ants, because then you would have ants and nowhere to put them. So you would put them in your pants and your neighbors would all call you "Ted, the guy who perpetuates that stupid rhyming cliche." And your name isn't even Ted. It's Rusty, much like the nails you're always dropping. And all you've got are live ants crawling around in your socks and undergarments, which is about as useful as a ham sandwich in a chicken factory. And not a regular ham sandwich either - one with no mustard or tomatos, just dried up leftover ham from Christmas time. And, for reasons I'm not allowed to go into, sliced banana.
And where are you eating this sandwich, you ask? At an office party for Carol, the neo-vegan, who only eats things that grow underground in the dark. Does this remind you of anything? Exactly - your warehouse.
So go grab some crayons and some cardboard and let's get this auction going. Oh, and make me another milkshake.
So what have we learned today? Let's recap.Key points to remember:
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