I’m not sure if you’ve ever served ice cream for a living, but there’s one thing you should know: It’s terrifying.

From little league ball teams showing up twenty seconds before close (always a great time), to people who NEVER SPECIFY WHAT SIZE THEY WANT EVEN THOUGH THE PRICE IS DIRECTLY CORRELATED TO THE SIZE AND “A VANILLA” IS NOT SPECIFIC AT ALL AND NOW I HAVE TO ASK YOU WHAT SIZE YOU WANT EVEN THOUGH YOU SHOULD HAVE ALREADY MENTIONED IT, the life of an ice cream scooper is every synonym for “annoying” you can think of.

That’s probably why I liked it so much.

You probably don’t know about me and my secret life as an ice cream scooper–even though it’s not a secret and I was far more than just a scooper. I was manager.

That’s right. Top dog. Head honcho. Chief. Big enchilada, there at my hometown ice cream stand. In fact, Tammy, the owner, would always introduce me to other people like: “This is Ash. She’s part of the woodwork around here.”

Part of the woodwork. And really, I guess I was. I started working there when I was fourteen, for five smackaroos an hour, and stopped working there once I graduated college–8 years later. In other words, you do not want me to serve you a chocolate milkshake, because every other chocolate milkshake you drink for the rest of your life will never, ever compare. See? That’s what the ice cream industry does to you: It makes you cocky about things no one should ever be cocky about. For example, how many times have you bragged about your flawless ability to dip a large soft serve cone into a tray of rainbow sprinkles? That’s right–NEVER. Which sort of makes me smile in a nah nah nah nah nah kind of way, because you haven’t lived until you’ve battled it out with a tupperware full of multicolored sugar.

By which, of course, is my half-assed way of making a very large, vague, roundabout metaphor, because what I really mean to say has nothing to do with rainbow sprinkles, but rather, that running an ice cream shop for eight years TEACHES YOU THINGS.

Namely that no one tips ice cream girls ever so stop holding your breath, but other things, too.

And wouldn’t you know? It was just the other day when I found myself reminiscing (what size would you like? what size would you like?–pound pound pound) and thinking about just how valuable that near-decade experience running that first business was–even if it was just ice cream. Because a small business is a small business is a small business, and any time you’re trying to convince someone to give you money–or, you know, upsell ‘em on the nuts (that’s what he said?), there are certain things that are good, and there are certain things that are bad–no matter how you slice it. And from those certain things? Spring certain truths. And from those certain truths? Springs more money, more satisfaction and way more,” Oh I’ve SO got the hang of this now–get the BLEEEEEEEP out of my way.” It’s like the fountain of youth, except none of us are getting any younger so we might as well become richer. I mean…

The Ten Truths Every Business Owner Should Know: As Told Through Ice Cream

1. Customers don’t mind complications–but only if they genuinely think you’re doing your best. There’s nothing worse than the girl behind the counter blowing bubbles and twirling her hair with acid-laced apathy, while a line forms three blocks down the street. And that girl? Is the equivalent of the business owner who doesn’t make their customer service a priority, and maintains an attitude that they’re the ones doing their customers a favor. Newsflash: Those people standing in line are doing you a favor.
2. No matter how justified you feel in asking your customers to “pay up,” nickel and diming them will put you right out of business. I’ll never forget the time that well-intentioned Tammy wanted us to start charging 5 cents to anyone who came back to the window and asked for an extra cup. This happened a lot–especially with kids–since they’d order their ice cream in a cone, and then five minutes later, would have it dripping down their hand. Naturally, it was an extra cost to Tammy, adding up to be far more than five cents, which frustrated her. But one thing a business owner needs to always remember, is that there’s a cost to doing business. And it’s up to you to realize when that cost? Will help contribute to your profit–not take away from it. The people who had to scrounge for a nickel when they needed a cup inevitably left with a bad taste in their mouth–and that five cents we made in the moment might have cost us $50 dollars they would have spent with us later that summer, had they not gone to our competitor who gave cups with a smile. (Credit card fees are another example of this–if you’re charging your customers extra to use their credit cards, you need a stern talking to.)
3. Speaking of smiles, they’re your greatest business asset. Smile when answering the phone. Smile when flipping their hamburger. Smile when charging them money. Smile when they’re grumpy. And smile when you’re doing something you wish you weren’t. That shit rubs off–I swear. And your customer will leave feeling like they had a uniquely positive experience–even if the rest was nothing out of the ordinary.
4. People don’t buy ice cream. They buy the experience of eating ice cream. So even though you and the other five ice cream stands in town might all be supplied by Perry’s, you’re not all the same, because you might have the same flavors, but you’re each providing a different experience. (Hopefully.) Though the atmosphere, the customer service, the aesthetics, and right down to what color napkin you wrap around the cone. The winner of that battle will be the one who remembers that–and then goes out of his way to capitalize upon it.
5. Following up on that thought, the better experience you provide, the more you can charge. Contrary to popular belief, it isn’t all about your offering. It’s about the way you offer it. And the way you offer it? Creates value. People will pay for a better, more satisfying experience. They will. Just ask Target.
6. Figuring out exactly what that better, more satisfying experience looks like in your business? Is your number one priority.
7. The customer may not always be right, but guess what? They don’t have to be. Do what it takes to build good will–even when you want to give ‘em a good piece of your mind. It’ll pay off later. Even if it’s just in the currency of your conscience.
8. Don’t pay attention to what people want. Pay attention to what people buy. Because people don’t know what the hell they want–and I think we can all testify to that. Sure, if I ask you if you’d buy marshmallow bacon ice cream, you might tell me, “Yes, I’d try it–how exotic!” to be a generally pleasing person and get me out of your face. But will you actually buy marshmallow bacon ice cream?
9. Always have a signature–and always flaunt it. In business, and in life. Because people who have a signature service, a signature style, a signature drink, or–hey–a signature ice cream sundae get remembered. Those without a signature? Well, let’s just say that if you can’t attach your name to something, then why would anyone else want to?
10. You have two choices: Sell a lot of cheap ice cream to a lot of people who will never be back, or sell a little bit of better ice cream to less people who will come again and again and again. You’ll still make the same amount of profit, but guess what? One is less stressful than the other. Guess which. (And then guess which you’ll enjoy more.)

And while business isn’t always easy, nor easy to figure out, one thing’s for sure: These lessons will all be learned one way or another, because eventually, you’ll learn them through trial by fire. And that’s the other big takeaway from this post: Trial by fire. 

Trial by fire is, hands down, the best way you can ever learn anything. Not only is it far more efficient, there’s also something to be said about the confidence it brings you, because you discover that you really can handle anything–even when you didn’t think you could.

My first night at the ice cream stand, when I was fourteen, was a Saturday night, and we got slammed. I was forced to figure it out and just roll with the punches, dripping strawberry syrup everywhere. Similarly, it was the same way I navigated my first job out of college, doing PR at FOX TV, and my second job out of college, doing marketing at a small company in Philadelphia. Later, it was the way I figured out how to start my first copywriting business, and after that, it was the way I figured out how to sell big advertising contracts to big companies. Much later down the road, in 2009, it was the way I figured out how to blog, and today? It’s the way I continue to navigate my way through every challenge, every new situation, every idea, and every single new piece of growth we’re experiencing with my current company, House of Moxie.

Trial by fire is, in fact, ideal.

Think of the aspiring salsa dancer who only reads about salsa dancing–and never trips over her own two feet. Think of the aspiring Italian language learner who only reads about Italian–and never utters a sound. And then think of the aspiring business owner who only reads about business–and never actually does any.

Trial by fire is exactly what we should all be striving for, because trial by fire is the only way you’re going to really learn what it takes, in order to take yourself to the next level.

No matter who you are or what you do–even if you’re just an ice cream scooper in a small town in Pennsylvania–the things you need to learn are everywhere, no matter which way you turn. The only caveat?

Is that you actually turn. 

Stagnancy is suicide.

It’s never just about the money coming in; you have to consider the money going out. 

When you take on a job, sure, you might earn $5,000.

But what’s the cost of earning it? 

If you have to forfeit 3 other projects (and your favorite Wednesday night TV show) for a combined total revenue of $15,000, you’re not making money. You’re losing it.

As an example, when our team embarks on a copywriting project, oftentimes we get asked for consulting advice, too–from how a program should be structured, to what a service should include, to what price points should be…and more.

Unfortunately, we can’t offer that type of advice for liability purposes; we’d need a separate contract for that. (Take note, business owners who are operating without contracts or half-assed ones – if this is a concern for you, I think you’re going to really love a new project I’m working on for you in conjunction with my lawyer, set to release in early June, and primed to cover your ass–more on that hot tamale soon.)

However, let’s say legalities weren’t an issue, and we decided to offer some type of $500 consulting add-on–which, again, we could do if we wanted to put it in the contract.

Sounds like a great upsell, right?

Wrong, and here’s why.

Because consulting takes time, and it takes energy, and it takes a lot of it. It isn’t something you can just throw out there off the top of your head–you’ve got to be strategic. You’ve got to investigate. You’ve got to dig deep. You’ve got to form an educated opinion, based on a client’s specific circumstances. In short, you’ve got to do a good fucking job.

And while that’s all good and well, if I have to dedicate the rest of the working day to doing that, then I can’t use it to do other things. Things like: Writing a book proposal, marketing our company, creating life-changing workshops and retreats, building useful resources, and more. In other words–all of the other high leverage activities that are much more useful to a whole group of people, instead of just one person, and are also more profitable, too. (My favorite win win.)

So when you frame it like that–which makes better business sense?

Allowing for a $500 consulting add on, maybe selling 4/month for a total of $2,000…because you feel obligated to.

…Or giving yourself the bandwidth to make an extra $100,000 this year through smart, higher leverage efforts?

Because if you could have made $100K doing something else, then offering your consulting add-on for $2,000/month or $24,000/year in revenue minus expenses (like employee salaries), then at best you’ve just lost $75,000.

At worst (and more realistically), you’ve lost more than that.

My point?

It isn’t that you don’t want to help people. It isn’t that their money isn’t perfectly good money.

It’s simply that you need to pick and choose your business battles.

And pick and choose your business strategies.

Put on your cost-benefit analysis thinking cap.

Be smart.

And while you’re at it?

Don’t run around having unprotected sex business, for goodness sake.

It’s poor form, and then I’m going to have to come visit you in the slammer, and then you’re going to be all mad I didn’t bring cookies, and then I’m going to be all, “But I don’t bake cookies,” and then you’re going to grimace and fling a spoonful of porridge at me.

And then I’m going to be pissed.

He sat in the far corner of the room–no clip board, no notepad, no smile.

I couldn’t make out his face–the room was dark and the curtains were drawn.

I waited for Al Pacino to bust down the door, cigar in hand.

I was seated near the door, at a table, with a woman named Carol opposite me. I was to address Carol–not the man in the corner–and, most importantly, stay focused.

I trembled as I pulled a box out of the garbage bag. It was a brown cardboard hexagon-shaped box. One I had bought at a craft store two weeks prior. One I had labored over. Sweat over. And one that I hoped would change everything.

“This,” I started, pointing at a scanned, shrunken newspaper article that I had pasted to one side, “was the stone wall I built for my friend Jill.”

Carol’s face remained indifferent.

“She passed away when we were in middle school.”

I slowly rotated the box. “And this, over here, is when I led our volleyball team to a district championship as Captain.”

“I bet your mother was very proud,” Carol interjected.

“My mother never saw me play volleyball.”

I quickly glanced away and continued on with my carefully planned monologue, pulling a second box from inside the bigger one. Another hexagon.

With each turn of the box, I listed yet another arbitrary achievement–Honor Society President, Student Council Secretary, Yearbook Staff–before pulling out an even smaller hexagon box and rattling off more of the same. I had spent hours scanning, shrinking, and painstakingly pasting evidence to my hexagon boxes.

“And this,” I said, “is a copy of the eulogy I gave, as I led my father’s memorial service,” before rotating the box to show another side. “And this is the estate sale I held thereafter.”

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen.”

She made a note. The man in the corner did not make any notes.

It was then, however, that I pulled the remaining box from the stack–the smallest, and seemingly least important. I paused, placing the tiny box on the table, and mustered the courage to look her in the eye to say the one thing I had really come to say.

I took a deep breath.

“But none of any of that matters,” I began. “Not the awards. Not the recognition. Not the hardship. And nothing I’ve just gotten done telling you about.”

I had her attention.

“Because if you would do me the honor of opening the last box, you’ll see why.”

I slid the box toward her. She lifted the lid.

Inside was a plush red something, tucked neatly inside.

“What makes me a future entrepreneur,” I said, “is that, right there.”

She pulled it out of the box.

“HEART.”

It was then that, despite the shadows, I noticed a small smile spread across the founder of Monster.com’s face. Andy McKelvey then stood up, walked over to me and shook my hand.

One week later, I had won a fully paid scholarship to a private university, including room and board and a brand new laptop, worth over $120,000.

I accepted the award on stage, and watched as the other winners’ families surrounded them with flowers, proud faces and dinner reservations at fancy restaurants.

I silently snuck out the side door.

Everything was going to be alright.

It wasn’t until many years later that I was convinced that what I had said in that interview room at Penn State University wasn’t just a well-executed line to win a scholarship.

It was the truth.

And throughout the years would I come to discover just how true it actually was.

Because as it turns out, no matter who you are, what your circumstances are, or how little you’re starting with…

…heart will always, always, always be your number one asset.

And sometimes, all we need to do?

…is remember to access it. 

-

There are some people who don’t get the whole concept of an assembly line. You know who I’m talking about – those hanyacks at the Starbucks who come up beside you at the milk station, their panties in a bunch, tapping their foot, doing the hokey pokey at 8 o’clock in the morning because they are trying! to get around you! to use! the creamer!

And then the pressure’s on. Oh is it on! You start to get flustered. They’re staring at you. You’re holding them up. You’re holding everybody up. You drop your keys. Put the elbow of your suit jacket right in the puddle of non-dairy soy. Say “shit” out loud instead of under your breath. And just as you’re about to finish up—just one last packet of sugar to go!—it happens.

The corner of the sugar packet goes-a-floatin’ right into your coffee. It does that wet paper thing and then sinks, so now you’ve got to take your hand, make the universal stop sign to the feral dogs behind you like you’re some construction worker on I-95, and reach over to grab one of those bullshit little red wannabe straws, all so you can try and fish out this ridiculous piece of paper before they start a mob scene behind you and Starbucks burns to the ground.

There’s always going to be somebody on your ass, pushing, pleading, demanding, needing—whether you’re in Starbucks, in a business meeting, at a family reunion, or on a first date. (Though after that third bottle of wine, it might be you who’s doing the pleading.)

What matters isn’t who they are or what they’re doing—what matters is how much you let them distract you. You might just be making coffee, but you also might (finally) be writing that book, chasing those dreams, taking those steps, or doing what you’ve always secretly wanted to.

In other words, don’t let the hanyacks of the world step on your toes.

Because every chance they get, they will.

And every time you let them?

You won’t.

Hi. 

It’s me, Ash.

Was that obvious?

I’m sorry to pardon your regular programming, but today we’re going to talk numbers.

I hate numbers–you can go square root your mom.

But sometimes, you’ve got to look at ‘em. You know…like when it’s tax season.

As you may remember, in 2011 I publicly showed the world how to make $100,000 in a year with a blog, using TMF as a case study.

Just this past year I was pleased to see TMF alone pull a revenue of $151,040–most of which was profit, since online businesses carry very little overhead.

(I’m pretty sure the biggest expense from last year was Paypal fees–$4,264.00. That, and wine. Let’s be honest.)

And in 2013, TMF is only going to continue to grow.

But that’s the thing I’ve been thinking a lot about lately–grow how?

Too often, business owners measure their success against their bank accounts, cringing over missing zeros and celebrating only when they add one.

And while–sure–it’s nice to be able to spring for the $100 bottle of wine whenever you damn well please, that $100 bottle of wine doesn’t say jack about what you’ve really accomplished with your business.

Because what I’ve really accomplished this past year, for example, can’t be summed up in that $151,000–or any other income I generate.

What I’ve really accomplished was so much more than that.

And as I move forward in 2013, I’d like to think that my goals won’t be driven by zeros–they’ll be driven by impact. (That sounds so painfully cliché of me, but it’s precisely what I mean.) Impact like: How can I make an even bigger one? How can I use this platform to make a difference? How can I connect people that need to be connected? How can I use my obnoxiously large head to benefit others…better? 

For example, I’ve been tickled to get so many emails from folks sharing their newly updated product or service descriptions, thanks to the series of posts I wrote on that topic–remember the J.Peterman examples? (These from Kelly Cameron were among my favorite I received, by the way!)

What I wrote had an impact on those business owners, and those business owners will go on to sell more of their stuff, and in turn, have a greater impact on their people.

And that’s really cool.

Impact is cool.

…And it’s also a responsibility.

With that in mind, it’s my intention to make my 2013 projects very impact-heavy, and very help-happy. Almost to the point of hippie-esque, except not at all, because billowy skirts make my ass look huge.

But I do have a nest of fun projects buried up my hot-orange sleeve that I think will be really useful + insightful, including:

:: A tentative Creative Marketing Bootcamp coming in March. Except it won’t be called Bootcamp because I hate that fucking word.

:: A small business support group called Private Parts: Show us yours, and we’ll show you ours: Stripping each others businesses naked, and (re) dressing for success. …Because nothing here at TMF is TMI. (This is going to be a lot of fun, and I think you’re going to love it.)

:: Intense, no-nonsense, one-on-one consulting, featuring both solicited and unsolicited advice–I come on like a member of your team, and we turn the art of money-making into a game. (Spoiler alert: We win.)

:: My book. (Okay so this one’s a little selfish.)

:: The launch of a new company called Life Hooky: Retreats for Confused People. 

:: Andddd potentially a new blog. And maybe new socks. New socks are always nice, aren’t they?

- 

9,000.

10.

72.

The year the trailer we lived in was made.

16.

Percentage of people from my county in Pennsylvania who went to college.

0.

The number of cars we had.

<0.

The number of bets anyone would have made that someone with my background would become a millionaire before age 30. (Okay, so I’m not a millionaire just yet. But I’m also not 30 just yet. HANG TIGHT.)

Statistically speaking, I shouldn’t own a company. I shouldn’t make 7 figures–ever. I shouldn’t have an assistant. I shouldn’t travel the world. I shouldn’t have a master’s degree. I shouldn’t be fluent in a second language. I shouldn’t have maximum health insurance coverage. And I damn well shouldn’t have the luxury to choose. 

But guess fucking what?

I do. 

And when the odds aren’t in your favor?

Remember that you can, too.  

That’s just one more reason why I don’t like numbers.

Because while they might be great at analyzing the current data…

…turns out they’re shit for predicting the future.