My First Company’s Product Was a Miscommunication
If you caught my last post, you’ll remember I was fresh off a huge high: founder at 26, unstoppable grand plans, giant office lease, and a “rapid recovery” product that nobody (including me) fully understood. Because clearly, that’s a formula for world domination, right?
But hold on—before we dethrone Fortune 500 competitors, you actually need people to help build all your fancy ideas. Let me walk you through how adding employees to my brand-new “empire” proved that a secret mission (kept secret from, well, everyone) can lead to comedic, near-tragic confusion.
Setting the Stage: The First Real Sale
Back in the mid-2000s, I was in what I call “Sweet mother of innovation” mode. I’d landed my first angel investments, formed a new board, and had a mind-blowing moment when another credit union (who missed all our pitches and planning sessions) wanted in. Just like that:
They had no clue about my sky-high vision (some version of “We’ll do unstoppable disaster recovery and then take out the big guys!”).
They simply wanted the same contract as the original seven credit unions—like hopping on a party bus without hearing any of the rules or inside jokes.
It felt borderline viral. In the next twelve months, we tripled our client list: from 7 to 20. Every new deal was like “OMG, they like me, they really like me!” As if the cool kids at the lunch table invited me to sit next to them. Mind you, we were talking about disaster recovery with bankers—none of us were exactly “cool,” but the ego buzz was real.
The Secret Ambitions Nobody Knew
Here’s the behind-the-scenes twist: each sale super-charged the narrative in my head. I was sure we’d eventually displace two Fortune 500 companies who dominated our space. “We’ll treat customers better, we’ll be more nimble, and soon we’ll handle all their IT.” That was my secret mission. Problem was, I never fully told anyone. Not my staff, not the investors, not even the new credit unions.
So, it went like this: the more client contracts we signed, the more I believed we were one step closer to empire-building. But we weren’t exactly building anything yet. In fact, we didn’t even have enough staff to pick up the phone 24/7 if a real disaster happened. Enter: first employees.
Two Jons Walk into a Disaster Recovery Facility…
We needed employees. And, in classic comedic style, we hired two guys—both named Jon. (Yes, I’m Kirk. Two Jons + one Kirk. At times, it felt like a really mediocre sitcom.)
Employee #1 (Jon #1)
Official Role: Setting up computers, restoring software, basically the technical wizard.
Actual Secret Mission: “If a real disaster happens, you are The Voice. The person physically present to greet frantic credit union folks at our facility, conjure instant confidence, and lead them to salvation.”
Problem: I never spelled out “imbue unwavering confidence” in the job description. I just said, “Uh, set up hardware stuff.” That’s kind of a big mismatch.
Employee #2 (Jon #2)
Official Role: Project Manager—handle cubicles, PCs, servers, and onboard clients.
Actual Secret Mission: “Transform vague ideas into living, profitable processes, handle every crazy promise I make to new clients, and do it so flawlessly that I never even have to check in. Also, never ask me questions because I’ll be busy hustling for new clients or cornering unsuspecting investors at conferences.”
Problem: That basically demands a miracle worker with telepathic abilities. And I never said any of this out loud. It was a time bomb waiting to blow.
The Rapid Recovery Reality Check
We had 20 credit unions paying around $50k a year (each!) for something called “Rapid Recovery.” Rapid was the key word, right? But one day, Jon #2 calls me looking extremely concerned:
Jon #2: “Hey, Kirk, the clients want to do an actual test of their ‘rapid recovery.’ They have these backup tapes…and we can’t read them because each uses a different tape drive. We need a special tape reader that costs $20k.”
Me: “Why are you asking me? Isn’t that in the plan? This is ‘Rapid Recovery’—figure it out!”
Translation: I effectively told him, “Don’t bother me with your trivial details. The product name alone solves everything.” Meanwhile, the poor guy is stuck dealing with the real-world logistics of tapes, hardware, incomplete instructions, and my fantasy that everything was self-explanatory.
A few days later:
Jon #2: “It takes about three days to recover email from these backups…”
Me: “Three days? That’s not rapid at all! We sold rapid! It’s literally in the name!”
Jon #2: “Yeah… that’s kind of the problem.”
Cue me stomping around thinking, “Everyone’s an idiot. Why can’t they see what’s so obvious in my head?” But we never wrote down the steps, the technology requirements, or the timeline. “Rapid” was just a brand concept. The devils were in the details—details we never put on paper or told the new hires.
System Overload (Without the Systems)
At this stage, you might assume we had a nice, documented process. You’d be wrong. My approach was:
Make big promises to new clients.
Dream of dethroning giant corporations by delivering top-notch service.
Hire a small team, give them partial instructions, then vanish for weeks at a time in search of more capital and more deals.
Return and be shocked—shocked!—to find confusion, chaos, and “No, we don’t have a $20k tape reader.”
Occasionally, I’d try new project-management tools, sticky note systems, or random CRMs to “help the team.” But if I’d told them, “Hey folks, I need you to do the impossible so I can chase my secret conquest dream,” we might have had a shot at success. Instead, I’d drop a new software on them without explaining the grand design. Then I’d leave again. Rinse, repeat.
Comedy of Errors (Two Jons and a Kirk)
Let’s just say the Jons found themselves in very weird spots:
Jon #1 occasionally had to answer phone calls from credit unions panicking about hypothetical tornado-level disasters. Meanwhile, he’s thinking, “Why am I the lone face of this company? I’m supposed to fix machines, not talk people off a ledge!”
Jon #2 tried to orchestrate training sessions so credit unions could test “rapid recovery” for email. Then discovered we needed more software, hardware, disclaimers… oh, and an actual documented plan.
From their point of view, I was basically “the founder who might have lost his marbles.” We never had real clarity on roles—just these illusions of “we’re unstoppable,” while ignoring that unstoppable forces can’t skip the daily grunt work. Also, why were we unstoppable? Because I had a hidden mission: “Take out the Fortune 500 bullies!” They had no clue.
Harsh Realities and Soft Epiphanies
Fast-forward 20 years: I can see exactly where it all went south. If:
Jon #1 had known his prime job was PR face plus random hardware tasks, he might have said “No thanks,” or we’d have hired someone cheaper for that very narrow role.
Jon #2 had known he was expected to be a full-on magician, we’d probably have realized no mere mortal can handle that without my input. I’d have needed to define the product better. Possibly hire more specialized roles. Possibly not sign 20 clients for a product we had yet to fully conceive.
Because half the battle of stating your “secret mission” is not just letting your team in on your vision—it’s forcing you (the founder) to figure out if it’s even feasible. Once you say it out loud, you might realize you need more staff, better systems, or a development timeline that’s longer than “ASAP.”
The Moral of the Story: Unspoken Plans Breed Chaos
If you’ve ever fantasized about a software solution so good it dethrones giants, you know that’s not inherently a bad dream. But if you never tell anyone what you’re plotting, you end up with:
Confused employees: “We thought we were building X, but you’re actually envisioning a Trojan Horse to seize an entire industry?”
Bewildered clients: “We just wanted to test backups. Didn’t realize we were the foot soldiers in your cosmic war.”
A frustrated founder: “Why aren’t we dethroning the big guys yet? Where’s the synergy? Where’s the unstoppable momentum?”
In the end, my near-disasters were part comedic fiasco, part expensive lesson. Sure, we eventually sorted out some aspects of “rapid recovery.” But those first few months were a smorgasbord of miscommunication, rework, and more than one meltdown over a $20k tape drive we never budgeted for.
A Dose of Realism (and a Preview)
In hindsight, I see how naive it was to assume that if I just hired a few folks and gave them lofty job descriptions, they’d magically read my mind and fulfill my unspoken conquest. Meanwhile, we sold a product called Rapid Recovery that took three days to recover anything. Facepalm. It’s no wonder we had friction.
Next time, we’ll talk more about the hidden costs of not sharing these agendas: missed deadlines, repeated staff turnover, and how “secret missions” kept me swirling in a cycle of re-hiring and re-firing because nobody could meet the expectations stuck inside my head. Promise we’ll laugh about it… mostly.
For now, let’s just say: if you’re about to hire your first employees, do them (and yourself) a favor. Don’t just hand them a fancy job title and vanish on a capital-raising spree. Spell out the real goals—secret or not. Because if you don’t, you might end up like me in 2006, coming home to find that “Rapid Recovery” is many things…but definitely not rapid.
Disruption with a side of humor—still forging ahead, Kirk
I once sold 20 credit unions on a product called “Rapid Recovery.”
The pitch? Seamless disaster recovery. Fast, efficient, stress-free.
The reality? It took three days just to recover email.
Why?
Because I never told my team what “rapid” actually meant.
I had a big vision—disrupt the Fortune 500 players in our space.
But I never said that out loud.
Not to the staff I hired. Not to the credit unions signing checks.
Not even to myself in any concrete way.
Instead, I gave out vague job descriptions and expected magic.
And when “Rapid Recovery” turned out to be... not so rapid?
Everyone looked at each other like, Wait, what were we building again?
The lesson for credit union leaders?
Big visions don’t fail because they’re unrealistic.
They fail because no one else knows they exist
