Pineapple on Canvas: The Odd Adventures of a Toy in the City

The one where Maher discovers people aren't biting--in a bad way!

Maher sat wearily in the empty conference room, the white glass conference table reflected the sunrays onto his face. This was meeting number five of the day, and he could already predict the outcome of it based on his prior meetings. They had each gone along the lines of:

"Mr. Cain, thank you for coming to see us today, but unfortunately . . .."

He would interrupt quickly by saying, "Thank you for making the time, but before you say what I think you are going to say, please just give me a few minutes to talk about the projects our fund is looking at."

Uncomfortable silence would then follow before one of the men or women on the other side of the table would say, "Alright, but before you continue, I want to let you know that our investment objective with respect to alternative energy investments has been maxed out for several months already."

Even with the warning, Maher would half heartedly move forward with his pitch, trying to explain why he thought his fund was different and why the investors should consider making an investment with his firm. When pressed on how his fund differed from the others, Maher struggled with a response since he himself couldn't see any.

The meetings would inevitably end with lukewarm handshakes, and on occasion he would be called "Mark" instead of "Maher," a sign, he thought, of just exactly how depressing the meetings had gone.

In the back of his mind, he didn't blame the investors for overlooking his fund. He was a founder that barely believed in his own fund's mandate--how could he proactively advocate for others to invest with him too? To make matters worse, the savings that he had intended to contribute to the first closing of the fund were slowly being eaten up by marketing and other administrative costs. Soon, he would have nothing left to invest.

The very future he was trying to build for himself and Ella seemed to be scurrying out of reach. While he knew she would be an attentive ear, the last thing he wanted to do was worry her more. He knew the horror stories of being a junior New York corporate lawyer--after all his buddies in investment banking used to joke that after they finished their work at one or two a.m., the single joy they got was getting to hand over the work to their schmuck lawyers to finalize overnight.

Though she hid it well, he could tell that work was eating away at her. Every so often it manifested itself in squeezing the poor pineapple in a hug so tight and long that the little guy's eyes almost bulged out of his head and he struggled gallantly for breath, never once complaining.

As Maher waited patiently for the new set of investors to arrive, the sun slowly sank in the sky, casting a dark shadow in the formerly sun lit room. How fitting, he thought to himself.