The Pivot
Well, bless Gary's heart, the man had a dream. He also had a food truck that sold artisanal mayonnaise, seventeen varieties, each named after a European philosopher. Nietzsche's Smoky Aioli. Kant's Classic Dijon Mayo. Sartre's Existential Garlic Spread ("Why does anything taste like anything?" the label read, right there between the nutrition facts). Now, down here in the South, we have a saying: if you can't explain it to your grandmother, you probably can't sell it at a county fair. Gary had not heard this saying. His business coach, Linda, a woman so practical she ironed her blue jeans sat him down one Tuesday morning over sweet tea and said, "Gary, honey, you are charging eleven dollars for mayonnaise out of a van. I love you like a cousin, but this ain't it." Gary puffed up like a rooster. "I'm selling philosophy , Linda." Linda stirred her tea slowly, the way Southern women do when they're choosing their ...