I’m fairly certain that luck is the biggest component of success. I know it was for me. Dilbert succeeded because of a perfect storm involving a sluggish mid-nineties economy, the rise of technology workers, my stalled corporate career, the Internet, my lack of a personal life, accidentally appropriate talent, the timely retirements of better cartoonists, helpful people in the right jobs, and – assuming chaos theory is correct – a spastic butterfly somewhere South of the equator.
I was reminded of the role of luck today as I was in the Houston airport, walking toward my gate. On my left was a restaurant that served whatever is the opposite of heart-healthy cuisine. I think the name of the restaurant was something along the lines of “Dead Cows and Fried Stuff.” Or at least it should have been. Normally, this would be an excellent business concept in the perfect location. In Houston, gravy is a beverage. It would take a lot of bad luck to keep this business from succeeding.
Then I noticed the bad luck.
I assume that when the owners of the restaurant negotiated their lease, they didn’t ask about the location of the emergency heart defibrillator. It was tragically mounted on the wall next to the Dead Cows and Fried Stuff eatery. I have to believe that was bad luck, and – in all likelihood – bad for business. Across from them was a Subway sandwich place. Subway is most famous for promoting their low-calorie menu options. Ouch.
You might think that no one would make an eating decision based on the location of the emergency heart defibrillator. But as soon as you read “heart defibrillator,” you imagine your own enlarged, blood-starved heart, and hear the paramedics yelling, “Clear!” And that’s if you’re lucky enough to collapse when a trained paramedic is around. Otherwise, the cashier from Dead Cows and Fried Stuff is going to be the first one on the scene. He’ll have one paddle on your forehead and one on your crotch. It might restart your heart, but you’ll wish it hadn’t.
I ate a small sandwich at Subway.