Choose two

From the market research last month, we derived a matrix of four categories that we estimate our relative competitiveness and the dollar amount each category will yield.  For example, suppose we’re all about sinks.  Our matrix might have these three categories:

1. Does not leak - We’re comparable, but it’s the most valuable category ($$$) for a given amount of effort.
2. Connections for hot and cold water - We’re comparable, and it’s a moderately important characteristic ($$)
3. Large enough to wash a dog - We lag on this characteristic, but it’s a small niche that would take a lot of effort to architect an acceptable solution. ($)

Given finite resources, I would prioritize the effort to be in category 1, as it’s the most valuable and where we’re the most vulnerable.  If I have extra, it would go into category 2.  While we’re superior in connections for hot and cold water, being so is worth more money than than category 3, which (in this highly-contrived example) is a distraction from what we do.

Enter Eeyore, our Vice President of Ideas, who often returns from customer visits with an excessively strong customer empathy that We Must Solve Their Problem Now By Implementing Feature XXXX.   Past examples of Feature XXXX have included jewel-encrusted faucet handles, Dolby Surround Sound toilet seats, platinum hair filter - whatever the most recent customer mentioned.  After his most recent trip, he is convinced that having a sink large enough to wash a dog is the most strategic thing we can be doing now.  (The first clue that he may not be the most credible source is his definition of strategic is “in the next three months.”)  Often, the idea will go away on its own.   Sometimes, though, I need to spend time investigating the feasibility while I’m trying to deliver the existing products on time and within budget/schedule.

Prior to his trip, two weeks ago, we decided we would not do this.  But now, we’ve re-reversed ourselves.  Anticipating Eeyore will soon convince other Vice Presidents that we must do this, I ask questions to clarify the scope like: “What kind of dogs?”   Of course, Eeyore doesn’t know, that’s my job to pursue those tactical details.  I will thus summon flying monkeys to find out, all the while getting the existing set of household products to market.   “Eeyore, how much are they willing to spend?”  Eeyore responds “no, no, this is a giveaway item for the customer to realize how Insanely Great we are.  They’ll buy more! more!! more!!!”  (I swear, he pronounces these exclamation marks.)

My monkeys will interview people with mini-dogs to determine if they just want to make that Dog Smell go away.  (For that, an ordinary sink will work.)   They’ll observe people with giant man-dogs that need to chew on the legs of ungulates.  (That’s a two-person-sized bath tub plus an ancillary refrigeration chamber for leg quarters.)   If they’re thorough enough, they’ll discover owners of beagles who have delusions of being World War II flying aces.   And in summary, “You know what, Eeyore, we have a product for that, it’s called a house.”

Gack.