He was not impressed, and their budget was literally only $500 under the agency’s monthly retainer requirement. I begged, I pleaded, but he wouldn’t budge.

Devastated, I started to pick up the phone to call the creators back to tell them that the agency wouldn’t be pitching the business. But then a co-worker distracted me, and thankfully, those five minutes changed the trajectory of my life. It gave me a few minutes to come to the conclusion that I wanted to pitch the business myself.

I returned to my boss’s office and told him my plan: I wanted to pitch the business, and if I got it, I would resign.

He laughed in a pissed-off way while throwing a tennis ball at the wall inches from my head. Literally.He wasn’t concerned that I would quit because he believed there was no way they would hire me without the weight of the agency behind me. I was pitching against some of the biggest PR firms in Los Angeles for this business.

My competitive gymnastics training kicked in at that moment. I didn’t care that I would be completely alone, going head-to-head with teams of pros from two publicly traded mega agencies.

I’d already faced down the Chinese on a 4-inch beam 4 feet off the ground in a packed gymnasium. These were two legendary and notoriously kind creators in a cozy Orange County conference room. What could possibly go wrong?

The creators were the late former president of Disneyland, Jack Lindquist, and Jim Garber, a former Vice President of Marketing for the Walt Disney Company. They agreed to let me pitch the business without the support of my employers.

But first, I had to tell everyone about my plan—a bad idea. No one was as excited as I was about this incredible opportunity. There were as many objections and ‘why-nots’ as there were people I shared my story with. 

With each response, my long-shot seemed further away, but I was convinced I was the only one with the exact experience they needed to succeed.

I was a woman obsessed with using my PR skills on their project. I had four days to put together a smokin’ pitch.

I knew that if I were going to win the business, I would have to adopt an unconventional strategy while maintaining grounded go-to-market tactics.

I worked through the nights, hyperventilating for most of it. But I never wavered in my belief that I was the right person for the job.

The day arrived. I fought traffic down to Orange County and barely arrived in time. It was hot; I was sweating just walking from the car to the building.

As the elevator doors opened in the blessedly air-conditioned office, I heard two men laughing. Everything was going to be okay, and I felt calm and confident.

They welcomed me into the conference room and told me I was the last to pitch.

Everyone has a different idea of whether being the last or the first pitch gives you better odds of winning the business. Being the last gymnast to compete frequently provides a competitive edge, so I considered this a good sign. I felt as confident as possible while still slightly sweaty, this time from nerva-citedness.

I dove right into my pitch.

It’s going well. We were talking strategy. I’m beyond thrilled to have this high-level conversation with two legends. I’m getting giddy.

But then disaster strikes.

About halfway through my pitch, Jack gets up abruptly, thanks me, and leaves.

My world spins off its axis.

I’m 5’2”, but I think I shrink to under 5 feet. My chin feels like it’s barely over the conference room table.

Jim Garber gamely sits through what I imagined must have been the worst pitch of his life. I soldier on, but I’m devasted.

One thing I can tell you with 100% confidence is that when a key stakeholder leaves the pitch, you’re absolutely not going to get the business.

I decided that Jim Garber was the nicest man on the planet to sit through my horrible presentation.  I wanted to speed it up but couldn’t get my mouth to comply; everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. You know those nightmares where you can’t scream or run? That’s what’s happening to me during the second half of this pitch.

All the energy had been sucked out of me. I worked through the night on this presentation; the anticipation, the heat, and, of course, Jack walking out have taxed my autonomic nervous system.

We wrapped up. I thank Jim profusely.

I spent the weekend working out obsessively to distract myself from what was coming on Monday. I must tell my boss (and all my friends) that he was right. I didn’t make the cut.

Surprisingly, my boss told me to keep my faith. I thanked him for being kind as I slink back to my office.

Three days later, Jim called me, and I’d won the business! I was beyond thrilled and stunned—relieved. When I asked Jack later why he left the pitch, he said he’d heard enough; he had decided to hire me. And besides, he had a tee time!

Then, it hit me like a ton of bricks. All my emotions around the presentation paled in comparison to realizing that I had just quit my cushy job in a plush office, hobnobbing on red carpets with celebrities. I joined my parents in wondering what the #%ck I had just done.

But then it dawned on me for the first time that I’m an entrepreneur, and I can decide which clients to take based on my passion. For the second time that week, my world shifted. This time, for the better.

From that beginning point in my journey, I’ve had the pleasure of working with brands I cherish, including The NOW Massage, The Hess Collection, Mind and Body Products, Disney Live, Napa Technology, La Tortilla Factory, Kite Hill Cheese, Hilton Hotels, Booch Pops, Chevron Products Company, Dobbes Family Estate, Rodney Strong Vineyards, Autodesk, Gloria Ferrer Sparkling Wine, Planet Hollywood, California Pizza Kitchen, Carmax, Fleming’s Prime Steakhouse & Wine Bar, Johnnie Walker, Palms Casino Resort Las Vegas, Smashburger, Mary’s Pizza Shack, Tanqueray, Taco Bell Foundation, KFC and others.

My goal is to eat at all the restaurants on the Los Angeles Times Top 101 List.

I live in Los Angeles with my family, a huge dog, and a death breath cat. 

LinkedIn: Carin Oliver