The $899 bee sting

Theo got stung by a bee last week. Right near his eye.

He’s five months old — my first puppy — so I did what any first-time puppy parent does: I called the vet. They didn’t hesitate. “Bring him in immediately.”

His eye was swollen. But he was acting completely like Theo. Tail wagging, sniffing around the car. By the time we got to the clinic, I could have sworn the swelling was already going down.

In the lobby, a technician ran through a list of questions, told me they wanted to keep him for observation, and handed me a form asking whether I wanted them to resuscitate him if something went wrong.

For a bee sting.

Then came the itemized estimate: $899.

What I did in the lobby

I understand bees can cause allergic reactions. I also understood that an hour in, my puppy wasn’t showing a single symptom of one. No trouble breathing, no hives, no lethargy. If anything, the swelling looked better than when we walked in.

So while I waited for the vet, I went through the estimate line by line, asking what each item was actually for — and checking it against the dog in front of me. What did he need right now, versus what covered every possible scenario?

Then the vet came out with their recommendation: the full battery. Bloodwork, fluids, observation, the works.

The weren’t wrong to suggest it. Being thorough is their job, and I respect that.

What I was never offered

A phase one.

They gave me the whole probability — every test, every treatment, all at once. What I wanted in that moment was a place to start: here’s what we’ll start with, get a result, go from there.

If they’d offered that, I would have said yes right there in the lobby.

Instead, the decision I was handed was all or nothing. So I chose nothing — from them. Theo got his $5.57 Benadryl from Walgreens. No scar, no drama, never acted like anything happened. I got the desired outcome.

Where I do the exact same thing

Here’s what stung more than the bee: I’ve done this, too.

I have to fight my tendency to present the whole solution when I can see everything a client is eventually going to need to get to where they want to go. I’ve also come realize that sometimes, especially with a prospect, what they are ready to do is get started.

That’s the trap for professional service founders. You see the full picture faster than anyone — it’s exactly why you’re good. But presenting the full picture isn’t always an invitation. It can land like an ultimatum with a price tag. The prospect stops weighing your expertise and starts weighing whether they can swallow all of it right now.

That’s where a lot of “let me think about it” comes from. Not the wrong words. The wrong size.

I say it every week: sales is an invitation to experience a different outcome. An invitation has to be sized so someone can actually say yes to it.

What a phase one is

A phase one is not a discount, and it’s not a watered-down version of your work. It’s the smallest thing you can do that gives a client a result they can feel. Once they feel it, the next need reveals itself — and you’re standing right there.

You don’t have to sell the whole solution. You have to earn the next conversation.

A $500,000 client relationship started with a single first-step project. After our first meeting, I knew they were going to need a strategic plan and support implementing it. I could see the whole thing. They knew it, too, they just hadn’t been willing to commit to it.

I didn’t propose the whole solution. I recommended one piece of work: get the key stakeholders aligned on the vision. That was the entire project.

It’s also what made them ready for everything we did together over the next three years. Not because I withheld the bigger picture. Because they got a result they could feel, and the next need, and readiness, showed up on its own.

Three questions for the proposal sitting in your drafts right now:

• What’s the first result this client would notice? Not the outcome twelve months out. The one they’d feel in the first few weeks.
• What’s the smallest version of your work that produces it?
• What happens after? Name the natural next step out loud, so phase one leads somewhere instead of ending.

To be clear: sometimes the full package is the right call. If Theo had been struggling to breathe, I’d have paid the $899 without blinking. Some clients arrive in crisis and need everything now. Most don’t. Most need a place to start, and a partner who’ll tell them what comes next.

The Benadryl is where the $500,000 started.

Think about it

Where are you presenting the $899 package to someone who’s ready to say yes to the Benadryl?

One proposal. One client. Name it.

P.S. — Next Wednesday there will be exactly 100 days left in 2026. That’s enough time for a phase one of your own. More next week.