Chuck Frank

Chips Across America is my favorite failed business venture.  My partners had success shipping Beer Across America, so why not potato chips?  We trademarked the name, got a catchy phone number, developed marketing material, and invited dozens of manufacturers to participate in the program.  Along the way, we acquired eclectic chip samples from 35 companies.

I wanted to identify the finest sliced spuds in the land, but I had a fundamental problem.  I don’t like vinegar, sour cream, jalapeno, mustard, dill, ranch, yogurt, cheese or green onions. 

I did, however, have friends with more accepting palates.  I borrowed some folding tables, bought a large stack of Dixie paper bowls, and laid out a vast smorgasbord of dozens of neatly labeled chips.  I invited 25 or so friends to join our team as taste testers and gave everyone a score sheet to rate each variety.  Some friends skipped dinner so that they could sample each and every chip.

The next day, when I reached out to thank our tasters, the unpleasant reports came in.  Stomach cramps.  Nausea. Vomiting.  Apparently topping off a potato chip binge at 6 p.m. with Cajun Crawtators and Texas Style Hot Ranch is not a recipe for a good night’s sleep.  Thirty years later, one friend tells me that he still can’t look at a bag of potato chips without gagging.   
Am I to blame?  Did I force my friends to eat one fistful of chips after another?  I think not.  Without me, they would never have had the opportunity to sample ketchup-flavored and  pepperoni pizza chips at one sitting. 

Coordinating the distribution of a product with limited shelf life from multiple sources is akin to herding cats, and the demise of Chips Across America was swift.  But the memory of the night of endless chips churns on.