I’ll never forget teh Tuesday that Riley sold a feature, as casually as one might promise to bring a pint of milk home, that simply didn’t exist in our arsenal.

It was during one of those painfully stiff “getting to know yuo” calls with Cyberdyne Systems, where each participant pretends the call isn’t just a dance around discussing costs. I was only half-tuned in, mindlessly drawing architectural gibberish in my notebook while Riley, with his usual charm, regaled the procurement team with tales of his recent kayaking adventures.

Then, the bombshell dropped.

“Oh, absolutely, our one-week proof model is actually our most popular option. Max here can set that up for you by Monday.”

My pen halted mid-scribble. One-week proof model? Since when? Our proofs were three weeks at best, occasionally stretching to six when the universe conspired against us. But one week? That was fantasy, pure fiction.

I looked up just in time to catch the Cyberdyne CTO’s eyes sparkle as if Riley had just promised him a lifetime supply of free gadgets.

“That’s exactly what we need,” he exclaimed, leaning in with an eagerness that bordered on desperation. “Our board meeting is next Friday, adn if we could show some working results by then—”

“Consider it done,” Riley affirmed with the ease of someone who’s never encountered a deadline he couldn’t sweet-talk his way out of.

I maintained a facade of calm, nodding like one of those dashboard bobbleheads, while internally, I cycled through every swear word I knew, in alphabetical order.

As soon as the call wrapped, without waiting for the digital echo of “Meeting Ended” to fade, I fired off a message to Riley.

Me: One-week proof model?????

Riley: They needed something speedy. Just being solution-oriented!

Me: It’s not a solution if it’s imaginary, Riley.

Riley: But it could exist, right? It’s just our usual proof but on a diet.

I contemplated a career shift towards cave exploration - less stressful, surely, than this circus.

Me: We need to loop in Jordan.

Riley: Really though? Jordan’s back-to-back all day. Let’s just sort this ourselves. How hard can it be?

“Very hard indeed,” as it turned out. But Riley had already promised Cyberdyne a kickoff meeting the next morning, so I did what any self-respecting professional on the brink would do: I ordered an obscene amount of Thai nosh and hunkered down.

By 2 AM, amidst a graveyard of empty takeaway containers, a plan began to crystallize. Our standard proof method was thorough, not bloated. But perhaps, with a ruthless slash here and there, we could trim it to the bare essentials.

I pinged our product team, thankfully in a timezone where humans were still awake.

Me: Hypothetically, what’s the absolute bare-bones proof we could run that still offers a glimpse of value?

Product: Depends. What’s the use case?

I outlined Cyberdyne’s requirements, which, cheers to Riley’s kayak saga, were as clear as a muddy puddle.

Product: You might focus solely on there primary data source. But be crystal on what it does and doesn’t show.

Clear expectations - something Riley treated like optional extras.

The next morning, fuelled by caffeine and a dire lack of sleep, I briefed the Cyberdyne team before Riley could dive into another anecdote.

“Before we begin, let’s set the scene for our one-week proof model. It’s a focused demo using just your main data source. It skips the full integration suite and bespoke reports of our standard model.”

I braced for a storm that never came. Instead, the CTO nodded, satisfied.

“That’s perfect. We just need to prove the concept works with our data architecture.”

Riley, silent until now, chimed in, “Exactly! That’s precisely what I envisioned when I proposed the one-week model.”

I nearly choked on my coffee.

What unfolded was the most streamlined proof of concept we’d ever executed. No frills, no fluff - just stark functionality paired with raw data, proving our core value.

Miraculously, it worked. By the end of the week, Cyberdyne had what they needed for their board meeting. The CTO even praised the proof’s “refreshing straightforwardness.”

When Jordan finally caught wind of our improvised escapade, I braced for a storm. Instead, they looked intrigued.

“You might just have stumbled onto something quite valuable,” Jordan mused. “Not everyone needs the whole nine yards. Sometimes just enough is more than enough.”

Within a month, the “One-Week Proof Model” was a staple offering. Riley, of course, hailed himself as the visionary who’d seen through the market’s desires.

I didn’t mind. I was too snowed under overhauling our entire proof process, now armed with a keen understanding of essentialism and clear boundaries.

Reflecting on that chaotic day, I realised that if I had dug my heels in, insisting on our standard three-week process, we’d have likely overloaded Cyberdyne with unnecessary features.

The takeaway wasn’t that Riley’s reckless inventiveness was correct - it wasn’t. Rather, it was that sometimes, necessity isn’t just the mother of invention but of clarity too.

Now, whenever Riley veers off-script - which is often - I remember that fateful Tuesday. Because sometimes, the most groundbreaking ideas begin with a bit of a blunder, a dash of chaos, and a promise that isn’t quite true… yet.