“You scrutinize the check, looking again and again at the dollar amount. You make sure there are enough commas. That the date is correct. That the signature resembles the one you know. A part of you wants to drive all the way down to Santa Cruz, to the bank with the recessed lighting, the gleaming tile, the golden safe door half-open behind the counter, gleaming from the darkness like a yacht’s steering wheel. To change your shirt into something with a collar, maybe wear a tie—to dress up for the occasion. One point nine million dollars is a lot of money. You feel nervous handling it, like you’ve robbed it off someone else. Better to go to the closest bank you can find. Who cares if it’s in a strip mall in Los Gatos? You need to get this thing out of your hands, fast”
Excerpt From: Marc Randolph. “That Will Never Work: The Birth of Netflix and the Amazing Life of an Idea.”