I was going to write a book (about myself) called Turning It Around. I decided that total sales might be < 10 units, so I decided to post it all here instead. This is chapter two.
February 14th of 2006 was a special day. I won’t ever forget that. However, the next few months wouldn’t entail much worth remembering, although I remember it vividly.
Fresh of the plane and straight from sunny California, I had the brilliant idea that I would dive right into the Manhattan real estate market. I was, again, lured by the sound of easy money and the glamorous idea of peddling real estate in New York City. Within three weeks of being a New Yorker, I had my real estate license in hand. Not knowing anything and armed with little more than ambition, I joined a small, boutique-like brokerage firm on the Upper West Side.
Looking back, I couldn’t have made any more bad decisions! I was living in Williamsburg, where I felt most at home, but working on the Upper West Side – practically another planet. I joined a small firm, at which there was no formal training. In fact, there were no formalities at all. In hindsight, I think I may have thrived in an environment where coaching and mentoring were more available and structured. Who knows, maybe I would still be at Corcoran or Douglas Elliman if that were the case. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I do know this, though: Unless you have a massive cash reserve or a generous broker, the first few months can be tough as hell. I was pounding the pavement, wearing through shoes (literally!), taking the subway ten or more times a day, and generally giving it my all, but nearly to no avail.
Just as I starting closing a few deals in May, I realized that renting apartments in Manhattan just wasn’t for me. I hated charging someone 15% of a year’s rent just because I showed them an apartment. That seems a bit off to me. For example, I helped a sweet, young girl find an apartment near 18th street and 3rd avenue. She had perfect credit, healthy savings, high income, and an overall ideal profile for a renter. The management company was rotten. They asked for the first and last month’s rent – plus an additional six months of deposit. On top of that, I had to ask her for a fee of $3,240. The broker gets half of that (which I think is outrageous). I was pretty disheartened after all of that, so I just walked away.
By mid June of 2006, after only four months of being in New York, I had managed to live in three apartments. I was now on to my fourth. Through an acquaintance of Nicole’s, I was set to move in with two fellow Texans to a Williamsburg loft on North 3rd and Bedford Avenue. In 2006, this was pretty much the Mecca of cool. I think I arrived in Williamsburg at its peak – yellow cabs were still a rare site and the air was always thick with judgment. Gazing eyes from the lone coffee shop would pierce right through anyone and the Bedford Cheese Store was a bookstore then. Now it’s an absolute cluster. I don’t dislike it; it’s just a place that’s changing quickly. I still live in Williamsburg as I write this, but in a much more relaxed location. I ended up moving into the North 3rd loft with George and Chris (and Emma) that June, never to see another day of real estate again.
With no job to wake up for and not a single responsibility to be held to, I found myself with a lot of idle time. Up to this point in my life, excluding July 4th 2005 and a few other choice moments, I wasn’t really a heavy drinker. This was about to change – fast. About six nights a week, the roof of our building was a party. There were always people and plenty of booze – sometimes even music. I drank, and I drank, and I drank. I woke up hung-over, cleaned the apartment, and started to drink again. It felt strange, but I just kept doing it. I was broke, but I just kept ending up on the roof, not even needing to pay for anything.
This generally depressed me and I found it totally unacceptable. I came up short for July rent and August as well. My roommate’s mother was bailing me out and I had not a single job prospect lined up. My mother, who can usually sense when something has gone awry, sent me a text message that read, “Do you want to come home?” “Yes,” I wrote back.
After only six months, I had been beat. I came to New York with so much ambition, energy, drive, and even several thousand dollars. I was heading back to Houston with none of that. I was in debt to several individuals and the credit was starting to pile up. My mom, who has always been there to bail me out, bought me a one-way ticket to Houston for just a few days later. I was terribly sad to leave New York and Nicole, but there was no way I could stay.
Living at home after having been gone for seven years was quite the challenge. I didn’t really have any other option, so I was forced to adjust. Julius was living in Tomball as well at the time, so at least I had my long time friend available to hang out with. It was tough, though. I was pounding coffee every morning in order to send out résumés and get motivated. Unfortunately, my drinking didn’t really slow down once I moved to Tomball as I thought it would. I just ended up at different places – drinking the same amount. Places I hope I never go back to!
I applied at KB Homes, Kroger, Wal-Mart, etc. I really did. I even got hired at Wal-Mart, but decided not to take the job. Although I appreciated the offer, I knew I would never make it back to New York by making $10 an hour. I knew I had to aim higher. I knew if I could make commission I could earn as much as my motivation allowed me to. I knew there was a Nordstrom at the Galleria in Houston, so I decided to see about getting my old job back and selling a few more shoes. By some strange coincidence, a good friend from California was now a manager at the Houston store. After a few phone calls and a visit to the store, I was hired. The only downside was a 45 minute commute to the galleria, but I was more than happy to make the drive. I loved Nordstrom and I knew I could make good money. I probably would have driven even further.
I made the drive back and forth and wore a couple of more suits to threads. The endless running back and forth, kneeling, and climbing takes a toll on your body and your clothes. Although I was starting to earn a bit of money and I got my cell-phone service turned back on, I wasn’t really aspiring to achieve much. I talked to Nicole daily and the only things I dreamed of were seeing her and going back to New York. Because New York was all I talked about, I met a gentleman who was a sales representative for a shoe company who also did business in New York. He put me in touch with a shoe store there that might be looking for a young go-getter like me.
It was really hard to live in Tomball, TX after having lived in Austin, Orange County, San Diego, and New York City. Really hard. My attitude wasn’t the best. It ended up straining my relationship with my mother which only made me long for New York even more. My tunnel vision and general lack of a decent persona led my mother and me to an argument that would be a catalyst for returning to NY. I didn’t have the money, but I was going back anyways – no matter what.
You know how banks let you overdraft your checking account with your Visa or MC check card? This is a pretty awful practice in my opinion, but that night I was glad the banks worked that way. I only had about $50 in my account, but within an hour of my heated discussion with my mother, I was packed and had purchased a one-way ticket back to New York by over drafting my Wells Fargo account. How would I get from JFK to Nicole’s apartment? How would I eat? I didn’t know or care. I had one goal and that was to get back to New York.
I arrived in New York just a few days before Thanksgiving. Nicole paid for my cab fare from the airport to her apartment and then fed me until I earned my first check. The very next day, she also lent me her credit card in order to go purchase some nice looking clothes from H&M (such an unselfish, amazing person). I had thrown my suits away in Texas – thinking I would no longer want to wear them. I second guessed that decision a few times. I made my way to an interview at Harry’s Shoes on the Upper West Side – again, not my ideal neighborhood to hang out in.
I was offered a job and started the next day, but it would be much less money than I was accustomed to making. Nordstrom paid 10% commission – end of story. The more you sell, the more you make. Harry’s had a complicated incentive program with bonus levels and other hoops to jump through. Their stock room was all in the basement and completely insane. I felt so uncomfortable. It was all I had though, so I went. Well, I lasted about three hours. Three! I wasn’t feeling it so I stepped out for a break. I called Sarah. I called Julius. I called Nicole. All three gave great advice, but it was Julius’ whose rang most clear. “If it’s not fun, don’t do it.” It was so simple and so true. I walked back in and informed the manager that I would be leaving. It felt so great to leave, but I was also genuinely worried that I had made a terrible mistake not having anything else lined up.
Nicole and I shared Thanksgiving together and I spent a few days reflecting on what 2006 had bestowed upon me thus far. I started to think about what I would actually enjoy doing at a job. How could I be mentally stimulated? What would keep me interested all day long? I knew the answer was somewhere within technology, but I wasn’t sure exactly where. I knew I needed to be faced with challenges daily that required me to research the answer. I knew I should be using Google fifty times a day instead of five — looking for answers to questions.
On Sunday, November 26th, I sat in the Roebling Tea Room with my laptop and for some reason I decided to check craigslist.org for jobs. I hit newyork.craigslist.org and clicked on “Jobs.” I didn’t filter by category nor did I perform a keyword search. I was looking at every job posting across all categories across all five boroughs. A posting caught my eye on that first page of listings, so I read it and applied. An EMR (Electronic Medical Records) software company was looking for someone to help out on the phones and provide support to its customers. That was the only job I applied to. The next day, Monday, the 27th, I received a phone call. I interviewed, got the job, and started on Friday, December 1st with salary of $45,000. I was beyond excited. You’ve seen how excited a pageant winner get when she wins Miss America right? I was about 1,000 times more excited than that.
Although I could write volumes about my time at IO Practiceware, that’s not so much the message I want to convey in this book post. In a period of 16 months, I went from $45,000 to $85,000 and was offered ownership in the company. I travelled often in the US and took a vacation to China to visit my little brother, Tyra. I went from answering the phones to converting data, implementing new customers, and designing business solutions to help streamline our workflows. It was an eye opening and intense experience. I worked for a stretch of 35 days in a row at one point without a single day off. There was never a break. It was grueling.
On a positive note, my job was allowing me to travel consistently for the first time ever. This had always been a fantasy of mine. Let me diverge for a moment to tell a quick story about drinking at the airport.
∞
I remember a particularly excruciating experience I had on a connecting flight from Cincinnati back to NYC. I had been working in London, KY on a software implementation. We left Louisville and had to stop off in Cincinnati on our way home. Our flight into LGA was delayed, so we saddled up at some Mexican restaurant in the airport. This was a time when I was drinking every once and a while (okay – every day), so we naturally ordered a margarita. I probably had two or three, plus some water. No big deal. Feelin’ great. It’s time to go to the gate, so we walk over. Our flight is delayed 30 more minutes. What’s a guy to do?! Oh, I know. How about go to the bar and drink a 2500 oz. Budweiser. Well, it wasn’t really 2500 onces, because that would be nearly 70 liters of beer. The point is that it was a really tall beer that I consumed in a short period of time. Time to board.
While I’m walking down the jet way I start to think, “Man… I’ve really got to go to the bathroom.” Everyone was in a rush to get home to NY and the plane was completely full so I figured I could wait till we were airborne. I take my seat. While everyone is getting situated, I keep second guessing my decision. Each time I start to get up, I decide not to. I’m way too polite sometimes. The only reason I didn’t get up is b/c I was in the middle of the plane and the entire aisle was chaos. I didn’t want to slow down the boarding process.
Finally, we back away from the gate. Thank God. I figured it would only be a couple more minutes. The captain comes over the loud speaker and informs us that the runway is packed and we are TWENTIETH in line. Holy… piss. Now what?
I ring the flight attendant bell, which they seem to despise anyways, but we were taxiing, which is a big no-no. I told the nice, young fella how bad I needed to pee, but he informed me that if I was to leave my seat that the plan would be taken back to the gate and I would be removed from the plane. That didn’t seem like a viable option to me, so I decided to stay put.
At this point, I’m rocking back and forth in my seat because I’m really uncomfortable. The people next to me think it’s funny, but it’s starting to actually be painful. I wait another two minutes and then I ring the attendant again. This time he’s irritated with me and reminds me that I can’t get up. I let another two minutes of agony go by. I realize that I’m very close to peeing in my pants, so I unbuckle my seat belt and start to get up. The guy next to me, probably from SI or Brooklyn, puts his arm out and says, “You’re not going anywhere. You’re not taking this ****in’ plane back to the gate!” Awesome.
My choices:
- Pee in my pants
- Brooklyn guy rips my head off
- Plane goes back to the gate / I stay in Cincinnati for the night
2 and 3 were not options, so I was just going to go for it. I was going to pee in my pants right in the airplane seat that I had to sit in for two more hours. I’ve been embarrassed a couple of times, but this would have been an all-time peak of embarrassment… an all time high (or all time low – not sure which one).
This is where it gets ridiculous. All of the sudden, I realized that I had a shopping bag with me that had some books in it. I thought to myself, “Well a plastic bag is way better than my jeans and this seat.” I turned to the people on my left and said, “Look you guys, I’m really sorry… but this about to happen. I am in serious f’in pain and I don’t want to piss myself.”
I ring the bell one last time to try, but the attendant, furious with me at this point, says I have to wait until the wheels are off the ground. Maybe that’s some post 9-11 safety rule, but I think it affected my bladder long term. So, I empty the books out of the bag and start to reposition myself in a manner that would afford me the most privacy possible. Awesome. I couldn’t even think straight. I was feverishly rocking back and forth with my fists clinched so tight and my eyes shut. At that very moment the captain said, “Flight attendants be seated for take-off.”
The engine roared, the plane accelerated, and the very second the wheels were off the ground I unbuckled, bolted over the two people on my left, and actually ran down the aisle. It’s a crazy feeling going down the aisle when the airplane is at such an angle. That’s the only thing I really remember. A few flight attendants jumped out of their seats and chased me because they didn’t know about the agreement I had with the other attendant, who said I could leave my seat when the wheels were up.
Long story long, I made it to the bathroom and I didn’t have to pee on myself or a in a bag. I have since never had a drink in an airport. I’m even afraid to drink water. I’ll wake up at 8 a.m. and not have to fly until that afternoon, but I’ll try not to drink anything all day. That’s a life changing event.
When we deboarded the plane, everyone was joking with me and asking if I was alright. It was slightly embarrassing, but it could have been way worse.
So, yeah. Don’t drink at the airport.
∞
I was travelling and learning, but things were not all good. After about a year, I wasn’t always agreeing with my boss – and this became more and more intensified with every day. As I look back, this appears to have happened plenty of times with all of my bosses and teachers. Due to the increasing number of disagreements, our relationship started to deteriorate quite fast. Towards, the end of my time at IO Practiceware, I was really unhappy at work.
Outside of work, things were amazing. I had stopped drinking for over three months, was eating completely vegan, and I was playing music again with Julius in Greenpoint. Things were really coming together fast and I was back to my old self on the drums. It felt incredible.
On Tuesday, April 29th of 2008, I went into work and I was told that I had been fired – last Thursday! I think my response was, “Cool. Let me grab my stuff.” I got it and walked out. I was a bit shocked, but I knew it was for the best.
Throughout those 16 months, I saw a few apartments, Nicole moved back to California, and I went from being a severe, functioning alcoholic to a sober vegan. What a roller coaster it was. Little did I know, things were just about to get interesting. Just as I was being fired from my job, two events occurred that would dramatically influence my life. By some crazy twists of fate, I met a young lady named Alice while out on the Lower East Side one night. Just after meeting Alice, on Sunday, May 4th 2008, I was mugged by three guys in Williamsburg – just outside of the Roebling Tea Room.
Hmm… a broken wrist, no work, no music, and no clue what to do next.
