I said yes to everything for a week

And made and lost some friends

I WAS HOOKED on an idea from a book called Yes Man. The idea was to say yes to everything and everyone for a whole week. “Genius,” I thought, “a week should be enough for some interesting things to occur.”

The next morning, I was riding the tube to Harrods where I was working as an electrician renovating the Jimmy Choo store. Across from me sat a girl of a similar age unashamedly feasting her eyes on me. I couldn’t believe my luck. I smiled back and basked in my glory until my stop. As I left the train, I regretted not speaking to her.

But it didn’t matter. She got off and followed me into the tunnel. “I’m Mandy. This is gonna sound crazy, but can you meet me at the Hilton Hotel Queensway on Wednesday at seven o’clock? That’s all I’m going to say. It sounds crazy I know but you’ll have to trust me. If you come, you won’t be disappointed.”

I would have agreed to meet her even had I not committed to saying yes for a week. And I was pleased by the coincidence of such an easy offer falling my way in this week of all weeks.

Wednesday finally came and I was at the Hilton not a second later than seven. Mandy greeted me without the flirtatiousness she’d shown in the tunnel beneath Knightsbridge. I checked myself in the bathroom mirror, grabbed a white wine and took a seat amongst a large number of other intrigued and impatient people—and a presentation began.

It was a network marketing company that sold group holidays to exotic locations. A microphone was passed around to sales reps who gloated about all the wondrous destinations the business had enabled them to visit. Projectors lit up with photographs of reps frolicking in their tight blue swimwear, posing before the Great Pyramids and the Leaning Tower of Pisa. In all of the photos, they held hand-written signs inscribed with “World Ventures – You should be here!”

Here I was, in a dated hotel function room. A new member of Mandy’s team. Mandy had once started out just like me and was now, apparently, earning good money. Her team leader, in his turn, was earning even more. And so it went on up the chain. At the very top, there were people getting rich. The reps stressed that I, too, could get rich if I did what they told me to do. Although every fibre of my body screamed at me to run away, I dutifully said yes.

It wasn’t my first rodeo in network marketing. I was once a Kleeneze salesman in my boyhood bone land of Sheffield, peddling ironing board covers and Tupperware tubs as an enterprising teenager. After little success—and after becoming aware that the network marketing model has its many critics—I had vowed never to do it again.

That was until I met Mandy in the tunnel the week I read Yes Man.

I left the convention feeling betrayed and foolish. Worse still, I was nursing a £300 hole in my wallet. Parting with cash for the “starter pack” really did leave a sour taste. I put it to the back of my mind and tried to muster some optimism for my new venture.

Not one to shirk a challenge, I met Mandy a few days later so she could show me the ropes. As we sipped coffee in a cafe near Canada Water, she laid everything out. For each person in my team, I would earn a commission from their sales. The trick was to become a leader rather than a seller. For that, I needed to start recruiting people to events as she had recruited me.

She stressed that I must not tell prospects what to expect or else they wouldn’t turn up. This carefully arranged absence of information was the all-important ingredient in a successful recruitment strategy. Providing that prospects remained uninformed, so the argument went, their curiosity alone would be enough to bring them along. And once they attended, I could then rely on the sales reps to convince them to join my team.

Mandy asked me to take out my phone, open my contacts list and start ringing people there and then, in alphabetical order, with no exceptions. I pleaded that my contacts were a mishmash of phone numbers dating back two decades. Most of the people either wouldn’t remember who I was, or they hadn’t seen me for so long that it would be outlandish of me to invite them to anything, let alone a mystery event—and an event in London to boot; many of them lived in the north.

I stressed that my close friends and family would insist on knowing what they were being invited to before agreeing. And unless I could tell them, they wouldn’t come. Mandy only reiterated the need to push through the discomfort and stick to the plan in order to achieve success. What could I say, but yes?

Mandy shared details of the next event taking place in a couple of weeks in a nightclub on the King’s Road. I made a few excruciating calls to people with names beginning with A, but got no takers. Eventually I told her I would do what she was instructing but only in my own time once I’d had a chance to plan. She accepted this, seeing that I was bought in, but cautioned me not to leave it too long as the event was coming up and people needed time to make travel plans. I shuddered at the thought of my nearest and dearest paying for long train journeys to London for nothing more than a pyramid scheme.

Nevertheless, I convinced about 30 people to come to the event. They included Ellie, Bryony, Tom and others from Blake College; a bunch of people I’d worked with on film sets; and other individuals I’d met around London. Thankfully, no northern folk.

Naturally, they all questioned me about what they were being invited to. And I died a little bit each time I responded with the lie, “If you come, you won’t be disappointed.”

The event didn’t begin well for me in the sense that there was a healthy turnout. I’d been praying for as many no-shows as possible, but that damned recruitment strategy really had worked. And to add insult to injury, many of my guests had brought their significant others.

The buzz of anticipation, particularly among my art school friends, was tangible by the time the event began. I have since heard from Ellie that my guests giddily exchanged speculation about what they were going to witness, eventually agreeing on some sort of live art performance, maybe something raunchy, most likely controversial, but undoubtedly entertaining. The premium London address and the opulent interior of the club only fed their imaginations.

I don’t remember much about the night except for feeling ashamed as the sales presentation got underway. Bryony got up and left without saying goodbye. When it was done, everyone else left. It was over. Nobody signed up to join my team. And I didn’t follow up with anyone. The next day, I sent back my starter kit and got a refund. Mandy was disappointed, of course.

Weeks later, we had dinner at Bryony’s house. She saw me to the door when I was leaving and took a minute to tell me how offended she was that I’d invited her to something like that. Her detestation was so strong that she’d waited weeks for the right moment—and I assume a calmer frame of mind—before telling me. I talked about Yes Man and my commitment to saying yes, but she did not buy it.

Four years later, Mandy got in touch and invited me for Greek food in Camden. She had risen high in the business and was now, as she’d always said she would be, rich. She had even married one of the company’s founding members and top earners. She showed me photos of their gigantic house in Australia, with all the pools, cars and luxury you’d expect rich people to enjoy. And when they weren’t at home, they were, of course, travelling the world. Mandy and her team—still wielding those hand-written signs—had been to so many nice places, I admit to feeling envious.

Ellie says that her and Tom spent that whole night laughing about what a stunt I’d pulled back on the King’s Road. But I dread to think how my other guests felt and what they thought of me, those who didn’t get to hear me explain why I did it.

The irony is, I could have saved face—even scored kudos!—if I’d told everyone it was an art performance; a submission to an experience in the interest of intellectual pursuit. Isn't hindsight a wonderful thing?

I’m looking forward to committing to saying yes again at some point in the future. I can’t decide whether what happened last time is a lesson to not take it quite so literally, or a vindication to do just that.

---

---

Wanna read more of my work? I’ve grouped my writing into 3 themes:

✍️ Creativity & writing →

💔 Ideas I didn’t date →

🛶 Personal stories →

You can read my personal writing mission here →