Or D, You’re a Pirate – your multiple choice guide to finding your business style SYNOPSIS This book is in the choose-your-own-adventure format that so many of us knew and loved as kids, except this time instead of dealing with spies, treasure and secret tunnels, the story deals with the ultimate adult adventure – quitting your job and starting your own business. The story is written in the second person and the “you” character has a unisex name – Kim. The nature of the job the central character leaves and the business he/she subsequently starts is also deliberately vague, as is the location, so that the book will have universal appeal. At the end of each chapter there are multiple choice options (usually two, three maximum) to a business-related dilemma in the story. Each option directs you to a different turn in the storyline and the progress of your hypothetical business. The scenarios are a little over the top for humour and entertainment – employee rebellions, vengeful mentors and silent partners who turn out to be gangsters – but these extremes help emphasise the business and ethical points made. The book is structured so that whichever choices you make at the end of each chapter, there will be common issues covered. These will include common sources of business dilemmas, such as: who to take on as a partner – and should you work with family? leadership issues financing debt labour sources cost vs quality vs ethical concerns sourcing clients following trends dealing with media undervaluing/overvaluing your business leadership style dealing with employee morale, loyalty, motivation These themes will revolve around what I call the eight “change points”. Each storyline will consist of 11 steps (chapters) on the way to one of the 10 different possible endings. There will be an addendum to each ending, explaining what the reader’s arrival at this ending says about their business personality, the types of business that would be appropriate for them, and their work/lifestyle balance. As with children’s choose-your-own-adventure books, once finished part of the fun will be to go back check the “what ifs” – what would have happened if you had taken one of the alternative options at the end of different chapters.
Chapter One “I heard you can eat cockroaches dipped in honey.” “No dude, that’s locusts. Hey, do you think a family of four could sleep OK in the public restrooms in City Park?”
The water cooler talk at work has turned decidedly bleak lately. There have been some clues that downsizing is on the way for a while now. First, there was the company merger. Then Mai Lin the Girl Wonder was “fast-tracked” to the head of the accounts department on a third of her predecessor’s salary – a big step up from being an intern just two months ago. There’s also a consultant known only as “Razor”, who’s set himself up in the corner office. He doesn’t seem to do anything except watch people all day and flip through files of papers, as noiseless as a finger in a glove. All you know is that whenever he makes a call, he whispers into the phone with a mouth like wilted lettuce and someone somewhere in the office picks up a phone and cries. Their redundancy is announced the following day. Walk past any printer in the office and you’ll catch it furtively spitting out updated CVs – staff are disappearing faster than weekend house guests in an Agatha Christie story. It’s a far cry from the vision you saw for the business – and yourself – when you started here five years ago. At first, everything looked roses – it’s just that you couldn’t see the pricks for the flowers. The company was young and fresh, riding on the wave of a trend like Kelly Slater riding The Pipeline in Hawaii. Life was good. You moved in with your partner and soon bought an apartment and new cars because things could only get better, right? Now you bleed a little money every week. If your finances were a woman, you’d take her straight to the gynaecologist. Worse, you’re owed a couple paychecks – “delayed”, your boss says. Now you wonder if the only financial security you’ll have will come through “employer financing” – stealing office supplies and equipment and reselling them before the creditors take them. It wasn’t your fault. The business seemed safe as houses when you started here. And it was – it’s just that those houses were financed on subprime mortgages. The big promise to move up in the organisation never quite came. Over time, you tended to move more sideways than up. And in different directions, too. In fact, you’ve been jostled around so much you really don’t know how to describe your role. It’s not a great feature when applying for new positions in a depressed job market. Now you’re just going nowhere, you’re on a treadmill, but one that spits up flames around your ankles. A door opens and a gruff voice roars your name, then slams the door shut. It’s your boss. You feel both perplexed and apprehensive, as if you can’t remember something terrible that hasn’t happened yet. You get up, but before you go you take a quick visual inventory of the office supplies on your desk – some of your colleagues are acting more than a little desperately. Your boss waves you into his office. “Shut the door!” he hisses at you. This in itself is not a cause for alarm – usually when he does this it’s more about keeping his cigar smoke inside his office, not the secrecy of his conversation. He likes cigars, he says, because “they make more secondary smoke, thereby killing off antismokers faster”. “Filthy habit,” you mutter, waving away the acrid cloud so you can find a chair. “If I stopped smoking and drinking it would add ten years to my life. But it would add them to the wrong end,” your boss replies. He’s huffing and chomping on those fat stogies more than ever now. You sit and wonder if the local economy’s downturn is the Cuban economy’s gain. “How’s life at home?” your boss asks. “Oh, you know – the same.” The truth is that since your partner took a second job, relations have been tense. You sleep a lot and you don’t have the energy and motivation to play a sport or work out. At the same time, you feel guilty about going out or socialising with friends. “Any kids on the way?” You shake your head. You don’t want to give him words to play with. Talking about your personal life with your boss is just creepy. “By the way, I need you to get rid of Lydia.”
“Lydia? What has she done?” you ask, knowing that she is still under the three-month probation period for all new employees.” “Find something. I think she’s pregnant and we just can’t afford that.” “You think she’s pregnant?” “Look at the weight she’s gained. Besides, I never really trusted her – she doesn’t drink.” “Well that’s not very nice.” “I'll try being nicer if you'll try being smarter!” he barks at you. That’s your boss – in public he can be Joe Charisma. Behind closed doors, he’s more Joe Stalin. “Jesus, do you have some mother issues or something?” you add a little laugh at the end, hoping he might mistake your reaction for a joke. But really, you just don’t care any more. Your boss frowns. “My mother never liked me much. She used to pass me off to the fat neighbour for breastfeeding. I still hate that guy.” There’s an awkward silence. You look down at the floor. Then at the desk. Across the top edge of the desk, a dozen or so credit cards are neatly lined up, including one issued by the Union Bank of Nigeria. Below each one is a line of bills and invoices including, you notice, one that you approved six weeks ago. It sits there, listless, like a prisoner on a hunger strike. “Umm, I thought you said you paid this invoice?” you say, tapping the page of the contact you have relied on for years, building up the relationship carefully like a tower made of flaked chocolate. “They can wait,” he says, quickly snatching the paper away from you. He relights his cigar with it. “Anyway, I brought you in here to see if you’d like to take charge of the new rollout.” “Me?” you’re puzzled. This isn’t really what you do. Sure, you’ve given input on projects like this before, but there’s only so much of being ignored you can handle before something inside you dies. “Yeah. I know, it’s a step up, but I like you,” your boss says. He leans forward and does his best impersonation of sincerity. “You remind me of myself when I was young and stupid.” “Uh, I’m not sure.” “Did you hear how the presentation for it went down with the focus group?” he asks. You shift awkwardly in your chair. There is no way to ease the pain. “Bad. It rated a minus 34 – any worse and they would have pulled their eyes out like Oedipus.” Your boss just nods. “Don’t worry, there’s light at the end of the tunnel.” “But wouldn’t that just be an oncoming train?” you ask. “Look,” he says, slapping his palms down on the desktop and scattering bills to the floor. “I admit, the whole plan’s flawed. I’ve taken my eye off the ball because of…” he trails off, waving a hand at the papers on his desk and darting a nervous jerk of his chin at Razor, who is picking up his phone receiver in slow motion, like a sniper squeezing a trigger. “But that’s where you come in. We need someone who’s hungry to take a fresh approach to this. You’ll have free rein.” For the first time in a long while you feel something like a flutter in your belly and the fog that clouds your head clears just a little. Is it… stimulation?
“As an incentive, I can offer you 5% of all profits that arise from the project. Over a year, that could be at least an extra $20,000 on top of your salary.” You quickly calculate 5% of zero. But does it matter? It will be good experience and it sure beats doing the usual mundane work. “There’s a catch, though,” your boss says. He blows a huge cloud of smoke, completely obscuring his face. “You can work on it for three weeks, but I can’t pay you during that time. I’ll call it leave without absence. After all, I’m taking a huge risk – I mean, it’s you… but on the other hand, think of the long-term benefit if you pull it off!” You don’t know what to say. You open and close your mouth like a tropical fish, but nothing comes out. Thankfully, his phone rings and his hand pounces out and throttles it. “Why? I don’t have to explain why! Just don’t let him in! That’s all!” your boss yells. He puts the phone down “Are you going out for lunch?” “Ah, sure,” you say, thrown by the sudden change in topic. “Do you want something?” “No,” he says, pulling a brown paper envelope out from his desk drawer. “But on the way out can you give this to Steve who used to work here? You’ll see him – security have him pinned down outside the front door to the building. Best I don’t go down – don’t want to rile him up any further.” He thrusts the envelope across to you. It feels light. “Go. Have lunch, then we’ll talk about this afterwards.” You stand up and take the envelope, thankful for the chance to think before you give your answer. Besides, you’re hungry, like your boss said. *
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Do you: A:
Take up the challenge but give your notice to leave the company – that way if it doesn’t turn out, you can resign with full benefits. Go to page XX.
B:
Politely refuse the poisoned chalice and put in your resignation. You can always work as a consultant to the company until you find another job – your boss will have no choice. You know too many roles in the business, so he can’t operate without you. Go to page XX.
C:
Go out and have a couple strong drinks then return and quit with a scene reminiscent of the climax to Scarface. It’s obvious the company is going under and you probably won’t get the money owed to you if you stick it out another four weeks anyway. Your life and dignity are worth more than this. Go to page XX.