The Third Door

by Alex Banayan

  Without a literary agent, I couldn’t get a publishing deal. And without a deal, I couldn’t get to Gates. From the day I’d started this journey, I’d felt that Bill Gates’ advice would be my Holy Grail, so in my eyes, the mission wouldn’t be complete without him.

  I sat at my desk, checked my email, and of course, there was another rejection. I uncapped my pen and drew a line through the agent’s name on my list. There were now lines through nineteen of the twenty names.

  I looked at the tower of books on my desk about the publishing process. I’d followed every word those books prescribed. I did everything the bestselling authors I’d spoken to advised me to do.

  Why isn’t this working?

  This last rejection, though, was different from the rest. It didn’t sting as much. As I drew a line through that agent’s name, I felt as if I was drawing a line through the idea of this list altogether. I didn’t need it anymore. Now I had Miki and Ben.

  I called Miki to see if her offer still stood.

  “Are you kidding?” she said. “Of course! My agent will love you. Come to New York!”

  “When should I—”

  “Book your ticket right now. And don’t even think about wasting money on a hotel. You’re staying in the extra bedroom in my apartment.”

  When I called Ben, he also said he’d set up a meeting for me with his agent.

  I bought a plane ticket to New York, and the next day, right before heading out, I ripped the list of agents off the storage closet wall so I could drop it in the trash. I don’t know why, but something within me said otherwise, so I folded the list and stuffed it in my pocket.

  After arriving at JFK airport, I jumped in a cab and went straight to Miki’s gluten-free pizzeria in the West Village. As soon as I put my duffel bag in the back room, Miki sat me down and got to the point.

  “Which agents have you talked to so far?”

  Now I knew why I hadn’t thrown away the list. I pulled it out of my pocket. Miki pointed to the name at the top. “Why is this the only one not crossed off?”

  “Well, that’s the agent I wanted the most. She’s repped twenty-three books that became New York Times bestsellers. She’s headquartered in San Francisco, gets huge deals with major publishers, and—”

  “I get it, I get it. But why isn’t she crossed off?”

  “I spoke to one of the authors she represents, and when I asked him for an introduction, he said to not even bother reaching out. This agent didn’t represent him on his first book, she didn’t represent Tim Ferriss on his first book, and if I can’t even get a meeting with smaller agents, then who am I kidding? I’m optimistic, but I’m not delusional…”

  “We don’t have time for failure,” Miki said.

  She grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the door.

  “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” she said. “There’s an hour before the dinner rush.”

  Miki yanked me through the Manhattan streets as she wove around pedestrians, running across intersections, leaping in front of honking cars. When we got to her agent’s office building, Miki swung open the front door, sped past the front desk and down a hallway. An assistant with a comb-over jumped up and flailed an arm in the air. “Miki! Wait! You don’t have an appointment!”

  Miki practically kicked down her agent’s door, pushed me in, and I saw her agent, sitting at a cluttered desk, phone to her ear. Her face turned white. Papers were scattered around the room. Books were piled on the floor.

  “Drop what you’re doing,” Miki told her. “I need ten minutes.”

  The agent mumbled into the phone and put it down.

  “Alex, take a seat,” Miki said, pointing to a couch. “Tell her about your book.”

  I made my pitch, spitting out every fact, statistic, and marketing idea I could, exactly like the authors I’d spoken to advised me. I spoke with all the passion I had, and by the end of the meeting, Miki told her agent that she had to work with me and her agent nodded.

  “This all sounds great!” she said. “Alex, send me your proposal. I’ll read it and get back to you as soon as I can.”

  I walked out of the office building, glowing. The New York City sidewalk was just as loud as ever, but for a moment, the noise seemed to fade away.

  “Little bro, let’s roll!” Miki hollered. She was already halfway down the block, speeding away. I ran to catch up.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” I said, trailing behind her.

  “Don’t think of it,” she said. “When I was younger, a group of thirty-year-old entrepreneurs took me under their wing and did the same for me. This is how the world works. It’s the circle of life.”

  * * *

  A day later, the circle kept on giving. I was escorted across the shimmering tile floors of William Morris Endeavor, one of the most powerful talent agencies in the world. I felt like everybody I passed in the halls knew that Ben had set up this meeting for me. Ben’s book had hit the New York Times bestseller list a few months prior, so there were no doors that needed kicking down.

  Ben’s agent stood up from her desk and gave me a warm welcome. Her office was large and had sweeping views of the skyline. We sat on her couch, I made my pitch, and because my meeting with Miki’s agent had gone so well, I doubled down on my approach: I laid out even more statistics, spit out even more facts, and focused even more on marketing ideas. I spoke with Ben’s agent for more than an hour, and at the end, she too asked me to send her my proposal. I felt the meeting couldn’t have gone better.

  The next day, I flew back to LA feeling triumphant. When I stepped back into the storage closet, I saw the gigantic tower of books on my desk and wanted to kiss it the way a hockey player kisses the Stanley Cup.

  Over the course of a week, I sent follow-up emails to both Ben’s and Miki’s agents. There was no response from Miki’s, but a few days later, Ben’s called.

  “Alex, I loved meeting you. And I think you’re great. But…”

  There’s always a but.

  “…but I don’t think we’re a fit. Though, I know someone here who might be.”

  She introduced me to one of her colleagues at William Morris. I got on the phone with her coworker, made my pitch, and for some reason, right on the spot, she said yes. I put the call on mute as I cheered out loud. I felt as if the brick wall that had blocked my path to Bill Gates was blasted by dynamite.

  And the dynamite wouldn’t stop detonating. The very next day, another author I knew introduced me to another agent at William Morris who also said yes on the spot.

  I booked a plane ticket to fly back to New York to meet the two William Morris agents in person. I didn’t understand why Miki’s agent hadn’t replied yet, because that seemed like a guaranteed yes too. Either way, now it was my turn to decide.

  I walked off the subway in New York a few days later. As I felt the warm summer sun on my face, I reached into my pocket to check my phone. There was an email from one of the William Morris agents, sent on behalf of both of them. It effectively said: Dear Alex, We regret to inform you that we have to rescind our offers.

  Apparently, both agents were brand-new, and because they both extended me offers, they met with their boss about how to handle the situation. The verdict was for both of them to drop me altogether—their boss decided I wasn’t worth the time.

  It felt like the sidewalk was pulled from under me. Never in my life had I felt so worthless. In that instant, it hit me that if I wasn’t good enough for the nineteen agents on my list, and if I wasn’t good enough for the two agents who were just getting started, Miki’s agent never planned on signing me either. She was only nice to me in the meeting to please Miki, not because she wanted to work with me. I was nothing. I was nobody. I wasn’t even worth a response.

  I went to Miki’s apartment, completely gutted. I pulled out my list of agents and saw those five
words at the top, glaring back at me: NO AGENT, NO BILL GATES. I crumpled the paper in my fist and threw it at the wall.

  An hour later, I was still slumped on the couch when my phone rang. But I wasn’t in the mood to answer. I glanced at the screen and saw it was my friend Brandon. I picked up and began to vent, telling him everything that happened.

  “I’m so sorry, man,” he said. “What do you think you’re going to do?”

  “There’s nothing else I can do. I did everything those authors told me to. I followed everything the books I read said. There’s nothing I’ve left out.”

  Brandon was quiet. Then he said, “Well, maybe you could try a different approach. I read a story a long time ago, and I don’t even remember where I read it, so who knows if it’s true, but the lesson is important.”

  “I know you’re trying to help, but I’m not in the mood to hear about another one of your books.”

  “You need to hear this one.”

  I groaned.

  “Just give me a second,” Brandon said. “So, the story takes place around the year two thousand. The Internet was booming and Amazon was killing the e-commerce competition. In the beginning, Walmart’s executives hadn’t thought much of it, but then Amazon’s growth started eating at their revenue. Walmart’s executives panicked. They called emergency meetings. They hired people, fired people, and filled buildings with more and more engineers, pouring all the money they could into their website. Nothing helped. So they focused even harder on being more like Amazon. They copied Amazon’s strategies, tried to replicate their technology, and spent even more money. But still, nothing changed.”

  “Bro, what does this have to do with me?”

  “Damn it, just listen,” Brandon said. “So one day, a new Walmart executive walked into the office. She looked around and noticed what was going on. The next day she hung a banner across the office. Soon after, Walmart’s market share skyrocketed. The banner simply said: YOU CAN’T OUT-AMAZON AMAZON.”

  Brandon paused to let the story sink in.

  “Don’t you get it?” he said. “You’re Walmart.”

  “What?”

  “Ever since you started looking for an agent, all you’ve done is copy other people’s strategies. You’ve been pitching these agents as if you have the same strengths Tim Ferriss has, but you don’t have the platform he has. You don’t have the credibility he has. Your circumstances are completely different. You can’t out-Ferriss Tim Ferriss.”

  Shit…he’s right.

  Ever since I’d been on my dorm room bed, I’d been obsessed with studying the paths of successful people, and while that’s a good approach to learning, I couldn’t solve every problem that way. I couldn’t copy and paste other people’s playbooks and expect it to work exactly the same for me. Their playbook worked for them because it was their playbook. It played to their strengths and their circumstances. Not once had I ever looked within myself and wondered about my strengths or my circumstances. What did it mean to out-Alex someone? While there’s a time for studying what’s worked for other people, there are moments when you have to go all in on what makes you unique. And in order to do that, you have to know what makes you, you.

  Late that night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept tossing under the covers, thinking about the story Brandon had told me.

  You can’t out-Amazon Amazon…

  The hours crept by. Nothing I did would quiet my mind. At about three in the morning, I climbed out of bed and walked to the corner of the room. I found my crumpled list of agents. I opened it and stared at the name at the top of the list: the agent in San Francisco.

  Screw it. I have nothing to lose.

  I grabbed my laptop and began writing her an email. But instead of saying the same thing I did to all the other agents, I just wrote about why I believed in the mission. I told her I was sick of the publishing industry and tired of playing games. I told her my story and then, for paragraph after paragraph, told her how I thought the two of us could change the world together. In the subject line, I wrote “my 3 a.m. stream of consciousness,” and as I reread the email, it felt like a teenage love letter, but I sent it anyway.

  I didn’t expect a response. A day later, she replied.

  “Call me.”

  I did, and she offered to be my agent on the spot.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  No One Ever Asks

  I pulled my duffel bag out of Miki’s closet and began packing.

  “Wait, wait, wait!” Miki said. “Where are you going? You can’t go now.”

  “My flight home leaves in a few hours,” I said.

  “That’s impossible. You have to change your flight. You can’t miss Agrapalooza!”

  Agrapalooza was Miki’s summer camp–themed costume party, which she was hosting at a friend’s house in New Jersey.

  “I’d love to,” I said, “but I don’t think I should.” After talking with my literary agent, I learned I had to completely rewrite my book proposal, and I wanted to finish it as quickly as possible.

  “Little bro, you’re changing your flight. End of discussion.”

  “But…Miki, Miki…”

  The following morning, I woke up on a couch at Miki’s friend’s house, the New Jersey sun flooding through the windows. On the other side of the room, I saw Miki talking to a man with a shaved head and a navy-blue Zappos T-shirt. I picked the crust out of my eyes. It was like seeing Santa on Christmas morning. Standing ten feet away from me, talking to Miki, was the CEO of Zappos, Tony Hsieh.

  Deep breaths…deep breaths…

  Elliott had taught me you can either be someone’s friend or a fan, but never both. So I tried to play it cool, thinking of ways to introduce myself. But I thought so much about what to say I ended up saying nothing at all.

  I headed out through the sliding glass doors. The backyard was so big a golf cart was parked to help people get around. As the party began, I stumbled my way through the three-legged race, then got second place in the egg toss. Before the next game, a few of us headed to the patio to grab some food. We were standing under a large orange umbrella when Tony Hsieh passed by. No one, especially myself, could help but sneak a glance.

  A few minutes later, Tony approached again, but this time he stopped and joined us. He had a clipboard in one hand, a purple marker in the other.

  “What’s your wish?” Tony said to the guy on my right.

  “Huh?” the guy said.

  Tony flashed his clipboard: WISHES LIST was written across the top.

  “You didn’t hear?” Tony said. “Today I’m a magical fairy.”

  He said it with such a straight face it took a few moments to realize this was just his sense of humor. Miki later explained to me that Tony’s face always looks like it’s made of stone, his eyes of glass. He has a permanent, uncrackable poker face.

  “I want to teleport,” the guy said.

  “Okay,” Tony replied. “You’ll be teleporting eighty-five percent of the way there.”

  He pointed to the bottom of the clipboard: “15 PERCENT COMMISSION WILL BE TAKEN ON ALL WISHES UPON GRANTING.”

  “I’m less a magical fairy,” Tony said, “and more a ‘wish broker.’ Hey, a fairy’s gotta make a living too.”

  He turned and asked for my wish. I tried to think of something funny, hoping it would get him to like me. Though a part of me wanted to tell him the first thing that came to mind. But I can’t ask for that…He’ll think I’m obnoxious. And what if Miki gets mad? And—Thankfully, I realized what was going on. This was The Flinch disguised as “logic.” I gave myself a mental slap and forced myself to spit it out.

  “I want to be CEO of Zappos for a day.”

  Tony didn’t respond. He didn’t write my wish on his clipboard. He just stared at me.

  “Uh, you know,” I said, trying to explain myself, “like, I fo
llow you around, see what a day in your life is like.”

  “Oh. You want to shadow me?”

  I nodded. Tony took a moment to think.

  “Okay…sure,” he said. “When do you want to do it?”

  “Well, it’s my twentieth birthday in a couple weeks, so how about then?”

  “Cool. And since it’s your birthday, we can do it for two days.”

  * * *

  It was a few hours after dinner and the costume dance party was about to start. I was passing through the kitchen when I saw Tony, dressed as a teddy bear, deep in conversation with Aasif Mandvi, the “Senior Middle East Correspondent” on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, who was dressed as a hillbilly. I overheard Aasif saying he was writing a book. He was asking Tony for marketing advice and I stepped over to join them.

  “Well, there are a lot of tactics you can use,” Tony told him. “But I can’t tell you which ones would be most effective until I know what your motivations are for writing the book. What are your end goals?”

  Aasif’s forehead furrowed.

  “Most people never take the time to ask themselves why they’re doing what they’re doing,” Tony said. “And even when they do, most people lie to themselves.

  “Like for Delivering Happiness, I’m aware that deep down, there was definitely some vanity and ego at play. It’s nice to go to your mom and dad and tell them your book is number one on the New York Times bestseller list. So that was one motivation. Another was…”

  I couldn’t tell if I was more shocked or confused hearing that. I’d always thought “vanity” and “ego” were bad. I never would’ve used them to describe myself. But Tony did, without any shame or hesitation. His face was as emotionless as ever.

  “Ego isn’t particularly healthy,” Tony continued, “but what’s worse is having it and lying to yourself that you don’t. Before you start thinking about marketing tactics, become self-aware of what’s motivating you below the surface. Don’t judge the motivations as ‘good’ or ‘bad.’ Just ask yourself why you’re doing what you’re doing. Choosing the right tactics becomes easy once you know your end goal.”