The Third Door

by Alex Banayan

  Alba held my phone in her hand and stared at the image. Then, she laughed. I’d shown the image to a dozen people by now and no one had responded like this. It may have just been in my head, but Alba’s laugh seemed to have a hint of sadness.

  “It’s funny…because it’s so true,” she said. “If everyone could choose to be a white dude in America, born into a family that cares about his education, everyone would probably choose that, because it’s really much easier.”

  Alba continued staring at the meme. “I think you can remove some of those hurdles in the road, if you surround yourself with the right people,” she said. “If you try to go it as a lone wolf, if you’re just angry and fighting the system the whole time, no one is going to want to be around you because you’re always going to be mad, fighting the good fight. But if you can run the race with grace, dignity, and integrity, it makes it a lot easier to get to the finish line.

  “Nobody is in control of who they are when they’re born,” she continued. “You’re born into the family you’re born into and you’re born into the circumstances you’re born into. So you just have to take what you can from where you’re at and not compare yourself to other people. You have to look at your path and know that whatever got you there, and where you’re going, is unique to you. You weren’t supposed to be any other way.

  “And it’s so easy to get distracted,” she added. “The man in the left lane is still going to get to his finish line. He doesn’t care. He may look over at you in the beginning, but then he’s off. If you’re constantly looking over your shoulder at him, you’ll never finish your race. And you know what? The obstacles women face just make for better businesses. Because in the end, we know how to deal with some shit. This man in the cartoon won’t be equipped, because you really only learn if you’ve gone through it.”

  Alba looked at the meme again, and then handed my phone back.

  “What got you interested in working on this project in the first place?” she asked.

  I told her how I had started out staring at the ceiling and how the journey unfolded. Then she asked if I’d found a pattern from my interviews.

  “I’d love your take on it,” I said. “My theory is that every single one of these people treats life and business…like a nightclub.”

  She let out a small laugh. As I told her the rest of the Third Door analogy, she kept nodding her head.

  “I like that,” she said. “It’s so true. My cofounders and I always say here that it’s tough to find job candidates who are intelligent and focused, but who are also dreamers. The dreamer part is that entrepreneurial spirit—where if this door is closed and that door is closed and that door is closed—how the hell are you going to get in? You just need to figure it out. You need to use common sense, build relationships; I don’t care how you get in, but you’ve got to get in somehow.”

  “So you literally hire based on the Third Door?” I asked, laughing.

  “Yes! I don’t care where you got your degree. I don’t care about your past work experience. I care about how you solve problems. I care about how you take on challenges. How do you create new ways of doing things? It’s about having that hustle, that drive. That’s everything when it comes to the best people here. It’s all about the Third Door.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The Impostor

  The founder of TED had told me, “I live my life by two mantras. One: if you don’t ask, you don’t get. And two: most things don’t work out.”

  And now I had just made my most far-fetched ask yet, and it was working out better than I could’ve imagined. I had asked Qi Lu if he would introduce me to Mark Zuckerberg over email and Qi immediately responded saying he’d be happy to. I looked around the storage closet, shaking my head in disbelief. Just three years earlier I had to crouch in a bathroom to talk to Tim Ferriss. Now a single email connected me to Mark Zuckerberg.

  Following Qi’s advice, I drafted a paragraph telling Zuckerberg about the mission and that I was attending Startup School, a conference he was scheduled to speak at the following week. I asked if we could meet there. Qi then Facebook-messaged my note to Zuckerberg, and sixteen hours later, I got this:

  To: Alex Banayan (cc: Stefan Weitz)

  From: Qi Lu

  Subject: (no subject)

  Here is what I got back from Mark:

  Sure, please pass along my email address to him and I’ll try to find a few minutes to speak to him before I have to leave. I can’t promise I’ll have time but if I have a few minutes then I will meet him.

  His email address is *****­*****­

  Best,

  Qi

  I knew exactly who I wanted to call first.

  “Holy…shit,” Elliott said.

  Elliott talked with a level of excitement that sounded like trumpets blasting the most triumphant song I’d ever heard. He advised me to write an email that wouldn’t require much on Zuckerberg’s part, so he could easily reply with “Sounds good.” Elliott helped draft the email and I sent it off.

  To: Mark Zuckerberg (cc: Qi Lu)

  From: Alex Banayan

  Subject: See you Saturday

  Hi Mark,

  Qi Lu told me about your reply and passed along your email address. Qi’s been like a guardian angel the past few years and I’m so grateful for him—and he’s said incredible things about you.

  I can pop by backstage after your speech at Startup School for a couple of minutes. If you end up not having time to talk, totally understand. Does that sound good?

  Either way, I really appreciate you and thanks for being such a big inspiration.

  I paced across the storage closet and refreshed my email every hour. But there was no reply. Two days before the event, I emailed Qi again, asking if it was okay to send a follow-up message. Qi replied asking what I was talking about. “Mark replied back to you almost immediately.”

  That’s impossible. Wait…What if…

  I checked my spam folder:

  Viagra

  Viagra

  Viagra

  Mark Zuckerberg

  Viagra

  Viagra

  Viagra

  Even Gmail couldn’t believe Mark Zuckerberg would email me.

  To: Alex Banayan (cc: Qi Lu)

  From: Mark Zuckerberg

  Subject: RE: See you Saturday

  Good to meet you. Qi is a great person and I’m glad you got connected with him.

  I’ll try to make a few minutes for us to catch up after my Startup School talk on Saturday. I don’t have much time, but I’m looking forward to meeting you briefly.

  I forwarded Zuckerberg’s and Qi’s emails to the Startup School event organizer, gave her the context, and asked how I should get backstage. Then I called Elliott and told him the good news.

  “Don’t send Zuckerberg another email,” Elliott said.

  “But shouldn’t I confirm?” I asked.

  “No. Never oversell. He already said yes. At this point, all you have to do is show up.”

  Although that didn’t feel right in my gut, I had ignored Elliott’s advice too many times in the past only to find out he had been right. I wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

  “Well, Mr. Big Shot, congratulations,” Elliott said. “You have a meeting with The Zuck. Welcome to the big leagues.”

  ONE DAY LATER, PALO ALTO, CALIFORNIA

  The restaurant was packed and our table was crowded with pita, hummus, and chicken kebabs. It was the night before the Startup School event and I was having dinner with Brandon and Corwin, who would be coming with me the following day. As the waiter placed our bill on the table, I checked my email and saw the event organizer’s reply:

  Hi Alex,

  I’m unable to grant your request for tomorrow. I will need any requests to come from Mark’s team.

  I
replied explaining I didn’t know anyone on his team and that I’d been introduced through Qi Lu. The event organizer didn’t respond. Each passing hour made me more nervous. I emailed again, but heard nothing back.

  Late that night, I emailed a friend from Summit who knew the team organizing the event. I told him the situation and asked what to do. The following morning, he messaged me back.

  Is your email from zuck legit? The head of the event just emailed me saying you tried to get backstage by sending a fabricated email from zuckerberg…

  * * *

  Corwin and Brandon huddled around my laptop in the kitchen of Corwin’s parents’ house.

  “Just email Zuck and explain what’s going on,” Brandon said.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I replied. “Elliott told me to play it cool.”

  “Dude, it’s just an email,” Corwin said.

  My lips pressed.

  “Fine, if you’re not going to email Zuck,” Corwin went on, “then at least email Qi Lu.”

  I shook my head. “I know if I just see the event organizer face-to-face today and let her go through the emails on my phone, it will clear this all up. We don’t have to bother Qi Lu about this.”

  I shut my laptop and we headed for the car. Half an hour later, Corwin turned a corner and pulled into the outdoor parking lot of De Anza College. The three of us climbed out and looked around at the campus’ beige buildings. Hundreds of attendees sprawled the grounds, most carrying laptops and iPads. The line for the main entrance curved around the building. I spotted another entrance in the back of the building, where I assumed VIPs entered to go backstage.

  I sped over to the main registration table and asked to speak to the event organizer. After a few minutes of waiting, I was told she wouldn’t see me. There was no chance I was going to miss my meeting with Zuckerberg. I frantically tracked down the event organizer’s phone number and she answered.

  “Hi, this is Alex Banayan, the person who emailed you last night about my meeting with Mark Zuckerberg. I just wanted to—”

  “Let’s cut to the point,” she said. “We know you forged that email. We contacted Mark’s PR team and they said they don’t have you on their list of approved meetings. We contacted Facebook’s security team and they said they have no record of you. And on top of all of that, we know that’s not even Mark’s real email address. If I were you, I would drop the act before you get yourself in serious trouble. Goodbye.”

  I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid of being overly persistent and bothering Qi Lu on a Saturday afternoon, but I needed help. I figured I could call Stefan Weitz, who worked with Qi at Microsoft. Stefan answered immediately and said he would handle it. A minute later, I was cc’ed on an email to the event organizer. Stefan assured her the email was 100 percent real, and if she still had any concerns, she could call him on his cell.

  Two hours passed. The event organizer still hadn’t replied to Stefan’s email. I texted him the event organizer’s phone number. Stefan called, but she didn’t answer. I was running out of options. There was an hour to go until Zuckerberg’s speech and I didn’t have a backup plan. I sent another email.

  To: Mark Zuckerberg (cc: Qi Lu)

  From: Alex Banayan

  Subject: RE: See you Saturday

  Just got to Startup School and the staff is being tricky about being backstage. Should I still try to come back there for a few minutes or is there a simpler place for us to catch up?

  I checked my watch a bit later—thirty minutes left. There was no response from Zuckerberg, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.

  It made sense that Zuckerberg would arrive through the VIP entrance on the other side of the building. When he was getting out of his car, maybe I could tell him I was the person Qi Lu introduced him to, and then Zuckerberg could tell the event organizer who I was. It was the only plan I could think of, so Brandon, Corwin, and I walked over to the driveway leading up to the speakers’ entrance. We found a large, shady tree and sat down. A bit later, as we were talking and fidgeting with twigs on the ground, I noticed a man’s head emerge from around the corner, then disappear. A minute later, the same man popped out again, whispered into a radio, and then disappeared once more.

  Before I knew it, the silhouettes of a woman and a much larger man were moving toward me. They stopped a couple yards away, as if they didn’t want to get too close. The walkie-talkie in the man’s hand made it clear he was security. He took a step forward and glared down at me.

  “Do you mind if I ask what you’re doing here?” the woman said. I recognized her voice.

  “Hi, I’m Alex,” I said lifting my hand, giving a gentle wave. “I’m the person who—”

  “I know who you are,” the event organizer said. “Why are you sitting under this tree?”

  “Oh…we’re sitting here because…our car is parked right there and we just wanted some fresh air.”

  My car was parked right there, but she and I both knew the real reason I was under this tree. I wish I had the courage to say, “Look, I know you think I’m an impostor, and I know you’re just doing your job, but I have to do my job too. A president of Microsoft introduced me to the founder of Facebook, and the last thing I’m going to do is not show up. If you don’t believe my email is real, that’s on you. By all means, ask Mark when his car pulls up.” But I couldn’t say any of that. I just stared at her.

  Her eyes hardened. “I know what you’re trying to do,” she said. “You need to leave the premises immediately.”

  The security guard took an ominous step forward.

  “If you don’t leave now,” he said, “we’ll call the police.”

  I imagined Zuckerberg’s car pulling up and him stepping out, seeing me with my arms handcuffed behind my back, blue and red lights flashing, and as I’m hauled away I’m screaming, “Mark! Please! Tell them we have a meeting!”

  I lowered my head, told the security guard we didn’t want any trouble, and walked away.

  * * *

  I couldn’t forgive myself. This was the one time I hadn’t needed to jump over a Dumpster or bang on a door a hundred times to use the Third Door. I sent one email to Qi, and Mark Zuckerberg said, “Come on in!” But of course, the nightclub bouncer saw me, grabbed my arm, and said, “Not so fast, punk.”

  What made me feel even worse was the thought that I’d let Qi Lu down. I sent an email explaining what happened. Qi replied within minutes.

  Stefan told me about this, and I am sorry things didn’t work out. I sent a Facebook message to Mark right after Stefan contacted me, but Mark didn’t respond. In retrospect, if you had called me at the time, I could have called the head of the event to let you in.

  If you can wait, one suggestion is to try this again next year at the next Startup School. Because Mark already agreed, it’s kind of a rain check, and I can contact the head of the event beforehand so that he can ask his staff to let you in. If you cannot wait that long, I can try to message Mark again, but I’m not sure whether he will respond, as he didn’t for the previous message I sent.

  I thanked Qi and asked if he could try one more time now. My thinking was that this was never going to be fresher in Zuckerberg’s mind. If it would ever happen, it would be now. Qi sent Zuckerberg a second message. Three days later, Qi emailed me back.

  I sent the message to Mark via Facebook message on Thursday, and so far Mark has not responded.

  Following past patterns, this unfortunately means that Mark is not open to that possibility, as otherwise he would have responded. I am sorry Alex that I wasn’t able to be of more help on this. Hope there could be other ways that you get to meet with him.

  Over the next few weeks, I desperately tried to salvage the situation. An early Facebook employee I’d met at Summit contacted Zuckerberg’s security team; Bill Gates’ office contacted Zuckerberg’s assistant; Matt Michelsen, the f
ounder of Lady Gaga’s social network whom I met through Elliott, introduced me to one of Zuckerberg’s attorneys. Matt then took me to Facebook headquarters to meet with the company’s chief marketing officer. Still, there was no word from Zuckerberg.

  As months passed, what killed me most about this failure was the lack of closure. There was no postmortem. A part of me felt that I never had a good strategy in the first place. This hadn’t even been a real meeting with Zuckerberg. His email basically implied he would shake my hand and talk for a minute. That was great, but I should’ve asked Qi to introduce me to Zuckerberg’s chief of staff, someone whom I could sit down with, explain what I was doing, and who could then set up a full interview.

  But another part of me knew that it didn’t matter. Even if it was just a minute-long meeting, Qi Lu had thrown me a perfect Hail Mary. I’d caught it at the one-yard line with no defenders around. All I had to do was take two steps forward to the end zone, but I still fumbled.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The Greatest Gift

  I beat myself up for weeks, thinking about sitting under that tree, failing to meet Zuckerberg; then I thought about how I sent that shoe, failing to back off from Buffett; and even when I’d managed to get to Bill Gates, I failed to ask the right questions. There were moments when I felt like my journey was one long, pathetic string of mistakes. But I stopped thinking about my pain as soon as I was in the presence of Quincy Jones.

  “Where you from, my man?”

  His deep eighty-one-year-old voice landed on my ears like the notes of a baritone sax. Quincy wore a royal-blue robe that swept down to his ankles. I sat beside him on a sofa in the circular living room of his Bel-Air home.