Be Careful What You Wish For (4 page)

I got to experience the very dangerous side of New York City. Late one night I was hungry and went out for food. I walked out of the building and when crossing Broadway, I noticed three guys
looking
at me very suspiciously. Call it intuition but I suspected something was wrong.

I turned on my heels quickly and as I entered our apartment building the main window to the right of me shattered. One of them had tried to shoot me. Thank God he was a bad shot. Later on in life I was to pay a fortune for people like that.

I managed to save $2,000 quickly at a time when my relationship with Edward and his horse was in rapid decline. Things were so strained that I had to look for somewhere else to live on a very limited budget.

I eventually found a motel way up town in Spanish Harlem. I had a small room with a sink and there was a communal bathroom shared with ten other rooms.

Things were also strained at the restaurant. Udo, the German assistant manager, thoroughly disliked me. I had no respect for him and did very little for Anglo-German relations with my constant dam-busters impressions; he wanted to fire me at every opportunity. He didn’t have to wait long to get his wish. A few months into my restaurant career he started on me for no apparent reason, and not being able to help myself I verbally took him apart and got fired.

I walked out of the restaurant into the cold November night feeling numb. I now had no job in New York and I was living alone in a complete shit hole. How much lower was I going to go?

New York wasn’t turning out to be the city of opportunities that I had hoped it would be. I hadn’t been able to give any of my business ideas the attention they deserved as I spent all my time and energy in a series of jobs. I worked in Wilson’s, a restaurant owned by Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys, and waited tables in a café called Lalo where Madonna, Woody Allen and the Baldwin brothers were regular customers.

Then two bright lights appeared on my immediate horizon. One of my new friends, a Dominican guy called José, asked me to share his apartment overlooking Broadway and I played semi-professional football for a team in New York for $200 a game. But it was small beer compared to what I really wanted to be doing.

I was now not earning a great deal of money, and failing in New York was taking its toll on me. My best friend Walter Almeida insisted I come and stay with him. My journey from New York City to Providence, Rhode Island took about three hours and gave me ample time to think and reflect.

Part of me was sad to be leaving. I felt that New York had chewed me up and spat me out. And failure never sat well with me. But I did learn a great truth: the only safety net you have in life is your own arse.

I took a number of jobs in Rhode Island but I never felt settled there. One morning I woke up and decided I’d had enough. I’d been away from home for eighteen months and it was time to get back into the real world and make something of myself.

I was so broke I had to sell my gold ring and bracelet to a jewellery store to buy a flight home.

I arrived back home without a penny. But help came when my younger brother Dominic offered me a job as a labourer on a building site he was overseeing.

My skill set was now becoming very impressive, from computing to businessman to waiting tables and now labouring. Most people work their way up in their careers; with all due respect to those two professions, I was going in the opposite direction.

Dominic was a senior site agent for the building firm DJ Higgins and was responsible for a site undergoing restoration work at the London Hospital Museum. Seeing Dom at work took me by
surprise
. I had always viewed him as my little brother, but on site he was a powerful, confident and forthright person, working with people who didn’t like being told what to do and who often resolved their differences with their fists.

As I was Dominic’s brother I was given a bit of latitude, which I totally abused. Labouring was damn hard work and not something I excelled in. What I was good at was being first in the tearoom for breaks and the last to leave, great at looking busy at knocking-off time and always at the front of the queue for my weekly pay. Most of the time I found myself telling the lads on the site stories of my past business exploits. After initial and understandable scepticism some of the lads started to seek my advice on financial matters like mortgages, pensions and benefits they could claim.

So there I was, on a building site knee deep in muck, and leaning on my broom like Andy Dufresne out of
The Shawshank Redemption
, dispensing financial advice to a bunch of hardnosed labourers and tradesmen. I even filled out their SC60 tax assessment forms for them. My brother would just shake his head and mutter ‘unfucking-believable’ whenever he found me holding court.

My career as a labourer-cum-tax-accountant was to be short-lived. Within weeks I was to make a call that would change the course of my life.

The Carphone Warehouse were advertising for a salesman for their rapidly expanding company. I spoke to their Sales Director, Ricky Elliot. I was well aware of the company from owning my own mobile phone business, the one good thing to come of my relationship with James Wright.

I was stunned to discover how the industry had expanded in two years. CPW had twenty-odd branches and ambitious growth plans. Despite having been out of the business for over eighteen
months
, it was immediately apparent that I knew more about the mobile phone business than Ricky did. I played it down though to secure an interview.

The day of my interview arrived. I was greeted by Andrew Briggs, a very large guy who, as it turned out, was one of their first ever members of staff. He would be interviewing me with Ricky Elliot. There was nothing to give me the idea that Andrew and I were going to be so pivotal to one another’s lives in the very near future.

Interviews were something I enjoyed as they gave me a free-range opportunity to talk about my favourite subject: me. I got on well with Ricky, but not so well with Andrew. I was confident and perhaps a little cocky. At the end of the interview, Ricky said they would be in touch.

As I made to leave, Andrew just stuck his hand out in a disinterested and dismissive way. I sensed that his opinion of me was vital in whether or not I got this job; I figured I had better try and create a better impression with Mr Briggs. I needed this job. It was time to sell myself!

I asked if they minded if I stayed in the showroom for a short while, promising not to get in the way. Looking back it was a smart move. I read brochures, looked at phones and feigned interest in customer sales. Eventually I got a chance to speak to Andrew. I went into full-on contrite mode. I apologised if I had come over as cocky, and explained that I had been nervous and I hoped that he hadn’t taken a dislike to me. I thanked him for his time and wished him success in the new Fleet Street branch that he had interviewed me for. Barely hours later I was called and informed the position was mine. I had gone full circle and was back in mobile phones, albeit working for others this time.

I arrived for my first day at Carphone Warehouse’s head office on Marylebone Road. This place was busy and there was serious
money
to be made! There I met some of their hierarchy including Charles Dunstone, the MD. He was quite a pleasant, low-key guy. David Ross, the finance director, couldn’t have been more different. Over a period of time I found him to be one of the most difficult and unpleasant people I have ever worked with or for. Although, astonishingly, many years later when I bumped into him in Puerto Banus I did share an enjoyable drink with him.

Once the new Fleet Street branch was ready, Andrew, Gerald (another new guy) and I moved in. It was a small branch and had just enough room for three desks. It looked crowded if you had four customers in it. So I was a little dismayed. But it turned out to be great, and was where I had some of the best times of my life. The three of us became very close friends and the atmosphere in the branch was a very happy one, but more importantly we were selling a substantial number of phones.

The pecking order was established very quickly. Andrew was the boss, I was the self-appointed number two and Gerald was at the bottom of the pile, i.e. he was the lunch and tea getter. It was a friendly environment but it was also dog eat dog and I was here to sell and progress my career.

I am a great people studier and I listen to what people say, especially in the work environment, and I picked up sales techniques from all manner of sales people I worked with. If I say so myself I was pretty damn good at selling mobile phones. I understood the technology well from previous experience, and had a way with customers that didn’t make them feel like they were being sold to.

As I would say at many a sales meeting in the future, the biggest decision a customer made was walking into the shop. After that it was your decision whether he or she bought something from you. And whilst many sales people seemed to be pleased with just selling
phones
, I tended to sell/push everything that came with them, in order to increase my commission.

Andrew used to roll around laughing because my sales pitch was ballsy, to say the least. I knew the products, the accessories, all the services we offered inside and out. I would push everything with such confidence that the customer felt that they would be stupid not to take me up on the deal I was offering. If they walked out with only one extra, I would be mildly upset, if they had the front to not take any, then I would feel real indignation, much to Andrew’s amusement.

The branch was obliterating its targets and I was doing 60 per cent of the branch sales on my own. I was golden, so Andrew let me get away with murder.

Poor Gerald suffered, as I grabbed every sale I could. If a customer walked in with a complaint or a fault, then I would immediately direct them to Gerald’s desk. If a buying customer walked towards his desk, I would be up out of my seat directing them to mine.

With my performance my profile in the company was rising. Just five months into the job I got a call from Ricky Elliot. The company had signed a concession deal with Staples, the American office superstore, and he was putting me forward to head up the first one in Swansea. The partnership with Staples was a big deal. There were massive expansion plans to open up as many as a hundred stores across the UK. I was happy in Fleet Street but my father always told me to say yes to every opportunity, as you never know where it may lead.

So I accepted the job. Andrew was extremely upset. Not just because we had become close mates but also because they had failed to tell him.

I wanted a big pay rise to go to Swansea. Company car, big commissions, expenses. Let’s just say my wish list wasn’t small.

David Ross just said no to everything, but as I had been introduced to the Staples management team and they had liked and wanted me, he was pretty much on the back foot. I said that if I didn’t get what I asked for, I wouldn’t go. After an hour of abuse from Ross I got what I wanted and departed with a cocky smile and thanking him for his support and belief. Smart arse? Maybe.

Landing in Swansea, I was horrified to find I was expected to wear a Staples uniform and my concession was a four-foot stand at the back of this aircraft hangar of a superstore in the middle of nowhere. They even wanted me to go on a Staples in-house course, so I kicked off, resulting in a very uncomfortable and unpleasant few weeks. Eventually accord broke out. I got some of the things I wanted but my biggest saving grace was my performance.

Whilst I was down in Wales I spoke to Andrew every day. I could sense that he was feeling more and more marginalised, yet he continued to ping off his emails to Charles Dunstone on anything and everything that pissed him off.

I was selling more phones on my own without support than a lot of the standalone Carphone Warehouse stores, and Staples was seeing a significant return. They began to take it very seriously. The next Staples store was coming on-stream with others to follow quickly and I was asked to hire someone for that, as well as for one in Wales. The job was finally the supervisory role I had signed up for.

I established the protocols, set up the procedures and got the sales off and running. The Staples stores were now a phenomenon
and
both businesses were making a significant amount of money out of these small concessions.

Meanwhile Andrew had joined CPW’s main competitor Intercell. They had poached a number of CPW’s staff. Andrew called them and within twenty-four hours he was running their store in Swiss Cottage. He also wasted little time trying to persuade me to leave CPW and join him.

You would think that it would have been easy to have said no to Andrew and to stick with Carphone Warehouse. Under my leadership, the Staples concessions were doing brilliantly. We were selling hand over fist and the commission levels being paid to my staff went through the roof. Some earned over £10,000 a month. Other sales teams in the group envied my staff. From being considered a bit of a canker sore, the Staples stores concessions and their staff now had an air of elitism about them.

But David Ross became agitated and unhelpful. He didn’t like paying the commissions we had earned. He had to sign them off each month and he did everything in his power to hold up the process. In the end, my reward for making the Staples concessions one of the most profitable parts of CPW was a pay reduction by Ross, who slashed the commissions because we were earning too much.

My departure was inevitable. When Ross refused to pay commission on a phenomenal deal that secured them £130,000, I took the decision to leave.

I knew Intercell wanted me. They were expanding rapidly, had big ambitions and clearly needed my expertise. I met their joint MDs, Harry Ramis and Andy Demetriou, and negotiated myself a nice little
deal
, including a £15,000 golden hello. They wanted me to replicate for Intercell what I had achieved with Staples. No problem.

When I submitted my resignation, Ross demanded I went immediately. But they still owed me £2,000 in commission as well as expenses so I went up to his office and demanded my money. He became bolshie straight away. ‘You will get your expenses in due course.’ So I explained he would get their company car in due course as well. He started to shout at me and was getting up out of his seat when all the months of his uncalled-for behaviour just got to me.