Cream-filled Contraband

What satisfying my eighth-grade sweet tooth taught me about sales & marketing.

Remember how downright awful school cafeteria food was? I do. Even attending very well-to-do schools in Massachusetts didn't stop the tater-tots from tasting like ass. My children tell me the quality or taste hasn't changed much from the midday school menu–even clear across the country–so hopefully the following tale won't inspire any of the following hi jinks.I had a lot of time on my hands before getting on the school bus in the mornings. I was always the last one to be picked up and my not-so-friendly fellow school bus riders didn't let me sit anywhere good, constantly trying to discourage me from sitting next to any of them.

Jerks.

There was however one nice advantage, being the last one picked up, I could stop off at the convenience store across from the bus stop. I could take (at the time anyway) a couple bucks and gorge on several days worth of junk food awesomeness–potato chips, cupcake (hostess), Twinkies, candy and the holy grail of middle-school snack foods–soda!

I'd spend between $1- $4 a day on junk food (I know, far from healthy) and it was awesome! It was the one point in the day where I felt I had something over all the others–friend and foe alike–that gave me control over what was an otherwise life completely OUT of my control.
When you're popping open a Coke in the lunch hall 3-4 times a week and knocking back Snickers, cupcakes and deli-wrapped sandwiches in middle school, well, people begin to take notice. It wasn't because the the kids couldn't get those things, it was because they couldn't get them at school. After all what parent in their right mind gives their kid Milky Way bars and Cheetos for lunch?

Everyday, kids would ask for a sip, a bite, offer "I'll trade you" bribes or ask, "how can I get some"? So I did what any enterprising young American kid would do–I started taking orders.

In no time, business was booming.

With a modest mark-up I would deliver practically any treat–cans of soda (then .50¢ for $1), .10¢ lollipops went for a quarter, and Hostess cup cakes? A .60¢ three-pack would go for $1.25. These kids had money–I had product. Simple supply and demand dynamics. At the time I was clearing roughly $30 a week–not much by today's standards, but at age 14, in the 80's–that was insane money! Customers were happy, demand was high. Most orders were paid-in-full, all up front. Some kids asked for six-packs of soda–I charged $5, making $2.50 profit on each! Kids who couldn't pre-pay? No problem, an additional service charge – a credit account if you will – would be offered, paid on delivery. Soon, I needed a ledger, a bigger back pack and customer retention programs like: "Hey order between now and fourth period and all orders are 10% off!" or "Tell you what, I can see you're in a quandary between the Ring Dings and the Ho-ho's, buy both and I'll toss in a Tootsie Roll for free." Sold.

Eventually however, all rides must end. One day, my bus was late, and I got to school just before homeroom began. Now to illustrate this properly, I had two sets of customers, the morning munchers (MMs) and the lunch-timers (LTs). The MM's were always better because they would commonly have pre-paid for their treats and would usually have orders–with money in hand–for the next day or two.

So here was the scenario; roughly 14 kids from all three middle-school grades, standing in a nice neat line at my homeroom desk, all with money in hand, like they were at a check-out counter, patiently awaiting my arrival. I stroll in, giant back-pack full tummy teasing treats, soda, sandwiches and candy, strung over my shoulder. Just as I begin shoeing people away, the homeroom teacher comes in; "What's going on?" "uh, nothing" I say wryly. At this point, Mr. Summergrad knew me well enough then to believe that. "What's in the bag? Why are people waiting at your desk with money in their hands?" Without missing a beat I say; "I'm a very generous person, Mr. Summergrad, I lend people lunch money when they need it and these good kids just wanted to get it back to me." [cut to scene of all 14 kids scattering] "Let's see what's in the bag..." he said.
Minutes later I was in Vice Principle Shay's office receiving a long-lecture about intolerable behavior, two-day suspensions, calling my Mom, blah, blah, blah. My treats-for-tykes operation was shut down. I was forever banned from doing my year-round paid Santa impersonation. Not however, before I learned some valuable intel. First, people will pay almost any reasonable price for what they want. Second, being the local go-to guy had it's perks. Lastly, my enterprising nature was not only a hit with the girls, but also impressed some of the schmucks who wouldn't let sit next to them on the school bus.

Honestly, for that kind of end result, the whole ordeal was worth every moment of Mom's lecturing–and couple of new friends is a happy ending to almost story, don't you think?

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My Random Life–Installment Two: Rim-Hanging at Basketball's Mecca!

Note: The following blog is the latest installment of my mini-series (a 'sub-blog' if you will) of the totally random events that happen in my life. This one goes back to the early 1990's when a good friend and I went on a six-week cross-country excursion that was a life experience that changed both our understanding of this great country.

Ever had an impromptu, self-imposed dunk contest at the Basketball Hall of Fame while the building was empty? I have!

It was the summer of 1993 (cue Wayne and Garth doing there whole "doodly-doo, doodly-doo" memory bit) and a good friend of mine had decided he had enough of the relentless New England winters and that it was time to move back to his home in sunny Calabasis, California. I was envious. Mike was (and still is!) a very good friend. As big a basketball fan as I am (which is how we met – playing for opposing schools in intercollegiate hoops) and an all-around kindred spirit. Hearing that he was moving was a real downer. Then, Mike made a suggestion that changed our lives forever. "Dude, we should get a car and drive cross country!'

At first I thought it was a pipe-dream. I mean, who just picks up and drives cross country? No one does that anymore, right? Where would we get a car? How much for food and gas? I couldn't go anyway, I had a roommate, a full-time job, etc. It just wouldn't work.

Then, I got laid off. With a fat severance package. Enough cash for the rest of the year and no sense of urgency about finding a new job. Maybe this was a sign?

Then, after about a month of kicking it around, Mike's parents offered to ship a car clear cross-country to get their boy home. A sign for sure!

Now, spiritual convictions notwithstanding, that is a sign no matter how you look at it. I decided, what the heck, let's do it – America, here we come! We quickly made some calls and charted a course across the country peppered with stops from arranging for crashes on the couches, living rooms, floors and spare bedrooms of friends, relatives and acquaintances across the country. Was this really doable? It appeared so.

We were soon on our way… first stop? A pilgrimage to basketball's Mecca in Springfield Massachusetts. In all my (then) years on earth, I had yet to make the trip cross state to The Basketball Hall of Fame where Dr. Naismith invented our infamous American pastime with peach baskets and a leather, hand-sewn ball back in 1896.

The museum was awesome.

We arrived on a Thursday afternoon with about an hour left before closing. It was barren, with only a handful of workers who were all super eager to shuffle us through so they could go home. It's a big place if you've never been, two stories and a genuine museum. Lots of displays, memorabilia, endless plaques and installations of people who have broken (or established) basketball records throughout the years. Coozy. Bird. Jordan, Johnson. Dr. J. Abdul-Jabar. All living legends of the game. All well represented. But the best part was yet to come.

"Dey playin' Bas-ket-baaaaalll–!"

At the time, there was an installation that had a moving sidewalk, a kind of conveyor belt—like you find at the airport, with an endless rack of balls in front of you, where you could grab a ball and shoot at a sea of rims ranging in height from about four feet to well over 10. This was fun. This is what we had come for. Basketball was so much a part of our lives we were in heaven. Then out of nowhere, with a load "CLANG!" the conveyor stopped. A young woman appeared out of nowhere and told us we had 10 minutes before closing time and disappeared just as quickly. What? Are you kidding?

Now I don't remember who leapt over the rail first, Mike or me (I am going to guess it was me since that is NOT uncommon behavior for me), but in an attempt to gain a few more balls for taking another shot, I scurried about the installation, about a full court in length, and grabbed a few balls. On the way back, I found a little six-foot rim and couldn't resist. TWO-HANDED REVERSE, DOUBLE-PUMP JAM! That, as my southern friends say, was all she wrote! Mike is about 6' 6" and I'm about 6' 2" and we were officially in heaven. An impromptu dunk contest – hanging on 6', 7' and 8' rims screaming out stuff like; "Dude, check this out – WINDMILL!" We must have been there at least another 20-30 minutes. Easy.

Sweaty, exhausted, hungry and hands sore from dunking on more rims than we could count, we lumbered toward the front. At this point the museum was closed and the folks who worked there were all congregating in the lobby, shutting down lights, getting ready to lock up. They had completely forgotten about us! They stared in wide-eyed disbelief at the two of us panting and sweating as we said pleasant goodnights and headed to the parking lot.

I am sure what we did was immoral in the eyes of fans, if not borderline illegal. At the least, we violated the purity of basketball's greatest destination – and I would do it all again! It was a perfect storm of opportunity–meets double dare– meets all out fun! I will never forget it. Never. Neither of us will.

After all, have you hung from the rims during a dunk contest in the basketball hall of fame? I have. If you ever get the opportunity... I highly recommend it.