Time to Disco

I was running on financial fumes by the time lady luck tapped me on the shoulder and I'd secured a job; it was really close – I didn't think I was going to make it. After weeks of cold-calling, being told "no" by sharp receptionists and PAs, setting up fruitless meetings, attending trade shows, and even handing out my CV to baffled commuters heading up the mid-levels escalator, I needed to find a new angle to secure a job, otherwise, I'd be back on the plane to boring Berkshire, back to living with my parents and hearing my mother on a Saturday shouting, "Get out of that bloody bed and rake up the leaves."

One night at the Kangaroo Bar, I got talking to the barman, who gave me some great advice. "Listen, mate, you need to go where the rich people live. Mid-Levels is good, but you need to disco."
"Disco?"
"Yeah, Discovery Bay on Lantau. Get over there and meet some people; that's where all the directors live, and an s-load of pilots!"

Get over there and meet some people, yeah, okay, that'll be easy – how on earth does that work? Just start talking to random strangers? It was worth a shot, so the next morning, I took the ferry (which reminded me of an airline inside) across to this opulent corner of Hong Kong.

When I arrived, I thought I'd arrived at a country club – people whizzing around in golf carts, cafés, restaurants, the smell of jasmine, the sound of the sea lapping against the shore – it felt like an oasis, but I was still clueless as to what to do.

I approached one guy and started with requests for directions, then I asked more questions about the place. He turned out to be a pilot with Cathay Pacific, but he confirmed that it was a good place to network, and I should go to the bars at night. Well, I didn't fancy that; besides, it was 10 a.m., and I wasn't going to wait here until 9 p.m. – and do what until then? I needed to do something, and fast.

When I was a boy, I'd spent a lot of time in Oman; my dad was in the navy out there, and Disco Bay really reminded me of the expat life. I wanted to slot right in and have a slice of this lifestyle, but I was a long way from it – 21 years old, zero experience, and like a kid in a sweet shop without money to spend.

After wandering around for a couple of hours with my mouth and eyes wide open at how amazing it all seemed, I decided to get something to eat, but my budget meant there was only one place to go – the local supermarket.

There, in a tiny mall (if you could call it that), was a Wellcome supermarket, and whilst I was lining up with my cheap-ish sandwich and juice, an idea struck me. I could sell myself. There was the supermarket board offering yoga, English lessons, Cantonese lessons, childcare, toys, cats, and everything else. What wasn't listed on the board were 21-year-old "wet behind the ears" wannabe corporate boys looking for a job – that was, until now.

I asked for a card from the lady, borrowed a pen, and started to write a lonely hearts-style ad, but with a lust for work, not love. I wrote my CV on one side, really hammed it up, then pinned it up. Oh well, I thought, let's see. Rather like a lottery ticket, I’d bought it, forgotten about it, and if my numbers came up, that would be a bonus.

I had three more days at the flat at Grand Panorama before I’d have to move into the god-awful Victoria Hostel on Hankow Road, so I used the phone number as my contact info. If I’d had the budget, I’d have opted for the YMCA, but I was really low on funds, and I’d been told to avoid Chungking Mansions, too. Victoria Hostel was cheap, but having seen it a few days earlier, it was certainly not very cheerful – but beggars can't be choosers.

Two days passed, and I’d heard nothing. I started picturing myself arriving at Heathrow on a dank and dreary evening. Surely there must be a way to avoid this. I’d have to move into the youth hostel anyway because I’d need a couple of days to sort out my ticket.

Time was ticking - if something didn't happen soon, I'd have no contact number, so if my advert were to work, it would need to happen...very soon. I had to leave this flat regardless, as the friends of the family I was staying with were off to Thailand for 3 weeks. I walked around their lovely home muttering swearwords to myself and accepting my fate.

I stood in the shower, just letting the water run over me, when I heard a sound....it's the phone! I jumped out, grabbed a towel, and slid across the floor. It wasn't lady luck...it was Mr luck, and he was an American CEO for one of the world's largest newspapers.

"James? It's Mark from USA Today – my wife was looking to sell a pine bookshelf on the supermarket board, and she noticed your advert. We're looking for a Sales Manager; would you like to have a chat?"

At that moment, everything went from dejection to elation. It sounds cocky, but I knew I’d get the gig; I just had a hunch, and my hunch was right.
I spoke with Mark the next day, and two days later, he offered me the job. Not a lot of money, but I took it – $28,000 USD a year; pretty poor, I guess, but what position was I in? I took it with gusto.

A week before Christmas, he invited me to Dan Ryan's to have lunch with the team. "Order whatever you like, James, it's on USA Today." I'm not the greedy type, but I can tell you something: that day, I ate like a king and ordered the most wonderful steak. As I sat there in the restaurant wearing my least-wrinkled shirt and trousers, I must admit, I felt pretty proud of myself.

The first bit was done – I had a job; the rest? I'd think about that tomorrow. Mark gave me an advance on my salary and took me to Ocean Terminal where I was measured-up for a suit. I started work on January 3rd. On my way back to the hostel on that first day, I felt pretty out of place all suited and booted, but I'd taken the first step. 3 weeks later, I was living on Lamma.

I'm just glad that Mark's wife was looking to sell that bookshelf.