No Easy Ticket

Personal essay on me trying to sell tickets on the streets of New York City

“Comedy tickets! Comedy tickets on sale for tonight’s show! Mam, are you interested?”

'No thank you sir, but I suggest you work on your approach.'

She genuinely wanted to help, and I said, with a confused look on my face,

“Thanks, but don’t worry, I think I got it,” wearing a fake smile.

That was just one rejection out of many, during my most humbling, failed experience I

encountered in my life so far.

In the summer of 2011, I was on the internet buying tickets for the NBA Draft, and I stumbled

upon an interesting Craigslist ad. It was to sell comedy tickets to random people on the street for

The Times Square Comedy Club in New York. My eyes lit up, all I could think is “easy money.”I

thought I could make some money during the day, then go to the draft at night. With no hesitation

I called the number, and the guy told me to come down at noon to get started. I called my right

hand man Jovan, but he had to work, so I went by myself.

As I was in my car driving to the city, from Cornwall; which is about 45 minutes north of NYC, I

kept thinking about this easy money. I was a sales associate in retail for four years, and I know a

lot about business from reading books, my plan was just to remember all the selling concepts that

I read. Well, that didn't help much.

I'm slightly wet walking in rain through midtown Manhattan to get to the comedy club, feeling

confident as ever, thinking I'm about to make a fortune. The comedy club was literally in the

middle of Times Square--center of attraction, not some off-street dark alley place. I walk in

the club to meet with the owner, a middle aged black man with a serious, but humorous

personality.

Also, there were two females waiting in the lobby that were also new to selling tickets. I thought

the girls will have it easier selling tickets because they're college-aged girls, one white, one

Spanish, and they were pretty -- scratch that, they were sexy.

The club looked small on the outside, but huge on the inside. They had posters of famous comedians

that performed there, Chris Rock, Dave Chappelle, and Louis C.K. He took us on a tour, showed us the

main stage, the bar and the V.I.P section.

The owner already had a team of people selling tickets in the streets. The owner gives us a ten

minute training session and a list of one-liners to say to potential buyers.

He says, “Walk up to them, observe something about them, start a conversation on that. Then hit

them with 'I have something great so you guys can do something tonight.'

We also had to remember a bunch of rules and formalities to include in our pitch about the club,

along with the performers names and credentials.

I’m thinking “oh god, how the hell I am going to remember all this.”

Before I knew it, I was in the middle of Times Square by myself trying to sell these tickets.

Tourist after tourist, local after local, everybody denied me. Every selling tactic that I read in

books or learned from retail was not working. I was still determined, but each no, cold shoulder,

awkward look, and people slightly laughing at me, lowered my once high confidence little by little.

I realized how bad I was when a middle aged woman denied my pitch to her, but then she offered

selling tips.

“Open up with a joke, compliment the ladies.”

My thoughts started becoming defensive, “leave me alone, I know what I'm doing!”

I did meet a lot of interesting people. This one man in a t-shirt and jeans approached me with a

rolling suitcase. He asked me “what time does the street vendors opened up?” I had no clue,

so I just lied and said “around six o'clock.”

He said he's going to the street vendors for a job, because his current job just fired him, so he had

to pack up and leave. I remember him saying to me “if I knew I was getting fired today, I would of

went to the Mets game, I had tickets man. I need to find a job like you.”

Grown men are losing jobs, I thought, and I'm out here bitching because I can't sell tickets worth

beer money.

It was half-way through my shift, I still made no money, those two sexy girls made a ton of money

as I expected, and the NBA Draft was starting in a half-hour at seven-o'clock. But I wasn't suppose

to leave until nine, and I really wanted to go to the draft. I didn't think I was going to be out here

that long in the first place.

I already paid for $35 tickets to the draft, I couldn’t miss it, so I went to the owner and told him I

was done. Before I went on my way, the owner gave me a life pep-talk. He told me “quitting is bad,

and it shows a weak emotion in you,” as he's tapping my chest with his hand. In my head i'm

thinking “whatever, little does he know, I’m leaving because I have tickets to the draft.”

I got in my car and drove to the Prudential Center in New Jersey for the draft. I went in, found my

seat just before the first pick. I couldn’t concentrate and enjoy the thing I was looking forward to

all day. The draft wasn't even that fun so I was questioning whether leaving Times Square was

worth it. The only thing I could focus on, was the owner saying that I quit. I'm not a quitter, nor do

I want to be labeled as a quitter. But yet, I was second guessing myself and I couldn’t focus.

If I would have sold at least one ticket, would I have stayed and ditched the draft? If applied my

business concepts better would I have tried harder? If I never seen the money those girls were

getting, would I still get discouraged? Did I used the draft as an excuse to leave a difficult

situation? These were the questions I asked myself, the more I sat there, the more I psyched

myself out and felt like a quitter.

But on that particular night of selling tickets, I admit it, I quit and it bothers me to this day. I never

felt that type of shame in myself before, that’s how I know I quit. I wasn't bothered because I didn'

t sell tickets, what bugged me was that I gave up. So now, I make sure I complete everything I do

to avoid that feeling, or at least go out swinging.

Author's Note

How was the dialogue? What grammar should I fixed. Did I use proper diction?