CHAPTER NINE
The Rules
Two days later, I sat on a couch in the middle of the hotel lobby, glancing between my watch and the main entrance. If our meeting lasted twenty minutes, and it took half an hour to get back to school, that gave me two hours to cram before my final. And if our meeting lasted an hour, I would still have—
My mental calculations stopped as Elliott strode in, right on time.
He cut across the lobby. Even at a distance, Elliott’s eyes were sharp and piercing. They scanned the room slowly, almost too slowly, like a panther’s eyes scouring the jungle floor. As he walked closer, he seemed to never blink. He spotted me and threw me a nod, then sat beside me.
“Give me a second,” he said without making eye contact.
He took out his phone and typed away.
One minute passed…then two…then…
He glanced up and caught me staring at him. My eyes darted away. I checked my watch. We were five minutes into our meeting and we’d barely spoken.
As I snuck another look at Elliott, I couldn’t help but smile when I saw his shoes. My prediction was right.
I’d noticed at USC during fraternity rush that students gravitated toward people they looked similar to, which made me think that the more you look like the other person, the easier it is to strike up a friendship. So I spent some time that morning wondering what Elliott would wear. I put on blue jeans, a green V-neck shirt, and brown TOMS shoes, because I’d read that the founder of TOMS went to Summit events. Elliott was wearing gray jeans, a blue V-neck, and gray TOMS. But with his head down and eyes glued to the screen, I felt that what I wore would be the last thing he’d notice.
“You still in school?” he asked, not lifting his head.
“Yeah. I’m a sophomore.”
“You going to drop out?”
“What?”
“You heard what I said.”
My grandma’s face flashed in my mind. Jooneh man.
“No,” I blurted. “No. I’m not.”
Elliott let out a soft laugh. “Okay. We’ll see.”
I changed the subject. “So, I can tell you’re really good at bringing people together and building momentum for your Summit events, and I’m really curious how you do it. So my one question for you is—”
“You don’t have to ask just one question.”
“Okay, so, I guess my first question is: What was the tipping point in your career that allowed you to build so much momentum?”
“There is no tipping point,” he said, still typing away. “It’s all just little steps.”
To someone else, that might’ve been a good answer. But I’d spent weeks dreaming of Elliott offering an entire monologue on the subject, so the fact he didn’t give more than a five-word explanation made me feel like he was blowing me off.
“Well, okay, so I guess my next question is—”
“Did you read the ‘Star of Ardaban’ chapter? Did you even open the book yet? Or can you not even handle reading two chapters on a day’s notice?”
“I read it,” I said, “and I finished the whole book.”
Elliott finally looked up. He put his phone away.
“Man, I was just like you when I was your age,” he said. “I hustled just like you’re hustling. And that cold email you sent me, you probably researched for a whole week to write that, huh?”
“Two weeks. And then it took another three hours just trying to find your email address.”
“Yeah, man. I did that kind of stuff all the time.”
I finally relaxed, which was a mistake, because Elliott immediately turned on me, firing a machine gun of questions about the mission. He asked them so intensely, so rapidly, I felt I was being interrogated. I answered the best I could, unsure how our conversation was going. Elliott laughed when I told him about the time I crouched in the bathroom.
He checked the time on his phone.
“Listen,” he said. “I only expected this to last thirty minutes. But maybe— Wait, don’t you have class today?”
“I’m all good. What do you have in mind?”
“Well, if you want, you can stick around for a bit and sit in on my next meeting.”
“That sounds amazing.”
“Okay, cool,” he said. “But first, we need ground rules. These five things aren’t just for today. They’re for the rest of your life.” He locked his eyes onto mine. “Write these down.”
I took out my phone to type them into the notepad.
“Rule number one: Never use your phone in a meeting. I don’t care if you’re just taking notes. Using your phone makes you look like a chump. Always carry a pen in your pocket. The more digital the world gets, the more impressive it is to use a pen. And anyway, if you’re in a meeting, it’s just rude to be on your phone.
“Rule number two: Act like you belong. Walk into a room like you’ve been there before. Don’t gawk over celebrities. Be cool. Be calm. And never, ever ask someone for a picture. If you want to be treated like a peer, you need to act like one. Fans ask for pictures. Peers shake hands.
“Speaking of pictures, rule number three: Mystery makes history. When you’re doing cool shit, don’t post pictures of it on Facebook. No one actually changing the world posts everything they do online. Keep people guessing what you’re up to. Plus, the people you’re going to impress by posting things online aren’t the people you should care about impressing.
“Now, rule number four,” he said, slowly stressing each word, “this rule is the most important. If you break it”—he moved his hand across his neck in a slicing motion—“you’re done.
“If you break my trust, you’re finished. Never, ever go back on your word. If I tell you something in confidence, you need to be a vault. What goes in does not come out. This goes for your relationships with everyone from this day forward. If you act like a vault, people will treat you like a vault. It will take years to build your reputation, but seconds to ruin it. Understood?”
“Understood.”
“Good.” He stood up and looked down at me. “Get up.”
“But I thought you said there were five rules?”
“Uh, oh yeah. Here’s a last one: Adventures only happen to the adventurous.”
Before I could ask what that meant, Elliott walked away. I followed. He turned his head back to me. “Ready to play with the big boys?”
I nodded.
“By the way,” he added, looking me up and down, “nice TOMS.”
Elliott’s meeting began and I found myself sitting with my forearms on my knees, listening more intently than I ever had to a professor in class. Elliott started it casually, making jokes and asking his guest how her morning was going. Then almost unnoticeably, he shifted the full force of his focus on her: What was she passionate about? What was she working on? When she was polite and asked Elliott about himself, he laughed and said, “Oh, I’m not that interesting,” and posed another question. For essentially the entire interaction, Elliott barely spoke about himself. Finally, at what seemed like the last 10 percent of the meeting, Elliott shared his story: “The city of my dreams didn’t exist, so I’m setting out to build it.” He was buying the largest private ski mountain in North America in a city called Eden, Utah, and creating a small, residential community on the backside of the mountain for entrepreneurs, artists, and activists. Then just as she was hooked, Elliott ended the conversation.
He gave her a hug and she headed off. Then another guest arrived. The second meeting flowed as smoothly as the first. I was mesmerized by how Elliott controlled their interaction. I didn’t want to take my eyes off him, yet I kept sneaking looks at my watch. I had to be on the road within the hour.
After the second meeting ended, Elliott stood up and motioned for me to do the same.
“Having fun?” he asked.
I let out a giant grin.
“Great,” he said. “You’re going to love this next one.”
I trailed close behind as he headed for the exit. All I could see in my mind was an enormous hourglass, the sand trickling down until my final exam.
We crossed the street to the Westin hotel, which wasn’t just any hotel. This week it was the main lodging of the TED conference, one of the most exclusive gatherings in the world. We made our way to the lobby restaurant. It was intimate, no more than fifteen tables. Classical music played in the background, accented by the chimes of tiny spoons against porcelain cups.
Elliott walked directly to the host. “Table for four, please.”
As we were escorted through the dining area, I figured I should tell Elliott that I might have to leave this meeting early, but right then Elliott greeted a man at a nearby table. I recognized him instantly: Tony Hsieh, the CEO of Zappos. His book Delivering Happiness was still on the top row of my bookshelf.
Elliott continued walking. “You see that guy over there,” he whispered to me. “That’s Larry Page, the CEO of Google. That guy to your left is Reid Hoffman. He’s the founder of LinkedIn. Now look over there. The table in the far back—the guy with the glasses, he created Gmail. On your right, in the blue running shorts, that’s Chad. He’s the cofounder of YouTube.”
We got to our table and Elliott’s guests arrived. First came Franck, the cofounder of Startup Weekend, one of the world’s largest entrepreneurial organizations; then Brad, the cofounder of Groupon, which at the time was valued at thirteen billion dollars. The three of them chatted. Throughout the meal, Elliott’s gaze kept darting my way as if he was judging me. I couldn’t tell if he wanted me to speak up more or if the one time I did was one too many.
Halfway through breakfast, the cofounder of Groupon went to the restroom, then the cofounder of Startup Weekend stepped to the side to take a call. Elliott turned to me and continued the interrogation.
“So where are you getting your money from? How are you paying for all your travels?”
I told him I was using the money I won on a game show.
“You what?” he said.
“Have you heard of The Price Is Right?”
“Everyone’s heard of The Price Is Right.”
“Well, last year, two nights before finals, I pulled an all-nighter and figured out how to hack the show. I went the next day, won a sailboat, sold it, and that’s how I’m funding my mission.”
Elliott put his fork down. “Hold on. You’re telling me that we’ve been together for over two hours now and you never told me that you funded your entire adventure by hacking a game show?”
I shrugged.
“You idiot!” he said.
He leaned in and lowered his voice, enunciating each word. “Never again will you sit in a meeting with someone and not tell them that. Your mission is nice, but this story tells me more about who you are than anything else you could possibly say. This story commands attention.
“Everybody has experiences in their lives,” he added. “Some choose to make them into stories.”
I was so transfixed by Elliott’s words I barely noticed that his guests had sat back down.
“Alex, tell them what you just told me,” Elliott said. “Tell them how you funded your mission.”
I stumbled through the story. Despite my stutters, by the end the dynamic of the table had changed. The cofounder of Groupon cut me off. “That’s…incredible.” He spoke to me for the rest of breakfast, sharing his stories and advice, then giving me his email address and telling me to stay in touch.
I snuck another look at my watch. If I didn’t leave in a few minutes, I was dead.
Excusing myself from the table, I stepped to the side and looked up the number for the USC business school office. As the dial tone rang in my ear, I looked over my shoulder at all the CEOs and billionaires I’d dreamed of learning from.
A secretary picked up, and with an overwhelming sense of urgency I blurted, “Patch me through to the dean.” For some reason, she did. The business school’s associate dean—not the film school dean who had stopped me with Spielberg—answered the phone.
“It’s Alex Banayan. I need to explain to you where I’m standing right now. Within ten feet of me is…” and I went on to list everyone in my vicinity. “I don’t need to explain to you how rare of an opportunity this is. Now, I have an accounting final in an hour, and I would have to leave right this second to get to campus on time. I can’t make this decision—you have to make this decision. And I need an answer within thirty seconds.”
She didn’t respond.
After thirty seconds, I asked if she was still there.
“You didn’t hear this from me,” she said, “but email your professor tomorrow morning saying your flight from San Francisco to LA was delayed, you had no control over the matter, and that’s why you missed the final.”
Click. She hung up.
To this day, it’s hard to fully express how grateful I am for what the associate dean did for me that morning.
When I returned to the table, breakfast continued and the energy kept building. The cofounder of Groupon invited me to visit him in Chicago. Then Reid Hoffman stopped by our table. Eventually, Elliott’s two guests left and I sat there, looking around the restaurant, taking it all in.
“Hey, big shot,” Elliott whispered. “You want to interview a tech mogul, don’t you? There’s the CEO of Google, twenty feet away from you. This is your chance. Go talk to him. Let’s see what you got.”
A wave of panic washed over me.
“If you want it,” Elliott said, “there it is.”
“I usually prepare for weeks before I ask someone for an interview. I don’t know anything about him. I don’t think this is such a good idea.”
“Do it.”
It was almost as if Elliott could smell The Flinch.
“Come on, tough guy,” he went on. “Let’s see what you got.”
I didn’t move.
“Come on. Do it,” he said, sounding like a drug dealer. With each sentence, his shoulders rose higher and chest grew broader, as if he was fueling off my discomfort. He bore into me with his panther-like eyes.
“When it’s in front of you,” Elliott said, “make your move.”
Larry Page, the CEO of Google, pushed his seat back. I could barely feel my legs. Page began walking away. I stood up.
I shadowed him out of the restaurant and down some stairs. He entered a restroom. I cringed…Not again. I stepped in and saw six urinals. Larry Page was at one end. The other five were empty. Without thinking, I chose the one farthest from him. As I stood there, I tried to come up with something clever to say. But all I could hear in my head was Elliott’s voice: When it’s in front of you, make your move.
Page stepped over to wash his hands. I followed, again choosing the farthest sink. The more I thought about failing, the more I failed.
Page was drying his hands. I had to say something.
“Uh, you’re Larry Page, right?”
“Yes.”
My face went blank. Page looked at me, confused, and then walked out. And that was that.
I dragged my feet back to the breakfast table where Elliott was waiting. I slumped in my seat.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Uh…well…”
“You’ve got a lot to learn.”