S1 Ep. 1 | CALIFORNIA GOODBYE Normal Morning
Life in the Bay Area starts out normal...
Some say I am like a machine, works hard, predictable. This work ethic is confused for intelligence when it’s merely a survival mechanism from growing up with not enough food in the cabinets and never having enough, of anything. I certainly grew up poor yet as I got older I realized it wasn’t just poverty that held me back as a child but an abusive partner of my father in the house. The past is for wimps though.
This is today, today in Oakland, California. My book publisher should be finishing soon one of the final reads of my draft so that I can hopefully get paid at some point and now I am really behind on consulting. I not only look like a college student—running shorts, ragged sweatshirt since middle school—I feel like one. I took this six month sabbatical to write a book for a major publisher and now I know why writers are poor. It sucks. Compared to venture capital or doing deals I am insane from stepping away from my investment job, but it’s almost done. The book is written and now it’s time I get my hair in order and get back into the workforce.
As I jog around Jack London Square listening to music the music stops because I’m getting a phone call-it's my stoner accountant Polly:
Polly: You are broke
Me: I know I’m broke. I just survived six months without a fancy executive salary writing this fucking book over and over…
Polly: No, really you are broke broke. The publisher called me this morning and pushed out the release date which pushes out the writers compensation dates. Remember you have to wait 180 days AFTER the sales are complete and pray for no returns.
Me: Ugh, okay. Is it really that bad?
Polly: Yes. It gets worse. The publisher can keep revenues for 90 days AFTER the 180 days to ensure any “publication costs” get reconciled. This is bad, very bad
I user my fingers to do the math, 180 is 6 months, add 90 is 3 months… thats over 9 months without pay and the publish date is a few months away
Me: oh my g-d. A year, a full fucking year
Polly: Yup. Even if you still had your executive job you are very much $50,000 in the hole and no revenue, from the book anyway, for a year from now…
Polly takes a big puff of a marijuna rolled joint, I can hear it from the phone the inhaling then blowing out
Me: This is crazy. I really am screwed
Polly: Yes, yes you are
Me: Chibuzo even made me co-sign on a house we bought, for the family trust, that I can’t even live in because its an investment property!
I can hear Polly taking another puff of her smoke, she’s trying to be quiet on the phone
Polly: Look I don’t know what to tell you dude. I’m just telling you that you are about… hrm… a week… from catastrophic financial death
Me: Polly?!? Aren’t you supposed to help me? Give me financial advice? Something?
Polly: Shit happens my friend. Your publisher hide all kinds of stuff in that contract YOU signed. I’m just here to collect and I ain’t got nothing to collect for a while. A year, from them anyway
I stare at the water of the Oakland marina. Thinking. How could this be? Why would I do this to myself? It feels like an eternity and yet only a few seconds at the same time
Polly: Oh and I will be sending my invoice over. That will be $5k. It can wait a little bit. I understand you might need some time to pay it off… mommy does need her botox tho so don’t forget about me. Good luck!
Polly hangs up as awkwardly as she called. Here I am about to be a published famous author in thift store clothes, massive debt, staring at the marina. I look down to see my phone battery dying too “fuck” I mumble to myself and head back to my apartment nearby.
Here Kitty, Kitty
At home I have a bit of a mess from writing so much. There’s dishes piled up in the kitchen, empty wine and coffee cups everywhere, and of course my house guest, Cat which is the name of Chelsea’s cat named literally CAT. I am cat-sitting while Chelsea is at some tech conference for my auntie duties. Luckily the cat doesn’t care if the house is cleaned as long as I give her treats and food as a human slave.
I grab an ice cream container from the freezer and plop myself on the couch. CAT comes up, I left her have a few licks from my spoon mumbling to myself.
$50,000 I need to make like ASAP with zero clue how to do it. I set the ice cream down on the sofa table while CAT sits next to me on the couch debating on if she can jump to the table to eat the ice cream but she doesn’t. She looks at me, looks at the ice cream and debates the whole time.
I grab my now charging phone and open up my email scanning for inbound deals or requests.
No… no… doesn’t pay enough… crappy pitch…next
I set the phone down to flip through the latest paper print of my book which is mainly done. Looks good even if it made me poor. I pet the cat. Eat some more ice cream.
There has to be something in my control.
An email from Polly comes in I see the alert on my phone and open it. It’s the publisher contract with Polly’s drawn notes in red all over it “fucked. this is fucked. Not cool”
I close the email and pet the cat and look at the clock, it is still middle of the day Oakland time. I wonder who I can call for help when my phone itself rings with a call, spooky.
The voice of a older male with a very heavy New York accent is on the other line
New Yorker guy: Ah yes, hello. Is this Ella Taylor the technologist?
It takes me a minute because I am a technologist but no one I know would ever call me that, he’s giving boomer vibes. He introduces himself
Roger: Hello, my name is Roger Klein. Is this Ella Taylor?
The random timing of the call mixed with the formality of his voice and ton have me feeling a bit suspicious. The guy sounds old enough to be my grandfather.
me: Uh yes this is Ella. Hi Roger, how can I help you?
Roger: Wow cool! Ms. Taylor, great. Are you still designing and working on mobile apps?
Still taken by surprise I debate for a minute. Do I do mobile apps? I mean yes. I have led probably 100 of them. Do I do them now? Not really. Am I also broke? Very broke so maybe I do mobile apps again?
me: Sure I can do mobile apps. What did you have in mind?
I look around at all the dishes piled up, the melted ice cream on the table I forgot to put away. The cat named Cat staring at me also confused. I’m living like a hobo despite being weeks away from a famous author.
me: Of course I do mobile apps! Do you already know what you want to build?
Roger: Well my partners and I we have an app idea. But that’s it so far just an idea. Not a name. No app. We don’t really know technology, however we came across your name someone said you know how to make apps from anything. That true?
My eyes are fixated on the bills stacked on table by my front door. How am I simultaneously the best and broke?! Before I can process anything else words slip out of my mouth
Me: $50,000 retainer. If you want my services I require that upfront before I can do any work
There’s a moment of silence as I process the courage of what I just said. I’m shook at my own courage and yet I realize it is indeed what I need. Roger pauses as I hear him think it over
Roger: We could do that. Do you know when you are next in New York? My partners and I have Wall Street jobs so we can’t really leave but if you come here we can tell you all about our app idea
Me: I’ll send you an invoice, once it’s paid I’ll book my flight. Sound like a plan?
Roger: You know, why not. I think you could be the person for the job. Why not?
Me: Great, check your email today I will email it over and we can discuss further
Roger: Okay then Ms. Taylor. Speak soon
I hang up the phone in disbelief. What the fuck just happened. Is this what men do all the time? Whatever bottle of audacity I drank from I need to find it so I keep it going. I immediately move the cat who is in my way for my laptop. Log into my invoice software and as I’m in Roger emails me so I have his email. I copy and paste the email to the retainer invoice and send it off, slamming the laptop shut in terror. This can’t be true.
I start picking up the dirty dishes and cups and placing them in the sink. I feel a pep in my step and the energy I have not felt in months. I also decide to take a shower, something I haven’t done in days. As I have most of the dishes in the kitchen from the living room I hear a phone alert chime go off “Paid.” The cat looks at me, I look at the cat, we both look at my phone. I slide across the room to look at the phone screen “invoice paid”
No fucking way.
Lunchtime with Chibuzo
The next day after a full body shower, I did my hair and dressed up more than I had the months prior. Chibuzo and I sit down for lunch near the same marina I run around a few times a week. Chibuzo asks me for life updates and I tell him about Roger, the random New York guy who paid me $50,000 after a few minutes on the phone
Chibuzo: Has to be mafia money, doesn’t make sense
Me: Why would the mafia pay $50,000 for a mobile app?
Chibuzo: Do you know if they even want a mobile app? What if they just want the credit card points or a way to pay the credit card bill to ‘wash’ their money
Me: Oh you think? I hadn’t thought of that?
Chibuzo: That’s crazy girl. You are good but you are not THAT good. I mean I love you but smells like all kinds of wahala, might be a k-leg
Me: What’s a K-leg?
Chibuzo: You know. Like it seems not true, suspicious, shady
Me: Well I hope not because I already used the money to pay a bunch of my bills
Chibuzo takes a piece of bread from a basket on the lunch table takes a small bit and starts laughing
Chibuzo: You. You mafia girl… congrats… you is in da soup!
Chibuzo is howling in laughter cracking himself up
Me: Stop it Chibuzo you are creeping me out. I’m sure I just need to build these gentleman a mobile app, get it done, and come back. Or something.
Chibuzo grabs another piece of bread, eats it, then starts laughing again with his body rocking in all directions from his chair.
Chibuzo: She in da soup. The big soup. She walks from trouble but it runs to her!”