Rejection Proof: How I Beat Fear and Became Invincible Through 100 Days of Rejection (12 page)

Of course, Langer’s experiment only looked at the challenge from the perspective of the person asking the question. The reasons she gave originated from her desire and needs, however ludicrous or reasonable, and ignored the needs of the people who were already standing in the copy machine line. This got me wondering: What would happen if the why that I offered wasn’t about me but more about
them
—the people to whom I was posing my requests?

In his classic bestselling book
How to Win Friends and Influence People
, Dale Carnegie advocates “becoming genuinely interested in other people” and “talking in terms of the other man’s interest.” What if I applied this to a rejection challenge? If the why that I gave was more about meeting the other person’s interests and needs rather than my own, would that increase my chances of getting to yes?

Not all my rejection attempts made it onto my video blog—and the Dale Carnegie–inspired rejection was one of them. That’s because everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong, right from the start.

My idea was to stroll into a local hair salon and ask the hairdresser whether she might like me to cut her hair, as a way to break up the monotony of her day. So that’s exactly what I did. After exchanging a few pleasantries with a hairdresser—a Vietnamese woman with very sharp scissors in her hands—I pitched her my request.

“May I cut your hair?” I asked.

“You want to cut my hair?” She gave me a slight smile, hinting at her amusement.

Then I followed up the question with what I somehow thought at the time was a great and generous why.

“Yes, I’m sure you have cut hair from thousands of heads and you must be bored with your job and wondering what it’s like on the other side,” I said. “I can cut your hair and make sure you look good.”

The hairdresser, who clearly took pride in her job, turned her smile into a frown faster than I could finish my sentence.

“What do you mean I must be bored? I love my job!” she retorted.

The customer whose hair she was cutting sensed the hairdresser’s unhappiness and gallantly jumped to her defense. He started swearing, accusing me of interrupting her work, and calling me unprintable names.

Admittedly, my request was bizarre. But I hadn’t expected to be on the receiving end of a two-on-one confrontation. It was hard for me to keep calm amid all the name-calling and angry accusations. I tried to explain that all I wanted was to lighten the mood and make it fun, and I just wanted to cut even a strand of her hair.

But it was too late. No matter what I said, I couldn’t change the chemistry of that conversation from contention to collaboration.

In the end, I apologized and left. I was in a rather foul mood, not because I got rejected but because a would-be fun experience had turned quickly into something rather unpleasant. I felt sorry for the hairdresser, whose happy day was interrupted by this exchange, all because I had said the wrong thing. Judging by her initial reaction, she might have even said yes if I had offered a genuine why.

Because of the customer’s bad language, I never uploaded this video to my blog. The last thing I wanted was to use my social media presence to make someone look bad. I felt badly enough about the exchange as it was.

The “hairdresser incident” taught me some important lessons (not least of which, obviously, is to never underestimate the pride that a hairdresser takes in her job). But the real lesson was this: I didn’t really know the hairdresser’s interest and needs. Instead, I’d made some guesses in the moment that proved wildly incorrect. My manufactured reason had missed the mark by a mile. Why would a professional hairdresser let an untrained stranger cut her hair and risk
messing it up? She also loved her job, and my suggestion that she could be “bored” and needed me to “lighten the mood” had been perceived as an insult. I am sure there are bored hairdressers out there who would enjoy a break from their routine, but she wasn’t one of them, and I shouldn’t have put a negative spin on her work either way.

Also, even if she had wanted a break, having a random guy cut her hair was probably the least-relaxing break she could imagine. Offering to perform a karaoke song for her or sweep her station might have gone over much better.

But what bothered me the most about the incident was the realization that I hadn’t actually been thinking about the other person’s needs. I’d wanted this rejection attempt to be about her but really, I hadn’t proposed anything that might actually do her a favor. I was only asking to fulfill
my own desire
for a crazy request.

James Pennebaker, a social psychologist at the University of Texas at Austin, once conducted research on the way people use pronouns in their e-mails. He discovered that the more people use the pronoun “I,” the more likely they are telling the truth and are perceived as such. On the other hand, the more people use “you” or “he/she/they” as the subject of a sentence, the more likely they are to be not telling the truth. No wonder that when banks or utility companies send out letters with unwelcome news, whether it’s raising a fee or reducing a benefit, and they start out by saying “to better serve you,” we never believe them.

When I’d asked to “borrow $100,” “get a burger refill,” or
“play soccer in your backyard,” I hadn’t attempted to come up with reasons to demonstrate how saying yes would benefit the other person. People, in turn, said either yes or no, but no one felt upset or talked down to. By starting my request with “I,” I could ensure that others understood that I was asking them for a favor—not trying to do them a false favor that didn’t ring true.

The hairdresser incident once again brought up for me the issue of trust and comfort—one of the most important themes that ran through my whole rejection journey. I’d come to recognize a certain look that would pass over other people’s faces as soon as they heard one of my requests. It was a combination of surprise, confusion, and suspicion. I could almost see them checking me out and asking themselves:
How do I know this guy has no unfriendly intentions? How do I know he isn’t trying to sell me a bridge, recruit me to a cult, or steal my identity?
As a guy fighting my own rejection fear, I knew I meant no harm to the random people I approached. But how could I make sure that
they
knew it? How could I make them more comfortable when talking to me?

I’m a big fan of “greeters”—those friendly, helpful people positioned inside the doors of giant big-box stores like Walmart, the ones who magically always know exactly where you can find what you’re looking for. I’ve always appreciated being
met by a “hi” when I walk into stores that might otherwise feel vast and daunting, and it certainly helps to have someone on hand to direct me.

But I don’t shop at Walmart very often. Starbucks, on the other hand, is one of my favorite places to visit. I’ve always found them friendly and convenient—and I love the coffee. Starbucks doesn’t have greeters, though, and I doubt it ever will. But it seemed like a good enough idea for me to turn it into a rejection attempt.

So I ventured into my local Starbucks one day and asked the barista if I could stand by the door for an hour or so as a “Starbucks greeter.” The barista’s name was Eric. Not surprisingly, he had a tough time making sense of my request. I could tell that he wanted to grant my wish, but he was also unsure of my intentions. Seeing his dilemma, I tried to make him more comfortable.

“Is that weird?” I asked him.

“Yeah, it’s a little weird,” he replied, almost with relief. But acknowledging what I was asking was strange seemed to put him at ease. “You aren’t trying to sell anything, right?” he asked. He told me, then, that at some point they’d had a woman position herself at the door trying to sell products to incoming customers, and they’d had to ask her to leave. Eric didn’t want a replay of that experience, and part of his hesitation was remembering that tricky situation.

I assured him that I wasn’t trying to sell anything—I just really loved their coffee and wanted to help people enjoy the Starbucks experience even more. Ultimately, Eric conceded. “I don’t see why not,” he said. “As long as it doesn’t get ridiculous.”

For the next hour, I stood at the door and welcomed every customer who walked in with a greeting and a smile. I even tried out different phrases, like “Welcome to Starbucks!” and “We have the best coffee in the world!” Most people totally ignored me (though one customer did toast me with her coffee cup). But I didn’t mind. As a greeter, I didn’t need much to be happy.

Although it might seem counterintuitive, acknowledging other people’s doubts can help rather than hurt your cause. Demonstrating to Eric that I knew that my request was “weird” actually gave me a different kind of credibility. For one, it proved to him that I wasn’t crazy, and we were more or less on the same page. But it also revealed both honesty and empathy on my part, two feelings that are crucial to evoking trust. Asking “Is this weird?” put Eric more at ease and opened his mind to my request. It gave him an opportunity to be honest with me and explain what his reservations were. That conversation then gave me the opportunity to assure him that allowing me to be a greeter would not undermine him, his customers, or his store. In the end, it more than likely increased the possibilities of me getting a yes.

Though it sounds easy, preemptively acknowledging another person’s doubts can be very hard to do in the heat of the moment. Before launching my rejection journey, whenever I’d ask other people for something—whether it was a job, venture funding, or to buy something that I was selling—I never wanted to bring up or discuss any underlying doubts and questions they might have. I thought doing so would
undermine my cause and actually hand them a reason to say no to me. I hoped that by
not
mentioning their doubts, those doubts would simply go away, or at least remain hidden. But in most cases, other people’s doubts do not disappear by themselves. Instead, they can linger and are more likely to become the very reason for a rejection if you don’t take control of them.

Of course, I’m hardly the first person to discover that acknowledging others’ doubts can strengthen rather than destroy your credibility. Companies play with this principle all the time. Take Domino’s Pizza. In a 2009 survey of consumer taste preferences among national pizza chains, Domino’s tied for last place with Chuck E. Cheese’s. Soon after, Domino’s completely retooled its pizza recipes and its menu. But the national advertising campaign that followed didn’t tout the newness, freshness, and awesomeness of the new pizza. Instead, it brutally criticized the company’s old products, sharing feedback from consumers that included words like
mass produced
,
boring
,
bland
, and
forgettable
.

I remember watching those ads and thinking that if Domino’s was that honest about how bad its pizza used to be, then there must be something to its whole remake. I actually went to Domino’s just to try out its new pizza for that reason. And I wasn’t alone. The company’s relaunch and honesty campaign proved a wild success. One year after the campaign and in the middle of the recession, Domino’s revived its pizza business and experienced a historical 14.3 percent quarterly gain in sales—the highest jump ever by a major fast-food chain.

No matter the situation, bringing people’s doubt out in the open can be a powerful way to gain their attention, their trust, and often even their acceptance. It also has a way of diffusing the fear and the nerves that you feel when making a request. By being “real” and acknowledging the skepticism that other people might feel, you can help put them at ease,
yourself
at ease, and boost your credibility at the same time.

Of course, it is possible that if I do everything right to put myself in the right position, including giving my reason, starting with “I,” and acknowledging doubts, the other person could still reject me. Sometimes the other person will reject you no matter what, and sometimes he or she doesn’t want or need what you are offering.

Yet there is one thing you can do to boost your chances of getting a yes. You can’t change people—but you
can
select your target wisely.

100 DAYS OF REJECTION: GIVING A COLLEGE LECTURE

My family tree is filled with teachers. In fact, my great-great-grandfather started one of the most influential Confucius academies in China 102 years ago. My grandparents, my father, and my uncles all taught in either colleges or high schools. I often joked that I might be the first true capitalist in my family, because I dreamed of becoming an entrepreneur instead of following my lineage and becoming another
teacher. Though she never intended to put any pressure on me, as I grew up, my grandmother would once in a while mention that it would be great for me to become a teacher, too.

So I had always wondered what it was like to teach a college class. During my 100 Days of Rejection, I felt as if I had opened a window in my life to ask for anything I wanted. If I could get Olympic donuts or find a job in one afternoon, why not try to become a teacher for an hour?

I prepared a résumé and business card and created a lecture in PowerPoint on my iPad (my topic, of course, was how to handle rejection). Then, one afternoon, I put on my favorite dress shirt and headed to the University of Texas in Austin.

I started at the business school. I felt that with my background in being a former business school student and currently an entrepreneur, I could relate to these professors the best. However, I quickly found out that the school was on break and almost no professors were around. I grabbed a faculty directory and started to cold-call professors in other departments, just trying to talk to someone. I picked a school of communications professor named Dr. Joel Roll ins. He taught a debate class at the time.

When he answered my call, he asked me if I was trying to sell anything. I assured him that I wasn’t, but that I wanted to offer his students a lecture that might give them a new perspective on communication. Sounding suspicious but a little intrigued, Rollins told me he would give me five minutes of his time for an in-person meeting at his office.

During that meeting, I explained that I was a local entrepreneur
and blogger. I pulled out my iPad and showed him the lecture on rejection I would give to his students if he said yes. He looked through it and seemed impressed by my preparation. He said the topic probably wasn’t right for his debate class but might be useful for another class he would be teaching in the upcoming semester on communication and social change. Because “people in movements…get rejected a lot when they are trying to start something.”

After a little more conversation, Rollins agreed to fit me into his curriculum. I couldn’t believe I was about to make one of my dreams come true simply by asking. I was ready to give him a hug, but I restrained myself from showing too much enthusiasm. I learned my lesson about never going crazy in front of a professor during my college days.

A month later, when the new semester rolled around, Rollins called me to set up a time for my lecture. When I hung up the phone, I knew my moment had finally come.

My grandma once read me a touching short story when I was young. It was called “La Dernière Classe”—“The Last Lesson”—by Alphonse Daudet. The story was about a teacher and Frenchman named Monsieur Hamel giving his last class lecture to his students. France had lost the Franco-Prussian War and was forced to relinquish territory to its enemy. The next day the school would start teaching lessons in German instead of French. Monsieur Hamel dressed up for the occasion—and gave the best lecture of his life.

This wasn’t my last lecture—it was my first. But I dressed up for the occasion as well, in my favorite shirt, like Monsieur Hamel did. In the class, I discussed how because
people resist change, especially when it comes to power and tradition, the most important ideas and movements often encounter the most violent rejections. I cited examples of Apostle Paul and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., and how they turned rejections into opportunities, and changed the world as a result. I encouraged the students not to give up easily in the face of nos, and to be smart to obtain yeses.

When the class was over, the students gave me a warm round of applause, and Professor Rollins engulfed me in a hug (now
that
was a surprise!). My wife, Tracy, was also there. As we walked out of the classroom together, I was wiping away tears. I felt my grandma’s spirit was there in that classroom watching me that day. And I knew she was proud of me.

It was tough to analyze myself after such an emotional episode. To this day, I still can’t believe that things that mean so much to me could happen that fast if I just asked for them. However, I know I did one thing that helped me, and it was one of the most important lessons I learned through my 100 Days of Rejection: target the right audience.

Before meeting Professor Rollins, I had spent days working on the lecture material I would be giving to hypothetical college students in a hypothetical class. I’d pictured myself as a professor, channeled my family tree, and put in my best work. I did all this without knowing if my presentation would ever be given or even seen by anyone. I also dressed the part and prepared a polished résumé that highlighted my
experience—both of which brought me credibility during my encounter with Professor Rollins. I proved that I wasn’t just a crazy guy with a crazy wish, or a jokester looking for a laugh.

Yet however well prepared I was, I knew the odds of convincing a professor to let a stranger lecture to his students were very low. To increase those odds, I aimed my request at what I hoped would be the most receptive audience. Thinking that the business school would probably value my message the most, I started there. When that didn’t work out due to unfortunate timing, I moved to my next best choice—the communications school. Professor Rollins welcomed me with open arms, and so did his students. But had I picked a professor from the school of nursing, I might have gotten a swift rejection.

In other words, targeting is everything.

A few years ago,
Washington Post
columnist Gene Weingarten staged an intriguing experiment that quickly went viral. He asked Joshua Bell, a Grammy Award–winning violinist and conductor, to play his violin in a busy DC metro station dressed like a normal street fiddler. Bell is one of the most accomplished violinists in the world, and people pay hundreds of dollars to attend his concerts. Weingarten had him playing anonymously for a pack of busy commuters. Would they stop, recognize his genius, and count their lucky stars for being able to listen to a masterful performance for free? Or would they take no notice?

Wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and a baseball cap, Bell gave his best effort. During his forty-five-minute subway
performance, 1,097 people passed by the spot where Bell was playing. Only seven stopped to listen, and only one recognized Bell.

Many attributed the results to the commuters’ lack of interest in classical music or their narrow focus on their travel logistics. Another reason was Bell’s anonymity—and thus his lack of credibility.

However, no one can deny the fact that the performance was targeted at the wrong audience. Just days before, Bell had performed at the prestigious John F. Kennedy Center to a standing ovation. The contrast couldn’t be more stunning.

Of course, it’s hard to draw a direct comparison between me trying to sell my first-ever attempt at teaching and a world-class violinist doing what he knows best. However, both these examples demonstrated the principle of targeting. It doesn’t matter how amazing your performance or products are, if you target the wrong audience, who don’t recognize, appreciate, or need your value, your effort will be both wasted and rejected.