Rejection Proof: How I Beat Fear and Became Invincible Through 100 Days of Rejection (4 page)

The next day, I went into a Domino’s pizza shop and asked if I could deliver a pizza for them as a volunteer deliveryman. The day after, I asked a grocery store clerk if he could give me a tour of their warehouse. The answer to both requests was no—but I didn’t take it personally. I felt confident and relaxed, and I was having fun.

I also felt like it was time to intensify the challenge. So far, the people I’d approached had been at their workplaces. They basically had to talk to me, because dealing with customers was part of their jobs. What if, I mused on my way home from work one day, I started seeking rejection from people who had no reason to talk to me at all? I felt the hair at the back of my neck spring up again at the very thought. But I wanted to force myself to be uncomfortable. And that’s how I came up with rejection attempt number six: knocking on a stranger’s door and asking to play soccer in his backyard.

When I lived in other parts of the country, and witnessed (or did) something that could be perceived as abnormal or dangerous, I’d often heard the phrase “In Texas, you’d get shot for that.” Well, Austin was the capital of the you-would-get-shot-for-that state. And, with request number six, I was asking to invade a random Texan’s personal space—which
didn’t sound like a good idea even in the best of circumstances. And that’s why, when I stood at the Dallas Cowboys fan’s front door, sweating through my soccer gear and waiting for his response, I couldn’t help but wonder:
Will I come out of this rejection attempt in one piece?

Scott, the Cowboys fan, had taken a few moments to respond to my bizarre request. But then he’d cocked a slight smile and said, “I guess so.”

The five minutes that followed were a total blur: walking through this stranger’s house into his backyard, bouncing the ball off my foot in the grass, and posing for a picture. I wasn’t sure which one of us was more confused by the moment, but I was grateful to Scott for playing along. On my way out, I couldn’t help but ask him why he’d said yes.

Scott rubbed his chin. “Well, it was so off the wall, how could I say no?”

How could I say no?

These words stuck in my mind like a catchy billboard top 10 song. After Krispy Kreme, I knew I would get more yeses. But a yes from a die-hard football fan who would agree to miss watching overtime so that he could snap a picture of a stranger playing soccer in his yard? Despite having absolutely no reason or incentive to say yes, he’d been compelled to oblige because of—not in spite of—the fact that my request was so outrageous.

There’s no doubt that not everyone would say yes to me like Scott did. But Scott taught me that sometimes personal curiosity on the part of the person on the receiving end of the question could dictate the outcome. And that by piquing
the other person’s interest with the way I made the request, I might have a higher probability of getting a yes.

Jason Comely’s original rejection game is about pain desensitization. But my 100 Days of Rejection experiment was quickly turning into something very different—a crash course on life and business. I was starting to see just how important my communication style was to the outcomes I was getting. When I was confident, friendly, and open, people seemed more inclined to go along with my request; even if they said no, they at least stayed engaged longer to ask questions. If I could just figure out the right way to communicate in each situation, I might increase my chance of being accepted—and also decrease my fears about a possible rejection.

Maybe rejection was much less black and white than it seemed—it wasn’t just about being in the right place at the right time to get what I wanted or not. Maybe there were things I could do to influence or even change the outcome. For any one rejection, many variables were in play, including who was asking, who was being asked, what was being asked, how it was asked, how many times it was asked, and where it was asked. Maybe it’s like an equation: by changing any of these factors, the outcome would be completely different. In the evenings, I found myself lying in bed thinking about my past and wondering how my results might have been different if I had realized some of these things earlier.

When I was twenty-five, I applied and got into my dream business school, aiming to learn everything I could about business so that someday I could become a leader and an
entrepreneur. About $80,000 of student loan debt later, I’d learned a lot of business theories and become a master of spreadsheets and PowerPoint decks. Now, less than a week into my rejection journey, I felt I’d already learned more about business and human psychology than I ever had in business school.

And something else was starting to change: my confidence and demeanor.

Less than a week after I approached the security guard asking for $100, I started noticing changes in how I carried myself and how I moved through the world. I was still working with my start-up team, and we were still trying to lift our app off the ground. But instead of approaching my leadership of the company with a vague sense of dread, I felt more engaged than ever. I was smiling a little more and conducting meetings with more poise. I offered my opinions more freely, without constantly studying other people’s faces to see if they liked what I was saying. I asked for feedback without searching for praise and got a little better at not taking criticism personally. Without the negative emotion I usually attached to it—hearing criticism in any comment—the feedback became much more useful. I felt like I was becoming a leader who asked, listened, and inspired, instead of just a person who gave directions. My confidence soared.

The changes weren’t just happening in my business life, either. As I became more aware of how my demeanor impacted the world around me, I was also becoming much more clear and deliberate in my conversations with my wife and with friends. Within the first few weeks of my 100 Days, several people told me that I seemed different somehow,
more sure of myself. Even my in-laws started looking at me differently, with something that felt like the beginnings of respect.

It felt like the start of the kind of magical transformation that people talk about in those late-night infomercials for self-improvement products. I had always believed in working hard to pursue my dreams and had never put much stock in life-transformation stories. But now, it seemed, I was actually beginning to live one myself. I was discovering something new, exciting, and useful. And I couldn’t wait to see what I would learn next.

But then something happened and interrupted everything I was doing and learning.

Fame.

S
ince I’d started recording and posting my rejection attempts, the traffic on my website had steadily increased. My Krispy Kreme adventure was especially popular; it got hundreds of views soon after I posted it.

Then someone posted the Krispy Kreme video on Reddit.com, a social news and entertainment website where users can submit web content, and others can vote up and down based on whether they like it. The most liked content gets featured on Reddit.com’s homepage, exposing it to thousands more viewers. My video—submitted by someone with the username “BHSPitMonkey” under the title “Man tried making strange requests in order to get rejected; awesome doughnut shop manager steps up to the challenge”—quickly caught fire. It generated more than 15,000 “up” votes and stayed on Reddit’s front page for two straight days. It also
drew more than 1,200 comments, most of them from people gushing over Jackie:

“She transcended her position in life. Very inspiring.”—userofthissite

“She’s my hero. I’m a manager at a pizza place and this stuff gets to me.”—Ghostronic

“I teared up when she didn’t charge. I should be a better person.”—HectorCruzSuarez

There were also a lot of comments about Krispy Kreme as a company:

“This definitely improved my image of Krispy Kreme, even though I know they don’t employ a clone army of Jackies at every location yet.” —anonymous

“This woman did way more for Krispy Kreme than giving those donuts away, this PR is priceless for a company.” —ubrpwnzr

“I’ve always been impressed by Krispy Kreme.”—Wingineer

There were heartfelt comments about customer interaction and customer service:

“When I worked retail I always liked challenging questions like this (if you’re nice about it, that is). Seriously, any chance to think a little more deeply about something made my day.”—mollaby38

“This is the kind of customer service that not only keeps a customer loyal, it keeps them returning and telling others to go there.”—Peskie

“She just seemed so happy, I bet it made her day, maybe even made her week. A difference in your routine can make a huge difference.”—Benny0_o

And it wasn’t just Jackie and Krispy Kreme drawing attention. People had comments about me, too:

“The real point is that if he takes some risks and puts himself out there, he won’t get rejected as often as he expects and there’s even a chance that some awesome things will happen.”—demilitarized_zone

“I think the fact this woman wanted to help him should end any fears he has of rejection.”—unknown

“Definitely would befriend a guy who’s willing to overcome his fears by putting himself in funny situations where he’s gotta confront it head on.”—MrMiday

Reddit was only the beginning. The following week, the story was picked up worldwide. Yahoo! News put the video on its front page. Gawker, MSN.com, the Huffington Post, the UK’s
Daily Mail
, and the
Times of India
quickly followed suit. Overnight, the Krispy Kreme video became an international sensation with millions of views.

Krispy Kreme suddenly got the kind of publicity marketers only dream about. Calls flooded into their national headquarters and the Austin store, praising Jackie Braun. The
company itself publicly honored Jackie with a tweet: “Yes, well done Jackie! #heartjackie.” Clearly, the story had struck a nerve. And it seemed that this little act was not just warming hearts all around the world. It might also have come with some real financial benefits. The week after the video went viral, Krispy Kreme’s stock price leapt from $7.23 to $9.32. Of course, I have no scientifically proven way to attribute a 29 percent stock price jump worth hundreds of millions of dollars to a single video. But I am sure it didn’t hurt.

I was sitting in a coffee shop doing work on the day the story caught fire. All of sudden my phone started vibrating like mad. Friends and family were practically screaming into the phone and flooding my in-box with e-mails. Media outlets like MSNBC, the
Steve Harvey Show
, Fox News, and radio stations I’d never heard of bombarded me with interview requests. They clogged my voice mail with messages urging me to call them back immediately so they could write about my story or book me on their shows.
Bloomberg Businessweek
—which happened to be one of my favorite magazines—even flew a reporter down from New York to interview me for a story they titled “The No Man.” It made me feel like I was some sort of superhero.

The story also caught the interest of Hollywood. Almost overnight, reality TV producers started pitching me ideas about turning my story into a TV show, where I would be the rejection expert helping others overcome their fears and solve their life problems. One of them dubbed me the “Rejection Whisperer,” after the bestselling novel
The Horse Whisperer
, and the popular dog-training reality TV show
The Dog Whisperer
with Cesar Millan. And I was even approached by
a former movie executive who had somehow already written a script loosely based on my story, in which I was a depressed single guy who finally “finds himself”—and his true love—after 100 days of rejection. Never mind that I was a happily married man or that my 100 days had only just started.

People started to recognize me on the street. I was walking down the sidewalk one day when a driver slowed down his car, waved to me, and yelled out, “I love your video!” The next day, my wife and I were buying movie tickets when the ticket clerk started studying my face. She asked me if I was the person with all the “cool videos,” and then she asked if she could take a picture with me. I said yes—I might be the “No Man,” but I had better say yes to this kind of fan request! But I also felt dumbfounded, not just by her request, but by everything that was happening to me. What was it about this video that struck such a nerve with people?

These kinds of encounters went on and on. It’s hard, even now, for me to believe that a video I’d created as a tool to help me overcome my fear of rejection—a video about customized donuts—somehow managed to catapult me into the spotlight in a way that I’d never intended and frankly never craved. I had imagined myself achieving some sort of fame as a by-product of building the next Microsoft or Google, not because I was trying to battle my fear of rejection.

And then it got even stranger.