What I learnt about life by handing out flyers in Guildford.

Yesterday morning, I awoke to blue sky in Walthamstow. I was with my girlfriend who felt slightly droopy after 4 cocktails the night before. She hadn’t drunk for 7 months up till then. It was the first morning of her unemployment. Thursday had been her last day and although she was sad to have to part from treasured colleagues, it was high time for something new. Two years spent doing work she didn’t enjoy was enough. Even if it meant having to give up a visa and leave London for the continent. With the dawn of a Friday without the routine of her job, she felt a bit of stress but was determined to find something better, outside of Europe, and which aligned more with what she truly wanted to do: journalism, publishing, books. I, the perennial intern and “free spirit”, told her to relax, something great would come soon.

I had my car with me, parked tenuously in a space reserved for “permit holders” - the vilest of two-legged creatures - between 8 am and 8 pm. I had got the runt of possible spaces along the road and my back wheel hovered close to a double yellow line. They’d need to use VAR to come to a verdict about whether my parking was kosher or not. I wasn’t that bothered, it was time to work soon, I was waiting on a text from my boss about my duties for the day. In the meantime, my girlfriend and I drove down to Wood Street, one of the trendy areas - YES they exist - in Walthamstow. We parked and got a coffee in a café called Dudley’s - it’s a hippy place with wooden counters, a bare yet tasteful appearance, and warm orange lights. My girlfriend’s housemate - a cheerful, Swiss-British spinning teacher - always claimed she got free coffees there - part of a trendy, vegan, expat Londoner community I could only dream of being part of. I didn’t believe her though. Maybe she got a free coffee there once, but not all the time. Channelling my best Elon Musk impression of the time when he awkwardly yet firmly shut down Joe Rogan’s UFO theories, I looked at my girlfriend’s housemate, slightly raised my eyebrow and sighed, “I doubt that”. 

I broke my usual habit of waiting until midday to eat and got a decaf flat white and a strange take on scrambled eggs. My boss messaged me. I was to meet her in Guildford for the final day of our UK promotional tour: we had come to the UK for 2 weeks. Highlights included working with Romain for three days. He is a Saint-Malo-based videographer, the same age as little old me. He and I got on well talking about film and I asked him about his passion for fishing, and how he lived in a van and had a vegetable patch which he lovingly tended to. He left on Thursday, but I have a good memory of him and I in a Surrey care home, interviewing residents and getting boyishly excited at the thunder of F16s soaring above for Farnborough Airshow. 

I wasn’t sure of my plans for this final Friday, but I took a risk and decided to station myself in Walthamstow. It had been a poor decision given that now I had to drive two hours through London. Nevertheless, I stayed positive. I had never driven through the city, and I could pass the time calling friends and listening to audiobooks. I bought a coconut water for my trouble and cruised through the city, cutting past Stratford and Canary Wharf before darting under the Thames in the Rotherhithe Tunnel. I headed East past Peckham before recognising the streets of Clapham where my best mate Pete lives. I drove by and bid him hello from my car.

Arriving in Guildford, my mission was simple. Hand out flyers to happy and willing people. They would read the flyers, become infatuated with the concept, create accounts, tell their friends and a beautiful cycle would begin. Profits would soar and my boss and I would be lauded by the CEOs back in Brittany. At the end of a dinner in our honour, they’d stand up, raise their glasses and say that they’d be giving my boss and me each a massive bonus. Spirits would be high until the next day when the humourless HR representative would say that as an intern, I wouldn’t be able to receive the bonus. So it goes, I guess.

The sun was warm on the windless, sloped high street of Guildford that afternoon. I was alone with a wad of paper flyers in my hand. The street was cobbled, with classy shops. I particularly liked the LeCreuset shop. Handing out flyers is an awkward, often uncomfortable, experience, but I resigned myself to truly go for it, to hand out as many as I could, to see it as a positive experience. I braced myself for the oncoming barrage of rejection. I counted down five seconds in my head before committing myself, like the last bit of delay one takes before jumping into a frosty pool.

There were a lot of “no thank you”s, many silent head-shakings, a few total ignores. One guy even got visibly angry at me - I guess he was having a bad day. But many people engaged with me, and I had some nice conversations with people. It’s easier on the confidence to go for lone targets at first. I found that if you speak softly, slowly, and calmly after the initial “excuse me”, people are taken aback by the unorthodox sales tactic, they take your leaflet and engage with you. I also found that momentum is a real thing. If two people take a leaflet in quick succession, many more people follow suit. I was initially resistant to a pure salesy approach. I’d say “Hello there, would you like a leaflet? I am so sorry to bother you. You don’t have to if you don’t want to; put it in the bin if you’d prefer.” People sympathised and the conversion rate was good. Towards the end of the hour and a half, I had changed tune when it came to certain demographics. Pregnant women and young mothers with prams became my prey. I developed a technique. I’d ask if they’d like a flyer, they’d smilingly reject me. But I’d add as they walked away “this is the perfect thing for a new family”. They’d do a double-take and ask me for more information. I also learnt the importance of “the long game”. There was one woman who was with her family going up and down the high street. I’d passed her a few times and we’d smiled at each other. Towards the end of my shift, I approached her.  “We’ve passed each other a few times in the last hour, I see you have a family, I think the company I work for would be brilliant for you.” She laughed and we chatted for a minute or so. I think with the mothers I had my greatest chance of a true sale down the line.

I had a great time handing out flyers in Guildford. I enjoyed the challenge and I took comfort in the idea that though I was being heavily rejected, it was something which would make me better in the future. No risk, no reward after all. But my experience hammered home the time-old adage, that it doesn’t matter what happens to you, what is more important is how you react to what happens to you. My hour and a half in Guildford were rewarding, growth-inducing, and fun. But it was only like this because I chose to have a positive mindset towards it.