FOR THOSE JUST TUNING IN: I’m spending the next few days discussing my successes and failures and stereotypical misadventures as a member of Generation Y. Catch up by reading part one and part two first.
We were two young, barely experienced, unemployed guys living in a $2400 a month apartment. And we had a dream.
My roommate (let’s call him Stan) had spent the better part of the past three years building his reputation as a club DJ and producer, though his true hobby was business. He had been running successful businesses since he was 14 – when we first met, he showed me his new Porsche 911 that he had bought with the spoils of his financial victories. Stan was a motivated self-starter with the goal to create an entertainment company for our future ventures (publishing for me, music for him) that would set us up for financial security within one year and possible retirement within ten.
With Georgetown out of Stan’s way and the body language job out of mine, we began to build our empire. Over the course of the next two months, we corralled over a dozen artists, signed distribution deals, recorded radio shows that were heard all over the world and managed to secure almost 70 hours of play time for our DJs at the biggest dance music convention in the country. The label’s name was on a lot of people’s lips, and it seemed like we were destined for greatness.
Except for one tiny problem: we weren’t making any money.
Because the sales of the music we were selling (singles) were all done digitally, we had to wait for the distributors to compile total sales, which is only done quarterly. It then takes another month or two for the accounting to be finalized and for checks to be sent out. Additionally, several promoters had not followed through on payment agreements, so there was less money coming in from club performances than there should have been.
And lastly, Stan decided to keep all of his reserve funds locked up in investments rather than having some set aside in a checking account. The combined market tumble and the new policy of the online brokerage to take three months to process cash-outs led to the total of our expenses (rent, utilities and food) being hoisted on my shoulders.
So I went broke.
Luckily, our lease was coming due, saving my credit score from taking a permanent nosedive that would kill any hopes of building a stable financial future. But I knew that I couldn’t afford to stay in DC.
I called my parents to discuss the possibility of moving back to Phoenix to recover, rebuild my finances and find work again. They agreed that staying in DC would be financial and career suicide, but suggested that I spend a little time with some family near New York City before returning home.
After all, Manhattan is the central hub of the advertising, marketing and PR world. Maybe I would be able to score a job at one of the hundreds of firms there and get to use my marketing degree for the purpose it was intended. I had hit rock bottom, but it looked like I had come across a way out.
