The art of good business is being a good middleman…
It was with this little nugget of entrepreneurial genius that I set up my own little business in Newcastle. The best ideas are the simplest, and this was a pretty simple idea: take people’s old student text books, sell them on and take a 10% cut. Easy-peasy, money in your pocket, I’ll be in a Ferrari in no time.
When this idea was conceptualised, I engaged the last three years of marketing learning and set the wheels in motion of what was meant to be the vessel on which I would make my millions. Or at least some money, surely. Surely? So, with an air of optimism, Uni Books was born.
I embarked on this adventure confidently, assured that whatever happened, the student book industry was unlikely to be as cut-throat as Layer Cake’s coke scene, where Daniel Craig’s unnamed character had a bit of a tough time of it. Kidnappings in the night would be infrequent. Hopefully.
Within a few hours of Uni Books being ‘live’, technical terminology there, I had had some messages from people with books that they wanted me to sell. I went round and picked up around thirty, which turned out to be bloody heavy. I hadn’t thought of this little logistical detail… by the time I had carried them home I was sweating and tired, but I had money on my mind; I was going to be a student millionnaire.
I imagined the suits, the cars, the women, the brand of Uni Books going on the stock market, copy-cat book traders popping up all over place; I was frightened by its potential. I came up with slogans such as ‘Get the looks with Uni Books’. What could go wrong?
I guess another bit of business acumen that needed to be present was the concept of supply and demand. There was a supply of crumpled, outdated books, sure, but unfortunately the guys who I had lined up to buy them off me weren’t as forthcoming with their wallets as I had anticipated.
In fact, they were very unforgiving indeed. When I submitted my list of books that I had to sell to the book store, it was returned with about three books that were eligible for re-sale. Hmmm….
Unperturbed, I packed up the sellable books and wandered into town with my friend, who had a book of his own. We steamed into the book shop, handed over our goods and compared our money. He had £10, which was all his, while I had £30, of which £3 was mine to keep. My cheeks reddened with frustration as he chucked his head back with laughter, mocking my miniscule returns.
I spent the next afternoon ringing round book shops in Newcastle, determined to shift my stock. They caked my room, piled everywhere, and it was getting depressing waking up finding them there staring at me, jibing at my faltering entrepreneurial credentials. Not so determined as to put them all up on eBay or Amazon, mind, as that would involve me investing my three pounds into postage materials, and the overheads were simply too tight. This was the mother of all cash-flow crises. I took solace in the fact that most entrepreneurs have been near bankruptcy at least once in their careers; it was just part of the business.
When I was unceremoniously rejected from all book shops Toonside, I must admit that I was scared for the future of Uni Books. I did wonder that perhaps the cars, the clothes and the girls might not come after all. Maybe it was a dud of an idea, maybe it just wasn’t to be. Then, in that moment of weakness, I remembered Michael Gambon giving his inspirational speech to Daniel Craig about the Layer Cake… This was my Layer Cake moment. I wouldn’t give up just yet. I would have my slice of cake and I would eat it.
I decided I would try a different book store that I knew of in Cambridge. They would surely take them. Why wouldn’t they?! This would be the way I would make my money. This would be the answer to this little conundrum.
At the end of term, I was due to go to a friend’s house about a week after I’d got home, which would take me through Cambridge. It was the perfect opportunity to get Uni Books back on track, and I loaded the books I had left in the back of my car.
I reached Cambridge with high spirits; my money moment was imminent. I had the book store on google maps on my phone, and I was headed straight for it. Except, as always, there was a problem. It was right in the middle of bloody town, with not a car park in sight.
I eventually found some narrow residential streets where I parked the Fiesta, ignoring the parking permit signs, confident that not today, of all days, would a traffic warden wave his dreaded pen. I’ll only be a second, I thought. And anyway, I’ll have some money from the books, so if I did get stung, I’d be covered.
Alas, I was wrong. On two counts. The book store I’d had in mind was as reticent and uncompromising as its northern cousins, and I left with a full bag, but yet again, an empty wallet. And as I sloped back to my car, it took a few seconds for me to recognise what the little square of white was on my windscreen and as I did, my shoulders sagged even further. The dreaded pen had been waved, the ticket signed and sealed, the icing on the cake. Uni Books was dead and buried.
Total Revenue: £3.00
Total Expenditure: £35.00
Net Profit: £-32.00 (and a whole lot of hassle).
Welcome to the Layer Cake.
The Warm Up 