Yes Man (9 page)

But as the train lurched and rocked its way through the tunnels, I suddenly started to feel a little paranoid. What if I’d done this wrong? What if I was mistaken? What if I
hadn’t
won twenty-five thousand pounds after all?

I rechecked the numbers. My fears were unfounded. I’d
definitely
won. They were the same.

But what if it was an old card? From another day?

Nope. It was today. Absolutely.

I rescanned the rules.
“Scratch off the six numbers
…”

The six numbers? Well, I’d only scratched off
three
. So, quietly and secretly, I found the other three numbers and matched them too.

FIVE THOUSAND.

Next one …

FIVE THOUSAND.

Blimey! What if I got another five thousand?

I scratched the next one….

TWO.

Gah! Nearly another five thousand there! How cool would that have been? To have landed the only multiwinning scratch card ever produced! And it made me wonder … What was under the other squares? If there was another five thousand, would that mean I could claim for
thirty thousand pounds?

Quickly, I scratched away …

ONE.

One! Pah! I laugh in the face of one! I had twenty-five thousand of those now!

FIVE.

Gah. Not good enough.

But the next one …

FIVE THOUSAND.

Five thousand!

My God! That can’t be right! What did
that
mean?

I struggled to maintain my composure but failed, and let an odd, slightly feminine yelp sneak out. Could they count? I know that only the first six really counted, but what if there was a loophole of some kind? What if I’d now won
thirty thousand pounds?

I tore through the pages once more to find the rules. There was one box with big, bold letters telling you what to do and how to do it. And there was another box, which seemed to stretch out over half the page and had some of the smallest print known to mankind …

I squinted to read it.

“Minimum age” … fine … “claim line” … fine … “three like amounts” … fine … “late claims will not be accepted” … “cards containing printing errors will be void” … “limited prize pool” … fine, fine, fine …

But what about the extra bonus money? Was there anything about that?

“Numbers will be published all week” … I scanned on …

“Claims must be” … I kept scanning …

“Residents of” … I scanned on …

And then I saw it.

“Only scratch the silver panels which match your numbers …”

Hang about …
What
was that?

“Scratching silver panels which do not match your numbers will void your card.”

I read it again.

I looked at my card.

I thought about what I’d done.

And then I said the word “shit” so loudly that the entire row of people opposite of me looked up.

I hadn’t really known how Hanne would take it at the time. I suspected she might think it was, you know, “typical.” She’d gone bright red for a moment or two, and I thought I might be in line for a lecture, so I’d said, “I’ll still pay for your latte.”

Ian’s reaction had been more instant. He had taken it very badly. To begin with he too had gone bright red, and then he took a breath so deep, I was momentarily concerned he was going to get some balloons out and start crafting model animals.

And then he let rip.

“You …
stupid
… bloody …
idiot!”
he said, teeth gritted and eyes angry.

“What?” I said, slightly offended.

“You had twenty-five grand, Danny! Twenty-five
grand!
And you threw it away!”

He seemed unnecessarily vocal. Perhaps he thought I owed him twenty-five grand or something.

“I can’t believe what you did! How do you lose twenty-five grand?’

“I didn’t read the small print.”

“You didn’t read the small print,” he said matter-of-factly with his hands in the air.

“Yes,” I said. “The small print telling me to only scratch the numbers that I had.”

He crossed his arms and shook his head.

“Why
didn’t you only scratch the numbers that you had? Why do you think they had numbers?”

“I don’t know. There was another panel there, which said, ‘Void if removed.’ I figured that so long as I left that one untouched, I could scratch whatever I liked! I was just too tempted. I was sitting on a Tube train, and I couldn’t get off or tell anyone I’d won, and I just did it!”

“But even though you scratched too many panels, you still had the winning numbers?”

“Yes, and I tried to explain that to the lady on the claim line, but she didn’t want to know! She told me that the rules were there in black and white. I told her that the rules were also in the tiniest writing known to man and tucked away where I couldn’t see them! To be honest I don’t know why they’d introduce such a pointless rule.”

“To stop people like you from winning their money! Oh my God, man … you
threw it away!”

“I didn’t throw it away; I just made a mistake. But look, that’s not the point, because …”

“What do you mean that’s not the point? What other point is there? You had twenty-five thousand pounds in your hands, and you threw it away! So much for saying yes to stuff. Well, I hope you’ve learnt your lesson….”

But Ian was wrong. There
was
a lesson to be learnt, but not the one he thought. And it was a valuable one. I tried to explain it to him.

“The point is, mate, I
won
that money. I won twenty-five thousand pounds!”

He looked confused.

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did. I
won
it!”

“But you lost it again!”

“Forget that bit.”

Ian looked like he was about to burst. “No! That’s ludicrous! How am I supposed to forget that bit? You’re saying all this like there’s a lesson to be learned! There’s no lesson here! There’s no
advantage
in not having won that money! There’s just a tit called Danny Wallace!”

But I’d already rationalised the whole thing in my head. And I knew I was right.

“Listen to me—it doesn’t
matter
that I lost the money, Ian. Not in the least! The point is if I hadn’t said yes, I wouldn’t have won it. It’s what it
signifies
that matters! I said yes to playing football, right? If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have met the bloke, bought the paper, sat on the train, and played the scratch card. I would still be sitting here in the pub with you, but we’d be talking about how this whole Yes thing had ended, rather than … how it
begins
…”

Ian looked more confused than ever.

“So it begins with you losing twenty-five thousand pounds?”

“No, it begins with me
winning
it …
That’s
the point! Yes made me
win!”

I was determined. Perhaps, psychologically, it was a survival thing. Perhaps the decision I then made was one of self-preservation. And perhaps the spin I put on the whole thing was there to stop me from sinking back into a world of negativity. But losing that twenty-five thousand pounds just as quickly as I’d won it really didn’t bother me. If anything, it excited me even
more
.

I’d told myself that I’d got
on
that Tube train without the money, so I shouldn’t be bothered if I got
off
it in the same way. Yes had won me that money. Saying yes had
made me rich
. Fair enough; being an utter
twat
had made me poor again—but that wasn’t the fault of Yes. Yes
wanted
me to have that money. It
wanted
me to do well. And it surely couldn’t be long before saying yes gave me another, similar opportunity, if only I gave it
time
.

“I’ve got something here,” I said. “Something I want you to look after.”

I opened my diary again, at the back this time, and pulled out a paper napkin.

“You want me to look after a
napkin?”

“It’s not a napkin. Not anymore. It’s all I could find to write on. Read it. It’s a manifesto. A
Yes Manifesto.”

Ian sighed and read out loud, something he was getting better and better at today.

YES MAN
IFESTO

I, Danny Wallace, being of sound mind and body, do hereby write this manifesto for my life
.

“Oh, you complete and utter—”

“Read it! It’s important! This is about my life!”

I swear I will be more open to opportunity. I swear I will live my life, taking every available chance given to me. I swear I will say yes to every favour, request, suggestion, and invitation—the little things that come my way every day
.

I SWEAR THAT HENCEFORTH, I WILL SAY YES WHEN ONCE I WOULD HAVE SAID NO
.

I will do whatever I can to achieve Yes. But people who know I’m the Yes Man are not allowed to tell other people or take advantage of my situation. That means you, Ian
.

“I don’t need to take advantage of your situation! You’re doomed!”

I waved him on, determined for him to understand the significance of the moment.

This will continue until New Year’s Eve of this year
.

P.S. This is
not
a Stupid Boy-Project. This is a Way Of Life
.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” said Ian. “The end of the
year?!
That’s months away! You’ll
die!”

“I’ll be
find”

“What if you get asked to be in two places at once?” he said.

“Then I’ll do my best to make it happen.”

“People will notice! They’ll notice all you ever say is yes!”

“I’ve refined the scheme. I won’t say yes, Berlin is in Scotland, or yes, I am a pregnant mother of two. I will essentially remove the element of dishonesty. But
I
will
say yes to opportunities. To favours. To requests. To suggestions. And to invitations. People will just think I’m … happy.”

“They’ll think you’re
simple!”
Ian was getting very agitated. “And … oh my God! … What if you
do
get asked to kill a man?”

Ian’s face flashed a look of fearful concern. I tried to calm him.

“That doesn’t happen in real life, Ian.”

“Him!” said Ian, pointing at an old man in the corner. “Kill that fella there!”

“Ian, that doesn’t count,” I said, glancing at a now rather worried-looking pensioner. “You know what I’m doing—you don’t count—you are automatically ruled out from giving me … ‘opportunities.’ And you can tell no one. Okay?
No one
. I want this to be a learning experience. A genuine human experiment in happiness and positivity.”

“I can’t believe you’ve thought this through….”

“This is important to me.”

“And what happens when you fail?”

“What do you mean
when
I fail? How can I fail? It’s only saying yes to stuff! How can you fail at that?”

“It’s saying yes to
everything
. How can you
not
fail?”

“Nonsense. I’ll keep showing you my diary. I’ll keep you updated on everything I do.”

“But you’ll never do it!”

“I will!”

“If ever there was a time for a drunken bet, it was now….”

“No. No bets. This is more important than that.”

“Fine. But if I find out you’ve been saying no, then …” He looked at me with steely determination.

“Then what?”

“Then I’ll think of something. And you’ll take your punishment like a man.”

“Fine,” I said.

“Fine,” he said.

“Fine,” I said.

We both sat back in our chairs. I thought about what a pity it was that we didn’t have American accents, because that would all have been a lot more dramatic if we had. I think Ian was probably thinking the same.

And then he said, “Pint?”

And I said, “Yes.”

Let there be no doubt about this whatsoever
.

By carefully crafting my Yes Manifesto, I knew I’d just made the most important decision of my young life.

This was big. Bigger than A-Levels. Bigger than university. Bigger than leaving Argos, a shop, when I was fifteen. And just like leaving Argos, it was exciting; I had no idea where it could lead. There was no discernible target to speak of. What was I aiming for? What did I hope to achieve? There was no one else involved; no bet, no rival, no one to impress or beat but me. Yeah, so Ian had talked vaguely of a punishment—but that was just macho posturing. This was the ultimate in self-help. A key to getting out more. To random meetings with random people doing random things … I was no longer in control. I could no longer make things happen. I could only agree to them. I could
literally
only agree to them. Some people will claim to be the type of person who just can’t say no. Now, so could I.

I awoke at about nine, a day into my life of Yes, and wondered whether today would be the day I’d pop into BBC Broadcasting House and try to get some work done. I decided it probably wouldn’t. I still had too much to do. Too much to say yes to. Once the novelty had worn off, and I’d got into the swing of yes,
then
I’d pop into work. For now I’d claim to be “working from home.” You can do that when you’re a freelancer.