In most walks of life, this rule applies: dedication, commitment, and persistence. For instance, if you are unsuccessful with the ladies, you can still get laid regularly. But you must do it the hard way and be dedicated.
If you enter a club when it opens and stay until the end, and you don’t drink yourself to death and stay focused, and you ask every single woman, at some point during the evening, someone will go home with you. She might not be a beauty queen but rather a vitamin bomb, and she may not be tipsy but heavily intoxicated. But as a beggar, you can’t be a chooser. You may not be successful every night, but your time will come without a shadow of a doubt if you keep the consistency. Easier said than done, of course, because you will experience hundreds of rejections, you might get a few slaps from competing bachelors and the ladies themselves, or the bouncer might ask you to leave the premises, but everything and everybody has a price.
Well, unfortunately, no one buzzed me in. They did ask questions, but of course, what should I say?
I had a situation, and there was no immediate solution, so I sat in front of the flat on the bags underneath the small entrance marquee. Suddenly, a guy dressed in red appeared, pushing a big plastic trolley in front of him towards the flat next door. He chained it to a metal fence, took out a bunch of envelopes and leaflets, proceeded towards the flat, and pressed all the buttons on the intercom. Two seconds later, he was in. And then came the moment I was waiting for. I grabbed my two bags and went over. All I needed to do was wait. Two minutes later, the gentleman from the Royal Mail came out, and I wedged my foot into the door and was in.
My theory with the high numbers did not work out because I did not ask or say the right thing, but you remember the chess player: “There is always a move!”
Now, the situation, of course, was much better because at least there was no wind and no rain. Still, it did not solve the initial problem of entering Nic’s house, and I was sure if the rain didn’t stop, Nic would not be leaving on his motorbike anywhere soon, so I needed a solution quickly. I gazed through the glass door onto the street, and a big lorry drove by, displaying a vast Michelin logo. I stood up, went behind the staircase, ripped open all the bags, and put all the shirts and trousers onto my body. Since most of the clothing was double and triple XL, it was effortless to put them on. Every piece of content in the polyethylene bags went onto my body, and I walked towards Nic’s house, looking like the Michelin Man.
Of course, there was still a bit of risk because if Nic had met me at the foot of the door, I might have had some explaining to do; however, it was a calculated risk, and I had a story worked out, which was convincing enough. He didn’t know me, nor my habits, so I could have claimed that London was very cold for me, and I needed to dress up. Either way, it did not happen because Nic was in his office, and I went quickly to my room and sorted out my clothing.