In 2000, Madame Tussauds Wax Museum opened a new location at The Venetian Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas.  Best Models & Talent, a local modelling agency were hiring ‘Greeters’ to help drive foot traffic into the attraction.  I was still living in Las Vegas at the time, approaching the end of my three year tenure as a magician performing in Japanese at Caesar’s Magical Empire, a dining attraction at Caesar’s Palace.  I needed some extra cash, and this ‘greeter’ gig paid $20/hour.  Sounded easy enough, and it beat waiting tables.

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Dressed as ushers in goofy purple blazers and black slacks, our job as ‘Greeters’ was to stand at the entrance of the Museum, next to the moving walkway at the Venetian and hand out ‘Welcome To Madame Tussaud’s’ flyers to tourists who were on their way into or out of the casino.   We were salespeople, and the museum management needed sales badly, because Cirque Du Soleil was just starting to take hold back then, and competition was fierce.

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Trying to gain the attention of  tourists was no fun.

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Not only did people not care about Madame Tussaud’s, the method was all wrong.  It was like someone from Greenpeace approaching you on the sidewalk.  Will people stop?  Sure – but only because they get ambushed.  Hiring actors who are already afraid of rejection to face rejection in the form of grumpy tourists who have already been groped by the seedy guys handing out naked titty flyers up and down the strip?  What was I thinking?

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There were three of us on the six hour shift.   We weren’t paid on commission and it didn’t take long for us to figure out that this was a dead end gig.    The Madame Tussauds management would show their faces every now and then, only to show us charts that reminded us how little traffic we were converting.  Management was very strict about how we were to sell this experience to the tourists.  After all, there was countless hours of research behind these techniques.  I decided to follow their advice, and kindly talk to people as they came up the walkway.  There were several selling points that we were instructed to bark at the tourists, like ‘two for ones’ or ‘be the first to see the new Tribute to Princess Diana Exhibit’.  Not only did people ignore me, they snickered, laughed in my face and some even shoved me aside.

I didn’t blame them.  I knew it was lame and something deep inside of me told me that I needed to take more risk, but my head won over my heart every time.  The tape kept playing over and over in my head: ‘Follow the rules Kahlil.’  Each day on that job I died a little inside.  I took the job because I needed a ‘plan B’ in case I lost the Caesars thing, but the Caesars thing was the only light at the end of the tunnel.  (we were under constant threat that Caesars would close the show down) One day a month into the Greeter job, I got fed up, and I knew I had to quit the job or make it fun – I didn’t want to turn into a bitter bitchy actor blaming the world for my shortcomings.  I needed to try something different, but I didn’t know what.

As I clocked in for my shift that day I noticed that the management had put a Whoopi Goldberg and Nicolas Cage statue at the entrance, and people would walk up and take pictures with them, and then go on their merry way.

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Then, the idea hit me like a ton of bricks.

I stole a pair of sunglasses off the Blues Brothers exhibit and a fedora from the gift shop.  I stuffed a bunch of brochures in the pocket of my purple blazer and I grabbed a broomstick from the janitors closet.

In plain sight of tourists passing by, I stuffed the broom stick in the small of my back, put on the sunglasses and the hat and struck a pose right in the middle of the entrance to Madame Tussauds, with Nic and Whoopi flanking me.

I stood there for hours. Frozen.  Didn’t move a muscle.

At first, adults would stare and point.  And then children started walking up to me, poking me and prodding me – and the parents didn’t care.

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This was scary.

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I prayed that they didn’t poke me in the nuts.  Anywhere but the nuts. I had heard horror stories from friends of mine who were Disney characters that got kicked in the nuts all the time.  ’Please Lord don’t let me end up in jail because because of these kids.’

Little by little, people started walking up to me.  They would wave their hand in front of my face.  They would remove my sunglasses.  But I didn’t flinch.  My fellow Greeters thought it was the coolest thing, and they actually tried to copy me.  Didn’t work.  They didn’t have the discipline. So they became my cheerleaders, bellowing about how realistic and lifelike the wax figures at Madame Tussauds were.  ’Step right up folks! Poke him in the nuts! He’s wax!’

Each day I stood there for four hours at a time, brochures in my pocket.

A week later, Management heard about it and they loved it.  It had become a production.  The Greeters would carry me out like I was a mannequin, and it worked like a charm.  People got their pics with me, and then poured into the attraction by the dozens.

Tourists couldn’t get enough of it.  They were getting their pictures taken with me.  People put babies on my shoulders, large sweaty men wearing wife-beaters put their arms around me.  This one group of  Brazilian volleyball chicks crowded around me, and took turns getting their picture taken while they grabbed my ass. (hard to stand still for that one but I definitely smiled.  All day.)

There I stood between Nicolas Cage and Whoopi Goldberg, selling dozens of tickets without saying a word.

And where did I learn to stand still like that? My stepdad used to force me to stand at attention in the living room overnight while he slept on the couch.  A belt was laid across my feet, if I moved he would wake and the punishment was severe. Apparently, I was a ‘worthless big lipped nigger with no common sense, so I needed to stand there until I could explain why.’

From that childhood experience, I learned how to sell tickets to Madam Tussauds, and for the first time, I realized that my stepdad was wrong.  What a great epiphany.

And I had Nicolas Cage and Whoopi Goldberg to share it with.

Twitter: @kahlilashanti

My wife created an advent calendar with small paper bags suspended from string.  Each bag is decorated with the date, from Dec 1 thru 25th.  Inside each bag is a treat and a paper heart.  Written on the paper heart is something fun for our kids to do: make gingerbread cookies for a neighbor, dress up warm and stroll around the neighborhood and enjoy the lights.  Sometimes it’s fun for fun’s sake, often it’s a selfless act.  One morning in December 2012 my 3 year old son eagerly opened his bag and ate his treat. He handed us the paper heart and we read it to him.  ’Buy a stranger a cup of coffee and a cookie’.

So off we went to the Broadway and Cambie intersection of Vancouver.  This is a busy intersection, especially during the holidays. Whole Foods, Starbucks, Winners (like WalMart without the flip flops) Canadian Tire (kind of like Target but more polite), Home Depot. My son had to pick the stranger and offer to buy them a cup of coffee and a cookie.  We stood on the sidewalk on this cold sunny day and I watched him look at people passing by.  He pointed one out and we approached her.  ’Ma’am, my son would like to buy you a cup of coffee and a cookie.  We’re trying to teach him what the season is truly about.’  her response: ‘I’m not interested. I don’t need any coffee.’  My heart sank as I looked down at my little boy.  Would his feelings be hurt? Would he be discouraged? What the hell am I doing asking my baby boy to do this? Maybe we should just go home.  By the time these thoughts crossed my mind, my son had already moved on.  It didn’t phase him.  He pointed out a fragile old man.  As the man passed us by, I sprung into action, desperate to show my son that people would receive his kindness.  I barely got the first sentence out before the old man blew us off with a ‘Blagh, not buyin it’ and waved his hand dismissively.  My wife and I looked at each other, concerned.  My son pointed out another young lady walking towards us, and she was clearly in a hurry.  After my explanation she looked down at my son, looked up at me, and said…’no thanks’.  I repeated myself.  ’He would like to buy you a warm drink. It’s part of our holiday celebration’. She relented, and we escorted her into a nearby Starbucks.  As we stood there in the queue she grilled me about exactly what we were up to.  Again, I explained the reason behind our family project and what we hoped to teach our kids.  She looked at me suspiciously but I could see a smile peek through.  By the time her drink arrived, she confessed that she found it hard to believe that we weren’t trying to sell her something.  ’You’re actually going to just buy me a drink?’ As she sipped her drink and spoke to us, I could see her indifference melt away as she introduced herself and thanked us for the kind gesture.  Her eyes became a little misty as she realized that we weren’t nuts.  She shook my son’s hand and thanked him.  She crouched down and said ‘I’m going to pay it forward, I’m going to do something nice for someone else because you did something nice for me.’  My son smiled back, and looked up at me.

My heart was full.  My son was so brave, so kind.  I wanted to cry.

I learned a few lessons:

1.  Rejection is an opportunity, not a judgement on your being.

2.  I was once told to approach my work and my life with a childlike belief that anything is possible.  I know that to be true.  Yes, my son is a child. But the lesson stands.

3.  Good will isn’t an STD that infects the world between Thanksgiving and New Years.  It’s present all year long, sometimes it just takes a warm drink to remind us.

kahlil(at)gigsmacked(dot)com

For several decades as an actor and stand up comic I kept hitting a wall. The phone wasn’t ringing.  Auditions were lame.  But I kept getting decent acting gigs here and there and it paid the bills.  But there was nowhere to go but sideways.

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This wall was my fault – primarily based on me thinking I needed to ’stay in the acting game’ so my peers, friends and family wouldn’t think I gave up.  Gotta act full time.  Gotta stay on the grind.  If you’re not studying your craft, you’re losing your muscle.

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Knowing what I know now, I think all that is horseshit.  But I never had the courage to say it out loud.

My theory was proven accurate with my first entrepreneurial venture, which happened almost by accident.

In 1997 I was performing at a dinner theatre/magic show at Caesar’s Palace and a lot of the guests were Japanese.  I lived in Japan until I was ten, and I speak the language.  I knew Japanese tourists love that combination, and I saw an opportunity there.  So I translated the English language script to Japanese and licensed it to Caesar’s Palace – and they paid me for it.  I performed in two languages for three years.  I added value to their brand and some cash in my pocket at age 23.  It wasn’t a massive check, but it was the first time I realized that my ideas and creating opportunities OUTSIDE of acting could be just as valuable as my acting, and that I could be more than a cliche.

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Fast forward to 2003: I used my acting class with Jeffrey Tambor to sow the seeds of my one man show, Basic Training.  Broke and working four jobs, I rented a small theatre and invited everyone I knew in LA (there weren’t many).  Within a year I had secured a major investor and leveraged that relationship to secure an additional two investors who then partnered with me to take the show to Broadway with a six figure capitalization. In the fall of 2008.  With a few speed bumps in between, I served as my own actor, agent, manager, attorney, director, producer, and technician until I got the attention of people who could do it much better than I.  Took longer than I hoped but unlike Caesar’s Palace, I had to build the brand and refine the product.

April 2010: My two business partners, Justin Sudds, TJ Dawe and I optioned PostSecret.com to develop it into a stage adaptation.

Oct 2012:  After sinking two years of time, sweat and capital into building a script and a ‘test cast’, we have secured the interest of one of the top 5 theatre investors in North America.  PostSecret: Unheard Voices is the name of the piece.  In this venture I am an actor in the piece, a producer, writer, co-director, tour manager, technician and contract-drafter-person.

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What will my roles be as a co-founder in my new tech venture, ReceiptNest.com?

The most common question I get when I meet investors in the tech space?

Wait…I thought you were an actor!

That’s correct.  I’ve filled whatever role life threw at me and added my own color.  I don’t have a BA or an MA.  I don’t come from an entrepreneurial family. I never attended a performing arts school.  And I hate musicals.

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Maybe I’m more than an actor.

Kahlil (at) gigsmacked (dot) com

My formative years as a performer were shaped by many amazing experiences but being a member of Air Force entertainment group Tops In Blue is at the top of the list.    The reason it stands out is because it’s the first time I remember learning the importance of the audience.

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Air Force Tops In Blue took military discipline and applied it to live performance, teaching us all of the things you’d probably expect: vocal quality, precision with choreography, rehearsal discipline, and more.  But the revolutionary thing about this experience and something that translates to today’s ‘attention economy’ is how we were taught to listen to and appreciate our audiences.

Director of Air Force Entertainment Tom Edwards is the Tops In Blue version of Mr Miyagi, or Vince Lombardi, an amazing man with a knack for inspiring you and kicking your ass at the same time.  From day one he drilled into my thick 19 year old skull that as a performer (read content provider), I exist solely to create stories that empower the audience to share their experience, and the best way to relate to them is to never forget that I’m one of them.  There was no ‘I’m on stage and you’re not, so I’m more important’. And giving the audience less than 100% was unacceptable, because less than 100% was a waste of their attention.  This was 1994.  No Facebook, no YouTube, no Twitter.  Email wasn’t even mainstream and AOL was in it’s infancy. The only relationship we had with the audience was in person, in the flesh.  Our job was to make sure we gave them something worth talking about, an experience worth spreading, as a way to thank them for allowing us access to their valuable attention.  Just because they were clapping didn’t mean we got it right, it meant we had to prove that we deserved the applause.  Mr Edwards believed in this philosophy so much that it was customary (and still is) for Tops In Blue to exit the stage at the end of the show and line up in the lobby, thanking each audience member for coming as they exit the theatre.  It is literally choreographed into the show.

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And so it goes for our audiences online.  Like it or not, everyone has a show and we want an audience.  When your webpage is loading, when you get a Follow or a Like, the lights in the theatre are going down and we’re waiting for something special to happen.  How will you ensure that your audience’s attention isn’t wasted?

Become one of them and speak from that perspective.

We search online to find a piece of ourselves, and when we can see ourselves in you, in your story, we connect.  And we become your audience.  No hype, no small talk, no shoving ads down our throat.   Know your audience, become one of them and slowly but surely they will champion you.

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When people launch their browsers, it’s showtime.  You have our attention.

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Kahlil(at)gigsmacked(dot)com

The biggest challenge a lot of entrepreneurs and performers face is getting paid.

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Yes, there’s passion and the desire to change the world, and there’s certainly no shortage of great ideas out there – but at the end of the day nobody lives for free.  We all need money.

That’s why working for free makes so much sense.  It may seem counterintuitive – the general school of thought is that the price of your service is a reflection of the value you provide to your customer.

But getting people to pay for your service isn’t simple and unless you are a celebrity, it’s anything but straightforward.

It’s easy to turn your nose up at the concept of working for free it because everyone else is chasing the dollar, but working for free doesn’t have to be literal.

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Let’s say you have a new business:  cloud storage.  Position yourself as an authority in that field by speaking with local businesses as often as you can about the benefits and pitfalls of cloud storage.  For free. This forces you to identify and interact with your potential customers, and create an ongoing dialogue about what their needs are and how (if) your product/service can really help.

Or maybe you’re a performer.  Perform for free every chance you get, and send a thank you card to every person who gives you a chance to do it.  Volunteer to be a reader for casting directors during sessions.

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The goal isn’t money. It’s relationships and exposure, which lead to conversation and awareness, and that opens the door to revenue.

In the 70s Jerry Seinfeld performed for eighteen month periods without a single night off. Unpaid. He worked the same five minute set four, five times a night at different clubs totalling about two hundred times, preparing for his first Tonight Show appearance in 1981.

That being said, it’s not an equal sum game.  If your product sucks or you just aren’t any good on stage, you’ll need to re-group.  More on finding the right fit here.

Working for free (and being smart about which opportunities provide exposure) takes the pressure off of the hard sell and creates an atmosphere of collaboration and ownership on the part of your client or audience.  If they feel like they can discover something great they are more likely to talk about it to friends and colleagues.

Is it as fast as finding the sweet spot with pricing and putting cash in your pocket today?  Probably not.

That’s the part where you decide if you want a gig or a career.  If you want a quick sale or a loyal customer.

Careers have longevity.  They are built on solid relationships that evolve over time.

Gigs end when you walk out the door.

Kahlil (at) gigsmacked (dot) com