Entrepreneurial Experience, Part I
By Ivan Cash - November, 2006
As a college student studying graphic design and creative advertising, I one day came up with an original concept and design to print on a t-shirt. The idea was so clever and innovative (or so I hoped), that I decided to handprint the design on a bunch of shirts and make an attempt at selling them. After screen-printing over $130 worth of blank t-shirts (~40) by hand, I was ready to try my luck. The message on the shirts: "DON'T HATE THE PLAYER OR THE GAME ... HATE THE COACH," was a reference towards the awful job Knicks president, general manager, and most notably, head coach: Isiah Thomas had been doing. This being said, I planned on selling the shirts near Madison Square Garden (The Knicks' home court), before a home game, to best reach my target audience: die-hard Knicks fans.
Before venturing out, I researched the logistics and legalities of selling these original shirts. I discovered that selling merchandise in New York City without a vendor's license is illegal. To my disappointment, the Department of Consumer Affairs' waiting list for prospective vendors wishing to obtain a license in New York City is closed for all non-veterans.
Lucky for me, the first amendment, as my artist father explained to me, protects the freedom of speech. According to New York City's official webpage, "merchandise such as paintings, illustrations, photographs and books can be sold without obtaining a license because these items are protected by the First Amendment, which guarantees free speech." Does a custom-designed, hand-printed t-shirt constitute as art, I wondered.
This question turned out to be more ambiguous than former NBA player Dennis Rodman's sexuality. Neither the receptionist at New York City's "informational 311 phone number", nor her supervisor, were able to provide me with relevant information. I next phoned a few of New York City's police precincts. "You should be fine, since what you are selling is artwork and it is protected under the first amendment," one police officer explained to me. "You just need to be aware that there is a possibility of getting in trouble though," another police officer advised: "there are countless police officers in the city... It just takes one that interprets the law differently to get you busted."
While I was unable to accumulate conclusive evidence to support either side, I decided to go ahead with my plan to sell the shirts near Madison Square Garden. With the aid of my friend Alex, and armed with duffle bags of product, two display shirts, ands some legal information to give cops (just in case), we caught the train into the city on the evening of a Knicks home game.
After arriving next to the Garden an hour before the game, we attempted to sell shirts, $20 per, to fans entering the arena. We were, at first, nervous and reserved, failing to draw in many potential customers. Beginning to lose confidence, I wondered if we would sell any shirts at all. Some nearby scalpers, who appreciated the shirts' humor, suggested I drastically lower the price in which case they said we would be sure to sell out. While they were just trying to be helpful, this brought down my spirits even further.
As two cops walked towards us, I feared for the worst. I quickly pulled out the legal paper (which was just a print-out of the law) and presented it to the policemen. "You're fine," one officer said. "You're not getting in trouble," the other one assured me as they walked by. "At least I won't have to worry about getting in trouble from the police," I thought.
A few minutes later, as we moved to a more populated area of the sidewalk, Alex got two quick sales. From that point onward, we, slowly but surely, started to sell the shirts. Confidence growing, we developed catchphrases such as "Love the franchise; Hate the coach!" and "Orginally designed, hand printed Knicks shirts, made by a college student!" to lure in customers. We soon were selling a shirt every few minutes. One gentleman bought 4 shirts ($80 worth) for his entire family! For someone who wasn't used to making slightly more than minimum wage, I was enthralled to take in such a large amount of cash in so short a time span.
Minutes before the game's tip-off, three guys from Europe who had earlier bought a couple shirts approached me and offered to trade a spare ticket. They didn't want to just sell it to scalpers, they explained, and would rather see me benefit. My immediate reaction was to decline their offer as attending the game would contradict my original purpose of traveling to the city in the first place. "That's a shame... because it's four seats from court," they casually told me.
Flabbergasted, I incredulously asked them for proof. After seeing the physical ticket I realized that, despite my initial mindset, it was an irresistible offer. I rationally explained that I could not afford to trade more than a few shirts for it. "No problem," they assured me. Light-headed from the delightful absurdity of such an offer, I retained enough sense to ask my companion if he would mind me attending the game. I told him that I would only go for the middle chunk of the game, as to not hurt our shirt business; After all, our entire clientele was in the arena during this time anyway. Alex generously gave me the go-ahead, explaining that he'd just hang out or maybe go to a bar in the mean time. I was adamant in making sure he was ok with this arrangement, which he assured me he was. Being the night before my 21st birthday couldn't have hurt his charitable mentality.
Helping Alex pack up the remaining merchandise, we realized that we had sold close to 20 shirts already! Considering my initial skepticism, I immediately declared the night a success. Armed with two of my t-shirts (hoping to maybe make a sale at the game), I entered the Garden towards the end of the first quarter. Finding my seat took longer than expected, but was finally accomplished in dramatic fashion when usher after usher kept telling me to go down a level until I was literally four rows away from the court! In over 10 years of being a die-hard Knicks fan, never had I been this close to the players!
The Europeans turned out to be extremely friendly guys, buying me a beer and a hot dog. Not wanting to appear impoverished in front of my newfound, undoubtedly affluent, companions, I attempted to tip the waitress as she was removing our leftovers. This turned out to be a mistake as both of her hands were occupied and the only place for me to slip the bill was in her breast pocket. Not wanting to inapropriately touch her, I fumbled putting the bill into her pocket, as she awkwardly pushed her chest up in an attempt to alleviate my struggles. "You're in the wrong place if you're looking for that kind of action", teased one of the guys, once she had walked away.
The game itself was a blowout with the Knicks on the receiving end of the beating. This was great news for me as a Knicks loss, I hoped, would result in better post-game sales. I reasoned that disgruntled fans, much more so than fulfilled ones, would more likely to buy a shirt bashing the coach. At one point, a boy sitting near me expressed interest in buying a shirt, but his mother disapproved.
Throughout the game, I was amazed by our close proximity not only to the players, but also to the former Knicks player and hall-of-famer Walt "Clyde" Frazier who works as a Knicks commentator. "Clyde! I'm a huge fan!" I yelled as he walked by our seats during halftime. I was thrilled when he turned and nodded his head in acknowledgement. Walking back past our seats towards the end of halftime, some fans asked him for autographs. With some persuasion from my neighbors, I mustered up the courage to offer Clyde one of the spare t-shirts I had brought to the game. Knowing that he had almost been fired less than a year ago for being overly critical of Isiah, his chuckle and response of, "I think I'd lose my job if I accepted this," was pretty neat. He then signed the shirt for me and stayed close enough to allow me to get a photograph with him right behind me.
As the second half of the game began, Alex called my cell. "Dude, I'm in jail!" he yelled. I didn't take him seriously, assuming he was playing a joke. ...Turns out he wasn't kidding. According to him, he'd been arrested by one of the same cops that had approvingly walked by us earlier, on the grounds of selling merchandise without a vendors permit. This was despite the fact that all the shirts were packed away, and he hadn't been trying to sell them at the time.
Since Alex wasn't being released for at least a few hours, I was able to stay at the game for as long as I wanted. Despite this sudden, extreme misfortune, I could not help but feel a certain degree of excitement creep over me. While the unpredictably successful night had indeed suddenly become tainted, it had also taken a turn for all the more wilder. Needless to say, it was hard to stay focused on the game after that phone call.
After thanking the Europeans for their generosity, I left the game early to avoid the rush. The score wasn't close anyway. After waiting in the Midtown South Precinct for a half hour, Alex was released. His charges would later be dropped, however he did have to appear in court and hire a lawyer. The remaining fifteen or so shirts, which were worth $300, were confiscated.
In hindsight, we speculate that an official from MSG who disliked the condescending tone of my product, pressured the police into arresting Alex. Why else would the same cop that had permitted us to sell the shirts earlier, later cuff him for it?
All in all, it was one helluva New York City experience!
Go on to read about my experience selling the very same shirts one year later.
