Fired after 4 Weeks
To Rock the Boat or Not?
I waited until we were both high. She passed the vaporizer back to me. A moment of silence settled around us in the late evening, as the stoniness released our minds from the day’s worries, from emotion.
“I got an email from my boss an hour ago. He terminated my contract.” I exhaled a final draw of smoke.
I watched her mind ripple with the implications. Things had not been easy. This job had come at the last possible moment before we fell into a financial sinkhole. I got the job and our outlook instantly changed.
What went wrong? It had seemed so ripe with synchronicity.
The job posting on Craigslist was minimalistic and well written, the words of a busy but thoughtful CEO. He asked for marketing help for his high-powered computing company. In the interview I discovered they’d developed a product and needed someone to design and produce their marketing initiatives.
It sounded perfect. The team worked remotely, with developers in Eastern Europe. It was a situation I’ve had lots of experience with. The company had no marketing role on staff. They were engineers and mathematicians, touting a website built on Google Sites. I saw a tremendous opportunity to add value.
I started work the next day. “Design something like Uber,” they tell me. I look at their MS Paint logo and nod assuredly.
On day two, I met with a project manager in town. She juggled her thoughts with frequent deep breathing and a gaze that scoured the room for some lost detail. She informed me the company had a 7 month runway before running out of money. My target registration goal was entirely unrealistic, she said. But the owner’s intent was to be acquired, not build a company, so it didn’t really matter.
On day five, he fired 25% of the 20 person company, an entire division working on a long-range project. The boat rocked with a heavy sway. I had jumped into rough waters. But this was a startup; navigating uncertainity is what we do.
I dove into the product with a deep urgency to understand what problem this company was trying to solve. To me, product and marketing come from the same place—an understanding of people and the context they operate within.
They had a solid techonology that solved a macro problem, but lacked any way to get there without competing in an already saturated market. They’d hired a prominent French marketing firm to develop a marketing plan and build the brand and positioning from which I was meant to work. Instead, the firm suggested the company pivot. They delivered reports about the market, but offered little direction to propel the company forward.
To top it off, their branding was a disaster waiting to happen.
Imagine if Uber took a different approach to launching their 2-sided marketplace: People searching for rides would still go to Uber.com. Drivers on the other hand, would sign up on a totally different site, called SuperDuper.com. Then, folks interested in the company itself would have to hunt down a third site called Carforce.com.
Got it?
The most renowned navigators of all time would voyage across the breadth of the Pacific ocean in hallowed out canoes, returning to tiny islands in the middle of nowhere with no technology but the secret knowledge contained in their oral tradition. One technique used by the Polynesians was the so-named testicular navigation. It involved lowering oneself into the ocean to ahem “intuit” the movements of the currents.
At this point, I had a strong “sense” that our little startup was charting a course to Antarctica. I stood up and sent off an email to the owner describing how Cerberus guards the gates of hell, and if we proceed with our 3-headed brand strategy, we’ll end up in a deep freeze on the wrong side of the River Styx. Of course, what I really said described how much time and effort we’d save by consolidating our branding efforts, best practices, yada yada.
The waters swelled, and the boat swayed, and after much deliberation, we changed course. I high-fived my fiancee. We weren’t doomed.
But I would pay for this. Over the next two weeks I would design sites aimed at achieving the “simple, elegant, and hip” style they’d requested. Each design was promptly rejected. Little to no feedback was given. This is the poison that comes from working remotely. People can choose when and what to respond to. Hurt feelings get harbored like rats.
Eventually, I discovered my designs were not even being viewed properly. Instead of “this, this, and this works… this doesn’t,” they’d take one look and say, “nope, not that.” Out with the bath water.
They then decided to change the plan for the website entirely. They were going to use Google Sites. I moved onto other tasks, my inspiration lost, wondering how I could say I do the marketing for a company that uses Google Sites for its website?
I was fired days later.
Normally when joining a new environment, it’s always been my way to watch and observe, learn the inner dynamics, and slowly figure how I can contribute. For years, I’ve been a quiet thinker. Putting myself out there requires a special effort.
This approach was not getting me what I wanted. So I changed.
Working in startups feels like doing battle. It’s a fight for survival. Reflecting on this experience, I could have died a slow death, riding along in the wrong direction with the rest of the team, doing work I knew to be ineffective. Now I don’t believe the company’s doomed to failure. They will go where they are headed, which might be just where they need to go. But for me, survival means more than a paycheck.
This is the war we are fighting.
