7th December 2011

‘Yes… but… how do we then keep things under control?’
—‘You don’t. You don’t have that control anyway, so why bother?’
‘Yes, but what if people say bad things about us?’
—‘If people want to say bad things, they will. Our platform helps you identify what’s being said, so you can use that information to make your company a better place to work.’

‘Ah, yes, I get it now… Wow…

Okay, we’re in—here’s a hundred thousand euros!’

That’s how many of my conversations with potential clients go—except for that last part about being in and showing us the money. Because most people think Wovox isterrific and thrilling until I ask them to become part of it. Then they mainly think Wovox isthrilling, a little too thrilling.

Something in me says we should have a business plan.

Some people say we should have a business plan.

Fred the baker doesn’t do business plans.

I really dig Fred’s no-business plan.

And I wonder, Am I on the right track?

Do I want to try and break open closed companies, or do I want to show companies that are already open? Fred welcomed me on my word and made no secret of his secrets. Eighteen months after our encounter, his bakery is still one of the few businesses on our website that inspires me.

Isn’t that what Wovox is about? Inspiring people towards something more beautiful and real than the status quo?

I don’t know.

Bullshit.

I do know.

I just keep saying I don’t know.

Except for today.

Today, I’m taking a plunge.

Earlier this year, scouring the Internet for ‘content’, we found photos of an office in a forest. The company is called Hemels van der Hart. It does something in communication but doesn’t call itself a communication agency. I wanted to put this no-office on our website, and because I had recently discovered that cold calling might be many people’s talent but not mine, I sent a video to the company’s communications manager.

So, we still don’t have a business plan, but…

We have a business model!

Sort of.

We approach companies, preferably companies that seem to have something special, and we tell them what I told Barbara. Brilliant. And so far, this yields…

Very little.

If companies even bother to reply, they usually want to know one thing first: ‘What’s the catch?’ I tell them there isn’t one, but then they want to know, ‘What’s in it for us?’

I get that second question (I get the first question, too, when I’m honest). Our website’s not exactly located on the Internet high street. In a ‘good’ month, we attract a few thousand visitors. So yes, what does a company gain from being on our platform? Why would a company spend time, energy and money on getting listed with us?

Barbara from the no-office in the forest didn’t seem concerned. ‘What an incredibly nice video and idea!’ she immediately emailed. ‘Let’s schedule your visit!’

Together with two interns, Maarten and Yiri, I drove to Hemels van der Hart’s office in the woods. A beaming smile opened the door, and we followed the smile into a small room with a round, white table. We were booked in with the company’s director, Pieter Hemels. As we entered, a small and slim man with greying hair and a pair of fiery, slightly mischievous-looking eyes stood up from his chair to shake our hands. Barbara, a beautiful, vital-looking woman with reddish-brown curls and snow-white teeth, was also present.

Pieter didn’t bother with formalities and dove right in. ‘What you’re doing is soooo in-cre-di-bly amazing! When Barbara showed me your video, I thought, “Yeah, right, what a cheap sales tactic!” But then I heard you say we get to decide if and what we give you for your work… I want to know e-ve-ry-thing!’

Feeling flattered, I started talking about Wovox. Ten seconds later, there was a knock on the door. The door opened and a stout man entered.

‘Hello, my name is Richard,’ the man said. ‘I’m the guy who messes with trees around here.’

—‘Richard manages the land around our office,’ Barbara clarified.

We were told that Maarten, Yiri and the Wovox camerahad an appointment with Richard. He would lead them around the office, the grounds outside and—‘yeah, why not?’—the entire forest estate. I stayed in the room with Pieter and Barbara. Ninety minutes later, Barbara got up for her next appointment. Pieter said, ‘I’m not going to my next appointment.’

Ninety minutes became two hours, became three hours. Pieter told me things that I’d only read about in books. A company that focuses so much on people’s development and makes good money… I wanted to know everything. So I asked and asked and wrote and wrote. By the time Richard and co returned, I’d collected enough notes for a small inspirational book, and they’d captured more than enough for an elaborate company profile on our website.

And the videos?

‘We’ll just do those next time,’ Pieter said confidently. Then he added, ‘Alright, so now you’ve done something for us, what can we do to make you in-cre-di-bly happy?’

My jaw dropped and my mind immediately started racing.

Ask Pieter if we can send an invoice?
—Yeah, sure, let’s throw a bucket of water over this cosy campfire.

…

—‘Ehm, I’m going to think about that, Pieter; thank you for your question.’

Two weeks later, we returned to record videos, mostly personal interviews, including one with Pieter. When that shoot was finished, I said, ‘To get back to your question, Pieter, I have an idea, but it’s not quite ready yet. I’ll get back to you later.’

The idea was totally ready, but I’d left my balls on the bedside stand, where they would remain for eight more months. Somewhere in that time, Pieter and Barbara came to our office to meet Michel and my idea, which I presented. They responded enthusiastically, and I sent a half-ass, not-daring proposal. To which they didn’t respond, which I soon found rather logical. I wasn’t showing myself, so what was there for Barbara and Pieter to respond to?

Today’s different. I’ve got my balls with me—plus a contract. Or better said, a non-contract.

Michel and I did some creative creating, with him drawing and me writing. Never did we have so much fun making a contract, and never did we see a contract so unlike a contract. But today, the real difference with business as usual is that I’m not going to Hemels van der Hart to score a deal. I’m just going, with a wish and a creative bundle of paper that Pieter doesn’t know of.

Right on time, he walks into the room where I’ve been seated. For fifty-five minutes, we talk about everything but the contract. Then, when he says, ‘This time I am going to my next appointment’, I lay the bundle on the table. Five minutes later, we’re through.

‘What an in-cre-di-bly nice job you’ve done with this!’ Pieter crows. ‘These drawings are a-ma-zing! Who made them? Michel? What a ta-lent! Okay, let’s see, thirty thousand euros, right? That’s fine. I have one question: are you going to make the films yourselves?’

—‘Ehm… yes…’

‘Yes, because for me, quality is ve-ry important. So how about this: instead of twelve films, we’ll make six and give you five thousand euros per film instead of two and a half. Then you can work with a professional film crew, and there’s a lot of know-how in this company. I’ll hook you up with Jori, he just started working with us and he’s bril-liant! I’ll tell him about this project, and then you can call him. Shall I sign this?’

—‘Ehm… wow… sure. Ehm… shall I change the numbers in the contract first?’

‘That’s fine. Just send it to us; in the meantime, you can start with Jori.’

—‘Ow…kay. And ehm, Pieter, about the options: which one shall we go for?’

Pieter looks at me, and again there it is, that mischievous smile.

‘Which one would you choose?’

—‘Well, speaking for Wovox, I’d say

‘But speaking for myself, I’d say

‘Well,’ Pieter says triumphantly, ‘that’s obvious then, isn’t it?’

This conversation already transcended every scenario I walked in with, and now I’m being asked to speak from the heart… I’m a bit fazed.

We get up and hug each other.

‘Bye mister CEO!’ he chants as I leave the room.

Still fazed, I walk into the crisp autumn dusk.

I didn’t do a thing, I hear myself thinking, and I got a ‘yes’. No, more than a ‘yes’. We get to make twelve—no, six—films about people who do what they love…

I drive home with the sponsorship deal of a lifetime.

Which, as it will turn out, is not a sponsorship deal.

Because I don’t know Pieter yet.