I won’t bore you with the accounting requirements of my new role as head of the new mini-computer division of the accounting firm where I worked. However, I can say that I took to the position like a duck takes to water.
The computer was the size of a desk, with a built-in immovable green on black screen. There were two floppy disc drives, the ‘A’ drive and the ‘B’ drive. Both drives used 7-inch discs that actually flopped when shaken. The discs could hold only 640 Kb. The A-drive took the program discs, and the B-drive was for the data disks.
There was no hard drive. Years later, when hard drives were introduced, the ‘B’ drive became obsolete, and that is why there is never (to my knowledge) a ‘B’ drive in a modern-day computer. My accounting program was stored on a total of 8 floppy discs, and, while it was working, I had to follow instructions that appeared on the screen every few minutes asking me to change program discs.
Beside learning new computer skills like DOS operating system commands, and even a little ‘Basic’ programming knowledge, I had to train operators and other staff members, so that the firm as a whole could reap the maximum benefit from its new “toy”. I also had to write instructional manuals in all aspects of the job, which included not only what the software could and couldn’t do but also the accounting setup I had designed and implemented. From memory, we got the mini-computer in 1978, and it took me until mid-1980 before I could say that I had my little department running as smoothly as I wanted it to.
To be honest, as an accountant, I was fairly average. I was not a spectacular success story. This fact, together with my slight physical disability, meant that, as a basic accountant, it was unlikely that I would ever realize my ultimate dream, which was to travel, live, and work abroad. However, late one Friday afternoon in September or October 1980, I was flicking through my Scottish Institute’s monthly magazine. I came across an advertisement for accountants, auditors, and tax specialists to work for a worldwide group of Chartered Accountants in Papua New Guinea. The advert, almost as an afterthought, stated that the company made “considerable use” of computerization in its Papua New Guinean Offices. Papua New Guinea, I think that’s in the Caribbean, I thought to myself. The office had a small library where I quickly found an Atlas. Christ, it’s the Eastern half of that big island to the North of Australia, together with some smaller, but still sizable islands to the North and East I learned. It’s one of the most remote places on Earth. What a hoot, living there would be, I said to myself.
Most of the other employees had headed for the pub as I quickly typed out an application. The computer didn’t have a dedicated word processing system, but the accounts package had a facility akin to today’s “Notepad” which was good enough for what I needed. All I had to do was avoid complicated words, as my spelling wasn’t, and still isn’t, the best. I said that I wasn’t interested in being a small business accountant, an auditor, or a tax specialist. However, if they wanted someone to control the operation of their computer and to help all departments get the maximum use out of it, then I was their man. I finished and printed the letter, photocopied it onto decent paper, and manually signed it before raiding the receptionist’s desk, stealing an envelope and a stamp. I dropped it into a post box on my way to joining my colleagues at the pub we always adjourned to on a Friday.
The phone call came mid-morning the following Monday. The girl who spoke to me apologized for the rush. She said the Papua New Guinean partners were returning home the next day, but one of them wanted to see me, and could I get to their office by 4 pm that day. I quickly told my immediate boss that I needed to attend to a personal matter and I had to leave at 3.30. That was agreed to. I called the girl back to say I’d be there at 4.00. That will teach me not to leave my magazines unopened for two weeks, I thought to myself. That lunchtime, when there was nobody around, I slipped a copy of my C.V., the computer manual, and other relevant documents I had written into my briefcase before going for a haircut.
The “interview”, if you can call it that, as I did most of the talking, only lasted just under an hour. It turned out that the interviewer, who introduced himself as James, was an audit partner in Papua New Guinea and would not be my direct boss if I was accepted. He honestly didn’t know a thing about computers and, although he seemed interested, as I went through the manual and other papers I had taken with me, including a set of accounts, that I had produced on the computer, I could sense that the majority of my words of wisdom were going over his head.
After I had finished, James did spend five minutes making sure that I understood just how remote and third-world like Papua New Guinea was, but he never once mentioned my slight physical disability. He gave me a professionally prepared glossy brochure. “Everything you need to know about the firm, the lifestyle, and your potential remuneration package is in there,” he said. “Start studying it while I make a quick phone call,” he said. “I need to speak to the senior partner. He is in another part of the building, interviewing somebody else.”
I tried to concentrate on the brochure, but I couldn’t help but hear half of the conversation James was having with his boss. He suggested to the senior partner that it may be a good idea to have somebody in sole charge of the computer with no other distractions. “They’d be no reason why he couldn’t fly round to the other offices and help them out too,” I heard him say. “Yes, that would mean that the whole country could have the same system. So transferring staff would be much more simple,” he replied to a question. “Will do, I’ll tell him now, Albert,” were the last words I heard of the conversation before the telephone was replaced on its stand.
“Okay, Philip, or is it usually Phil?” James asked.
“Call me Phil,’ I replied. “My friends and colleagues haven’t called me Philip for years,” I answered
“Well, Phil, we hadn’t considered a dedicated computer specialist until we got your letter this morning. I think it’s a great idea, and Albert, our senior partner, agrees. Albert and I are returning South tomorrow, leaving the office around noon for a 3 pm flight to Singapore. We’ll overnight there, and there’s a direct flight to Port Moresby the following evening. So we’ve both scored a free day and a half’s holiday in Singapore. Albert and I have a busy evening ahead of us discussing the other candidates, but as you kind of invented your own position, Albert has directed me to offer you a 2-year extendable contract starting at the level of Senior Supervisor. However, unless you really disappoint us, and I don’t think for a minute that you will, I’m pretty sure you’ll be promoted to Manager within a year. Managers get a free car as part of their package. Now, this is a very important decision that could completely alter the course of your life. However, we need an answer one way or the other by lunchtime tomorrow. Please call Sue, the same secretary you spoke to today, before 11.30 am tomorrow, and, if the answer is “Yes”, follow that up with a written confirmation. Sue will tell you where to send it. Study every word in the brochure and call your parents in Glasgow before you make a decision.”
With that, James stood up, shook my hand, and said, “Hope to see you in Moresby in 3 or 4 months”, before leaving the room. I packed up my papers and went outside. I spotted a pub, across the road, which had just opened at 5 o’clock. I became their first customer of the evening. I bought a pint of room-temperature flat English beer, found a corner seat and settled down to read the glossy brochure from cover to cover. At exchange rates current at the time, the package was almost twice what I was then earning. On top of that, there was a 30% tax-free bonus at the end of the contract, free trips home every year, accommodation and all utilities paid for. What was not to like? Then, when I came to the lifestyle part of the brochure, I read the part that sealed my decision. There was an easy-to-join, full-sized 18-hole golf course. Any remaining doubt that I had disappeared when I read that. I finished my second beer before rushing home to call my parents, promising to visit them in Glasgow for at least a week before I left for Papua New Guinea. They were delighted and very supportive.
That took place in the first week of October 1980, and to cut a very long story very short, after 4 of the most hectic months of my life, I boarded a Singapore Airlines flight in mid-February 1981. After a day and a half exploring Singapore, I boarded my first of what was probably, in the end, well over 500 Air Niugini flights. It was bound directly for Port Moresby, the capital of Papua New Guinea. A country that had only gained its independence from Australia 8 years before.
My life was about to change forever.
For all budding Affiliate Marketers reading this, you may be wondering why I believe that this true story contains something that will be of interest to you. That “something” is that you must grab every opportunity that falls into your lap, provided, of course, that it is a helpful opportunity.
There is nobody in this industry who hates “shiny objects” more than me. I am the quickest and most accurate clicker of “delete” and “unsubscribe” links that you could find in this business. I can spot time-wasting emails in my inbox faster than anybody. However, if I hadn’t flicked through my accountancy magazine on that fateful Friday afternoon, I would have missed the opportunities that it led to, probably forever.
Okay, it wasn’t an email. It happened 25 years before emails were invented, but that advertisement still landed in my “inbox”, a.k.a. “my possession,” two weeks before I got around to opening it. It was pure luck that I saw it just in time, but, as I knew and trusted the “sender”, I immediately recognized the fact that it could be beneficial to me, and so I quickly followed its “call to action”, and my life was changed forever as you will discover, if you continue to follow my journey in part 3 of my “avoiding the pitfalls” series of blog posts.
This is a skill that you must cultivate. The skill to quickly differentiate between the wheat and the chaff that is put in front of your eyes in huge quantities every day. I’m talking about your email inbox, the social media you consume, and, indeed, the blog posts you will read. Unfortunately, the “weight” of the chaff will be far heavier than the “weight” of the wheat. In fact, finding any wheat among the chaff may be like finding a needle in a haystack, but I can assure you that there will be a few needles hidden away. You have to develop the skill to recognize what may be worth your while exploring further.
One piece of “wheat” or “needle” is hiding under the image at the foot of he right sidebar of this blog post. Missing out on acquiring my mentor, Dean Holland’s book, “The Iceberg Effect”, would be like Sue calling me that Monday morning, and, instead of inviting me to an interview, she had said, “Sorry Philip, the partners from Papua New Guinea returned home at the weekend”. What a disaster that would have been.
Cheers
Phil