When I was a kid, I was always hustling the other kids in my neighborhood.
And one time, I got busted for running a little scam.
The year was 1992, and I was ten years old. We had a new family who had moved in next door to us on Anderson Street, and by the looks of their kids, I knew I was going to have some buyers on my hands.
I was always finding ways to make money, either through selling used video games, CDs, and more. At one point in time, I even charged a kid $5 cash to teach him to rollerblade. Now, this would imply that I was a rollerblading expert, but that is simply not true. I had rollerblades. He had just gotten them. I saw an opportunity; therefore, I became a rollerblade instructor immediately, for a price, of course.
It's still a shocker to me that I had to wait until a mentor told me post-college that I should be in sales. I was in sales from the moment I could find customers on that very street, yet somehow it didn't click with me until someone pointed it out. I loved the thrill of the deal and the hustle of the whole experience.
So one day, one of these new neighbor kids mentioned needing help with cheat codes for a particular video game. My ears perked up. I knew I had the exact thing to help him solve his issues of not being able to beat a specific level. I could just tell him the codes, or I could sell him his own copy of the magazine that publishes those codes, so he could have them at his disposal in case he forgot or needed more codes for other games.
A few minutes later, I had the magazine with the codes and the insight for him. Hot off the press, or fresh from collecting dust on top of my gaming console. This magazine was from a little video game store called "Software Etc.," which would later become Gamestop.
"$20 for the magazine and you'll have access to all these game codes, do you want it?"
He lit up, sprinted back home, presumably rummaged through his Mom's purse, and found a $20 bill.
Three hours later, his Mom stormed into my garage, where my Dad and I were, to reclaim her $20 and restore what little dignity she could for her kid.
"Your son ripped my son off," this frizzy-haired blonde woman said to my Dad.
Umm, hello, I'm standing here, lady.
You see, my Dad didn't give a shit that I ripped her kid off. What he did care about was the fact that he was now having to deal with it.
My Dad was up on a ladder fixing a light in the garage. I have this vivid image of him contemplating telling her to get the fuck out of the garage, yet at the same time realizing she was our next-door neighbor, so some level of civility was probably necessary.
He turned his attention to me. "Scott, did you do that?"
"I bought that magazine for $20!" I said.
"Then why does it say $9.99 on the side of it?" she replied.
I mean, she had a good point. The magazine had a little print on the front of it with a retail value of $9.99.
"I don't know, but I swore we paid $20 for it," I continued in my defense.
This lady wasn't letting up. She wanted her $20 bill back. The garage was tense. If something didn't happen, then we were definitely going to see her in The People's Court.
I was stuck in a rock-and-a-hard-place. I mean, I'm pretty sure all sales in the streets of the local neighborhood are final, but the mistake I made was not getting a signature, and or publishing my store policies on the wall.
"Scott, give her the money back," my Dad noted. At this point, beyond annoyed that this lady was still even in our sights.
I had no choice. I handed over the money. She gave the magazine back to me. Like a hostage swap, it was done.
I can still hear her flip-flops as she clomped out of the garage and back to her house.
I stood there in the garage, Mike Bond still on the ladder, and it was the first time I realized that value was subjective.
Whether the price was $20 or $10 didn't matter; what did matter was that he had a need, and I had a way to solve it. To him, solving that need was worth $20. To Mama Frizzle, that value was only the alleged retail value, which was $10. To me, I was willing to charge what the buyer was willing to pay.
So why is this relevant? Because the value you place on your brand will be paid by the right buyer, but if you don't price it accordingly, you'll never get to realize that value.
If you stay with the company that doesn't see value in you, and you allow it. If you don't charge enough for your services and you never re-evaluate. If you don't place the proper value on what you ultimately bring to the table, then don't be surprised when you continue to get passed up and passed over by others.
The lesson stuck with me because it had nothing to do with video games or magazines and everything to do with self-worth.
Nobody accidentally underprices themselves. They do it because it feels safer, quieter, less confrontational. They convince themselves that exposure is enough, loyalty will be rewarded, or someone will eventually notice. Meanwhile, the market is doing exactly what markets do. It pays what you signal you are worth. If you don't advocate for the value you bring, someone else will happily accept the discount and move on without a second thought.
And here's the part most people don't want to hear. You don't get to complain about being overlooked while choosing to stay underpriced. Careers stall the same way that $9.99 magazine did. Not because the value isn't there, but because someone else gets to define it for you.
The moment you decide what you are worth and are willing to walk if it is not met, everything changes. The right buyers show up. The wrong ones disappear. And for the first time, you stop waiting for permission and start getting paid in full for what you actually bring to the table.