Feature: LIVING LIFE THROUGH THE EYES OF A YES MAN

Imagine a world where you can never say no. Joshua Saunders survives Scientology, befriends Big Issue sellers and overhears what only countless years of counselling will undo, as he spends seven days in the life of a YES MAN.

Awkwardly I perch in a room constructed deliberately to put people at ease. The woman I’ve met for merely five-minutes leans closer on her adjacent seat. Card-reader in hand she beckons me to act, having unravelled the delicacies of life moments earlier. My choices are limited and crippled by my decision to ban myself from saying no; the two letters I long for more than ever. I vulnerably sit, stalling frantically, attempting to find a way out of this terminal situation… 


Back in 2006, a brave BBC radio producer called Danny Wallace, embarked on a new way of life; the way of yes. Dumped by his long-term girlfriend of the time Danny found himself turning into a recluse and rarely leaving his solitary adequate abode. Every opportunity to socialize he would reject in favour of stopping in and watching television alone. His out-of-work life slowly slipped into non-existence. Until one day, when he met an omniscient elderly man on a bus who imparted him with three wise yet simple words, ‘Say yes more.’  Epiphany struck dear Danny and he took up the challenge of living six months prohibited from saying no.

He recorded his experience in the book Yes Man. And 416 pages later, Danny’s metamorphosis had led him to winning £25,000 only to lose it seconds later; a TV spin-off exploring different lifestyles one where he infamously agitated a monk; and, a film adaptation of his tales starring Jim Carrey and Zooey Deschanel. It would be fair to say the happiness, and bank balance, of Danny Wallace’s skyrocketed up, up and away in an explosion of array of colours and unequivocal contentment. 



Now I’m not saying my journey as a Yes Man will follow the same path, but by the end of the week if, ‘Man, Myth, Legend – the Joshua Saunders story’ hasn’t been considered by at least three major film companies I’m going to feel pretty peeved.

Inspiration : Yes Man, by Danny Wallace

The last time I said no was on a rather uneventful Friday to the request of watching a film. Even still, this mundane moment fondly sticks out in my mind as my last snippet of free will. The final decision made of my own choice for the experiment over 168 hours.



Several hours into my first day and the first obstacle appeared. A crimson-cheeked man dashed towards me, "Do you know the way to Kinson?” he asks. Unbeknownst to him he has probably stumbled across the least qualified person to ask for navigation tips. Since 2012 began I’ve managed to lose myself travelling between Bournemouth and Winton four times. I did not know the way to Kinson. And I genuinely did want to tell him this. ‘Yes. Just head to the highstreet and turn left,’ I replied. Off he continued to dash unaware of sad truth that he would not find himself in Kinson. With every step further away slight increasing twangs of guilt pricked me, but that was the curse of being a Yes Man. The once remorseless honesty I’d developed as a child eroded a little with every lie I was forced to tell. Telling the truth became an ever more troublesome task in this new lifestyle, especially for knowing that on every street lamppost there would be a poster posing the question, ‘Have you seen my missing cat?’  Selective sight is invaluable gift.

As a Yes Man, you have to be careful of whom you entrust your secret to. If a Yes Man ignorantly imparts his secret to a careless or cunning confidant it could end disastrously. For me, only allowing two people to know was difficult enough, you can imagine the ways people could take advantage. The question, ‘Fancy getting the next round in’ was a saying all too frequently heard by my withered wallet. A life of yes was undoubtedly a life of excess.

Life was starting to become tainted due to having yes as my only answer. Including a rather traumatic tale of trying to sleep in the same room while a friend entertained what would soon be a conquest, while I uncomfortable spent the night smothering my face into a pillow. “Do you want to stop in my room?” he half-mockingly jested. Those words still haunt me now. Sadly, I am not able to name this charismatic chap for legal, ethical and moral reasons. But I would like him to know two things: Yes I heard everything, and yes, my psychiatrist has invoiced you the bills.

Half way through the week and with a room inundated with flyers, leaflets and advertisement business cards, my inability to say no had taken over my life. The average time it took walking anywhere multiplied by three, thanks to every ‘5-minute street survey’. Like vultures they hover waiting to descend in their masses and for the unsuspecting tourist or person deprived of their right to decline, they got lucky.

“Consider your life of yes like karma,” a confidant advised. By complying with the rules whatever yes through before me. I kept hold of the deep-rooted hope that something good would be thrust into my path or I’d be spared of an off-putting challenging in the long-term. And in some ways this did happen, by saying yes more I was more productive. Every night there was something planned and agreed to, rather than the spontaneous last minute arrangements. Things I had always intended on doing such as getting a magazine subscription, finding a new hobby, learning a new language all became a possibility now that I had no more excuses. 

But turbulent times lay round the corner, a threat that would put the very challenge I’d faithfully adhered to at risk.
 

Bournemouth town center was breezier than usual; little did I know that the hidden chill would shock me to my very bone. I hastily strolled through the streets with an ever-open eye looking for things to say yes to. In a state of quiet bemusement due to the fact that I’d bought three editions of the same Big Issue from an eloquently voiced seller named Paul, much to his understandable confusion.

“Four questions, it will only take a few minutes,” pleaded a pixie haired woman. Describing herself as a nurse, she smiled invitingly at me asking me how I wish I could improve about my life and what I dreamed of. Struggling to think, I fabricated a story about a deserted island with friends to this stranger named Sue with a ruby streak in her greying-dark hair.

Sue’s spectacles seared into my soul as she probed deeper into my childhood and life, focusing on the sadder aspects of my moderately happy life. “Follow me just over here,” she said, as I asked what the survey was for. Leading across the cobbled streets of Bournemouth she walked into a building and up a steep staircase decked in white. Hesitating, I pause, wondering whether it’s such a good idea to follow her up. But a yes was a yes, and maybe suspicion, negativity and doubt of mankind was the remaining fragments of my personality preventing me from a full allegiance with a positive change to becoming an open, trusting and convivial Yes Man. How misguided I was.

Encouraging me to take a seat in the plain room, she carried on probing further about my life. Behind her stood a large bookshelf with atleast 300 copies of a mysterious looking piece literature. Vibrant reds contrasted with rustic browns give an unsettling feel to the place as she reveals her sole intent for bringing me upstairs, “Have you heard of Dianetics?”

The name felt familiar but I could not think why. She carried on, delicately sliding a book off the never-diminishing pile in the same way a person patiently plucks a Jenga brick from an overly stacked tower. But the pillar was soon to collapse. Peeling to pages about self-help and happiness, she advises different sections. As well as their complementary personality test and informative DVD.

Another person enters the room, trailing shortly behind her is a fragile timid looking woman. Resting beside us, the leader utters similar words of interest that I personally heard from her colleague but a few moments ago.  

Meanwhile, Sue flicks to the front and mentions celebrities who have endorsed the book, including John Travolta. It clicked. I knew where I’d heard the name Dio-bloody-netics before, and just knowing that meant I could be in danger.

Beside me I could witness as an outsider what the supposedly kind, caring and all-listening woman was doing.

Scientology. They were Scientologists. And she was trying to recruit both of us to follow their belief. A religion that is described on Scientology.org as, “A religion that offers a precise path leading to a complete and certain understanding of one’s true spiritual nature and one’s relationship to self, family, groups, Mankind, all life forms, the material universe, the spiritual universe and the Supreme Being.”

Exploring deeper into the background of the lady next to me, she exposed vulnerable parts of her life and questioned each bit. Listening intently and targeting her exposed moments of pain like she had with mine. Feeding on her insecurities and promising her a brighter future ahead with subtle placebos, marathons away from her previous down-spiral.

“Now that will just be £16 sweetie, would you prefer card or cash?” Sue0 insisted looking away to grab her card-reader.

Later on that day and with the final few hours of my time as a Yes Man quickly ticking away I decided it was time to reveal myself to the world. Note: not in a nudist way like last edition. But for a Mr Men and Little Miss themed birthday party. So dressed as that unforgettable Mr Men character Mr Yes, I set off for the night with a t-shirt boasting my lifestyle, designed by my flatmate who was surprised for me to accept the offer for her to paint it. Many, countless rounds of drinks later and several narrowly avoided dares we were in a nightclub.

The penultimate moments of my time vanished down to a final 60seconds, a last bid was made to exploit my life as a Yes Man by a friend shouting, 'Josh, take your clothes off...

'

Amidst trying to waste time by slowly stripping off my jacket I thought back over my odyssey, the friends I'd made Paul the Big Issue seller, volunteering to take part in film, countless flyers and the positives of the experience. Saying yes more had stopped me from hiding from the world, I’d abandoned avoiding the eyes of friendly faces for the worry that they would just see me as another number to fill their quota. By living in the way of no I'd deprived my eyes, thoughts and self of the outer beauty in the world in favour of opting to avoid glancing at anyone or anything. Imagine all the possibilities you miss out on every day by ignorantly saying no, not even aware of what a person has to say, offer or maybe even sell. By saying yes even fractionally more my life dramatically changed and as a result the world was less of a mystery. 


But remembering a little more recently I cast my mind to the Scientologist I'd met earlier that day. "So that's just £16," she reiterated. I looked at the woman beside me and understood the fear and trauma the religion was trying to take advantage of. She was everything Yes stood against, it abuse and manipulation, where Yes granted freedom and liberty. Scientology was available to those who were willing to put their hand in the pocket and bring out naivety and endless supplies of money to purchase the ‘the next step closer to happiness'. Without hesitation I stood up and I uttered the two letters I had at times longed to utter for the whole week.

Catherine Willey, Rachel Trevaskiss, Lauren Potter receive a little help from Yes Man | Ellis Wall

After revealing this I can only hope you aren't too disappointed, some of you may even think, "It was only money you tight sod, you could have made the whole week as a Yes Man if you'd only paid up!" But by accepting and giving in to the demands of the Scientologist the week of being a Yes Man would have been in vain.

My antiquated watch bleeped, a new day dawned in Bournemouth and my life was the Yes Man was over. 



Seven days, no more No's, only yeses. I dare you. Send us your experiences as a Yes Man to JoshuaDavidSaunders@live.co.uk.