Deserae and I started selling on Amazon earlier this year, and it has been going so well that I was able to quit my job in June. When I tell people this they always say, “Whoa! So is it easy to get started?!” I’ve mostly managed to block those first few weeks from my memory, so I smile and give an enthusiastic “Yeah!”

But a few seconds later, I remember the first shipment we sent out, and I have to revise my statement a little. “Wait, never mind. No, it’s the worst thing in the world.”

Deserae and I first learned about selling on Amazon by listening to a podcast while we were on vacation in January. “It’s very simple!” the lady on the podcast said, because she too had erased her first shipment from her mind.

After that podcast, Deserae became super enthusiastic about selling on Amazon. It was all she could talk about.

“Do you think we need to get business insurance right away? Is it expensive? Who do we have for home insurance? Do you think they cover businesses too?”

“I don’t know, but we’re floating in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Maybe we could just enjoy this right now?”

Deserae did not agree. She continued calling board meetings in the pool, during meals and in bed when I was allllllllmost asleep.

Deserae had big plans for our new venture. I was a little more cautious, remembering the Greenhouse Debacle of 2013. “I think we should just take a week or two to learn about it when we get home before jumping in.”

Deserae almost fell off her float. “A whole week! What else do you think we need to know?!”

We eventually compromised by agreeing to proceed slowly.

The first night we got home, we went to Wal-Mart and found 50 One Direction pencil pouches for $.50 each. They were selling on Amazon for $10. The rest of the evening I sang the only six One Direction lyrics I knew to Deserae over and over in a high voice.

“That’s what makes you beautiful gir…”

“STOP!”

Those pencil pouches flipped a switch in my brain. The next morning, I got online and started finding deals. At work, Deserae began receiving text messages with an alarming number of money bag emojis.

6:35 A.M. “Just got a sweet deal on spatulas from Bloomingdale’s to sell!”

6:42 A.M. 

6:45 A.M. 

7:02 A.M. “GOLDMINE!!!”

7:09 A.M. [Missed Call]

7:10 A.M. “Hey, I was going to buy some toys from Fisher Price. What do you think?”

 7:10 A.M. “Kind of a lot of toys.”

7:11 A.M. “Probably a couple hundred dollars.”

7:11 A.M. “Maybe call me when you get a chance?”

7:55 A.M. “Never mind. Just did it.”

10:45 A.M. “I’m on lunch now. How much?”

10:55 A.M. “Hello? Are you there?”

11:01 A.M. “Dus how much did you spend???”

11:04 A.M. “Lost track after $400.” 

Deserae came home glaring at me. “So much for starting slow.”

Later that week, we started coming home from work to a wall of boxes barricading our door. One day while I was shoveling the driveway, our mail lady pulled up in her truck and said “YOU!” I looked up. “What have you been doing?!” She then dumped seven boxes of Drop ‘n Roar Simbas.

Those Simbas joined the 20 other boxes of Fisher Price toys we had acquired that week in our living room. Actually “living room” is a pretty generous term for what was now a warehouse with a couch in it.

When we started opening boxes, we made a horrible discovery. While most companies fill the empty space in their boxes with air pillows or bubble wrap, Fisher Price had opted for something much more likely to explode in your home. Perhaps sensing that their target market was demanding more things to put in their mouths, they filled each box with millions of packing peanuts. Like some sort of plague, these peanuts immediately traveled to every room in our house.

The way our arrangement with Amazon works is we put all of our products in big boxes and ship them to Amazon’s warehouses. When our products get sold, Amazon forwards them along to the end user. This makes things way easier in that we don’t have to ship individual products all over the country, but it also means we were responsible for condensing a mountain of toys into a few boxes.

We got to work. Because we were planning on starting slow, we did not have all of the tools we probably should have had for such a big shipment. For example, we did not have a:

Tape Gun

“OK, this box is ready to get taped.”

[pick pick pick]

“Dus?”

[pick pick pick]

“You ready?”

“I’M TWO BOXES BEHIND BECAUSE THIS TAPE WON’T PEEL OFF THE ROLL.”

“Let me try it.”

“AHHHH! NOW IT’S SHREDDED, AND IT’S NEVER COMING OFF!”

“OK, hang on, let me cut it.”

“NO THE ONLY THING IT STICKS TO BESIDES ITSELF IS THE SCISSORS!”

Shipping Scale

“OK Deserae, I’m 142 pounds, so see what the scale says when I step on it with the box.”

“Hang on, I have to get on the floor to see it.”

“Hurry up, this is heavy.”

“All right, it says…wait, it just shut off. Get off and get back on.”

“Are you kidding?!”

“Make sure you’re not putting all your weight on your heels. Are you putting all your weight on your heels?”

“DESERAE! JUST TELL ME WHAT IT SAYS!!”

OK OK! It’s 185.3.”

“So 185.3 minus 142 is…where’s my phone?”

“Under that pile of peanuts I think?”

[Five minutes later]

“OK what was that weight again?”

“If you think I still remember, you’re crazy.”

Pack of Shipping Labels

“I printed the label, you just need to cut it out and tape it to the…”

“NOT THE TAPE AGAIN!!!!”

If you’re trying to find a soul mate, I’d like to propose an alternative to years of dating. Simply lock yourself in a room with someone for six hours and attempt our taping-weighing-labeling routine. If both of you emerge alive at the end – not happy or even speaking to each other, just ALIVE – congratulations, you’ve found The One.

Since we are soul mates, Deserae and I finished the job at 1 a.m. with bags under our eyes and anger in our hearts. We had 15 haphazardly taped boxes by the front door and an ocean of packing peanuts in the living room. It was then I made the foolish decision to calculate our profit by box.

When I bought the Fisher Price toys, I did not realize how big they were. And before our shipment, I did not realize how much it would cost to send big things to Amazon.

“Let’s see, after shipping and Amazon fees, the profit comes out to…$10 a box? Is that right?”

Deserae stared at me with bloodshot eyes.

“Next time,” she finally said, “why don’t we start slow.”

LIFE LESSON #79

If you don’t take your own advice, you deserve to drown in an ocean of packing peanuts.