Yes Man by Danny Wallace Page A

you
secretly
take forty million dollars? Do you nick a dollar a week for forty million weeks?
    I WILL LIKE YOU TO USE YOUR EXPERTISE AND PROFESSIONALLISM IN BUSINESS TO HELP ME ESCAPE MY MONEY AND INVEST FOR ME.
    What professionalism in business?!
    ON YOUR CONFIRMING ACCEPTING MY REQUEST IN TOTALITY YOU WILL RECEIVE 25% OF THE MONEY ($10 MILLION).
    Okay, say no more; that’s fine, when do we do it?
    PLEASE KEEP THIS TOTALLY CONFIDENTIAL. PLEASE I HOPE YOU WILL SAY YOU WILL HELP ME. PLEASE ACT SOON, WE MUST PREPARE. IT IS GOD’S WILL.
    OMAR
    Good God!
    But hang on … let’s put this into perspective.
    The son of a murdered sultan was asking for my help. Me! And he was offering me ten million dollars. Ten million dollars if I said yes! That beats twenty-five thousand pounds any day! Already, Yes was planning to make me rich again!
    Now, usually, of course, I’d be a little skeptical. This kind of thing rarely, if ever, happens to me. In fact now that I think about it, I can’t remember the last time I helped a sultan. Even a little. I’m not proud about that. It’s just that I’m not sure I’d even know how to do it or what they’d need help with. I’m ashamed to say I know very little about magic carpets as it is, and if you gave me a big curly sword, I’d probably give it straight back to you.
    But here was a man in need, so I wrote back …
    To: SULTAN QABOOS
    From: Da6nny
    Subject: Re: URGENT BUSINESS TRANSACTION
    Dear Omar, son of the murdered sultan Qaboos, Yes, of course I will help you!
    Danny
    P.S. Sorry about your dad
    *   *   *
    And that was that.
    So right now, somewhere in the middle of Cyberspace, my agreement and best wishes were winging their way to a troubled son of a sultan, a man probably cowering under a table in some ornate mansion somewhere with a chair forced up against the door and only a big bald genie for protection. Or maybe he was already on the run. Maybe he was sneaking from village to village, under the cover of darkness, dressed as a peasant woman and fearing for his life! How happy he would be when he read that I, Danny Wallace, a specky bloke with toothpaste round his mouth, would indeed lend him some of his professionalism in business!
    I sat by my computer, eagerly clicking the Get Mail button, hoping each time that the next click would bring a response from Omar. But time after time, all I heard was the mocking dull thud that whoever designed my computer decided would represent the sound of “no mail.” The dull thud of a punch in the paunch. The dull thud of “no messages, why do you bother? Not even
other
nerds want to write to you.”
    But I wasn’t giving up on Omar. I made another cup of tea, found a biscuit at the back of my cupboard, and sat, staring intently at my screen, willing him to write back, willing him to know that it was all going to be okay, willing him to
just hang on
.
    And then I got bored and got on with my day.
    I was doing the washing-up when I heard a
bing-bong
. New mail!
    I ran to my computer, fearing Omar was in danger.
    It was Hanne.
    Danny,
    Just checking you’re not too depressed about losing that 25 grand.
    Hanne
    I replied.
    Hanne,
    Not to worry. I just agreed to help the son of a murdered sultan, and he said he’d give me ten million dollars.
    Danny
    I waited around for a bit, but Hanne didn’t reply. She was probably busy.
    Aside from Omar, there didn’t seem to be too much happening today. Not much to say yes to. So I decided that today
would
be the day I’d go in to work, after all.
    I was sure I’d find plenty to do.
    The first of Australia’s Big Things, since you ask, was the Big Banana.
    Erected in 1963 by an American immigrant named John Landi, it was a personal and heartfelt tribute to the banana and was intended to attract visitors from miles and miles around.
    It worked.
    From all over Australia, banana lovers flocked to the Big Banana to celebrate the world of bananas and immerse themselves in the adjoining banana