Putting the Real in Realtor—Roxxy

Once upon a time in the hallowed halls of middle school, while most kids were trying to survive algebra and dodge dodgeballs, I had my eyes on something sweeter.

It all started with a single lollipop.

I walked into school one day with a mouth-watering, brightly colored, swirl pop I’d picked up from a local candy shop. Before first period ended, three kids had already asked, “Where’d you get that?” By lunchtime, someone offered me a dollar for one. A dollar. For a lollipop that cost thirty cents.

And that, my friends, was the moment a legend was born.

The next week, I showed up with a backpack not just full of books, but also bursting with inventory. Cherry, watermelon, sour apple, cotton candy. I had flavors for every mood and every clique. Athletes, honor roll kids, theater geeks, even teachers (Mr. Henderson had a thing for root beer-flavored ones) were soon hooked on my “hallway sweets.”

However, I wasn’t just a candy dealer. I was a businesswoman. I kept a spreadsheet before I even knew what Excel was. I tracked trends (“grape’s out, mango’s in!”), calculated profit margins, and before long, I realized I couldn’t do it all on my own. So what did I do?

I hired a team.

That’s right. First was my best friend, then my locker neighbor, and then two seventh graders I trained as “junior sales reps.” I paid them in commission, rewarded top sellers with free inventory, and even created a loyalty punch card for regular customers. By the time I was done, I was running a four-person candy syndicate that pulled in $1,200 a week in profit. In fact, the money I made ended up paying for my first car!

My business became so legendary that even the principal had to acknowledge it. She didn’t shut me down (phew!), just requested that I “keep transactions to outside of class time.”

I learned more about supply and demand, marketing, management, and customer service before high school than most people do in a college business course. Although I eventually hung up my candy apron (there’s only so far you can go before the IRS starts asking questions), that sweet little startup taught me a lesson I would never forget:

Where others see a snack, I see an opportunity.