They say you can only master one trade in your lifetime, and I’m here to prove them right, repeatably.  As my title suggests, I do it all.  I play hard and fail harder, and I carry my flaws with the kind of self-assurance that would be inspiring if it wasn’t so tragic. And If I’m willing to admit that much for myself, God only knows what you think.

But who am I, and why should you care?  The rudest questions are often the most vital.  I feel you clicking out already.

I’m a wrapper, a trainer, a seller, and most discernably, I’m a writer.  I do these things unironically, often at the expense of each other.  And since I’ve been asked to stay on as a permanent contributor, it seems only fair to tell my story and to show that struggle, when met with the right spirit, is not without its charms.  That way, you can stop hating me for literary reasons and start hating me for professional and personal ones instead.

But first, do I even wrap, bro?  More than some but less than most.  Don’t let my youthful exuberance fool you – I’ve done my time in fleet wraps and colour changes.  Twenty years of it, in fact, right across the Asia Pacific.  There’s a quiet satisfaction in the craft, even if my knees don’t always agree.

Why am I blowing my own horn instead of finding someone to do it for me?  Because apparently, I’m a leader, but really, I was just first.  I’ve competed in wrap tournaments, but the real contenders stayed home.  And when I ascended those carpeted steps to collect that award that one time, I couldn’t escape the thought that no one would know about it unless I told them.

That’s not to say it isn’t gratifying.  Wrapping teaches you patience, and the fluency to curse in different languages, and the sex appeal dies a brutal death the moment someone asks for a warranty. But the craft still calls to you, like a soft pillow after a boozy work dinner.  And through it all, you forget that to wrap a car is to embrace the paradox of creating something both temporary and timeless.

Not long into my jet-fueled ego trip, someone handed me a squeegee and asked me to sign it.  I obliged, and then watched with bemusement as they carefully laminated the signature to preserve it, presumably for all eternity.  Success, it seems, is being asked for an autograph and wondering if it’s a joke.  At any rate, the stage was set, and I’d spend the forthcoming years repursuing that same limbic rush in the only sensible way I knew how - by becoming a wrap trainer.

Then again, who isn’t a trainer these days?  I was away from home for most of the year, traveling between countries, moving from one regional tour to the next.  I did my best to remember everyone’s name, mostly because everyone seemed to know mine.  And when I wasn’t practicing speeches in hotel mirrors, I was rubbing shoulders with my industry heroes in midnight cocktail bars.

Eventually, you’ll come to accept that Redbull and Nurofen truly is the breakfast of champions.

Whenever I got back home, it was bittersweet. One moment I’m gallivanting across the country, the next, I’m back to wrapping vans and stripping adhesive off garbage trucks. It’s a reality check so brutal that I could still taste the solvent as I boarded my next flight.

My peers think I’m wasting my time and handing over trade secrets to future competitors.  To be fair, they’re probably right. But is that the right attitude? If following a traditional path means ending up like them, I’ll happily take my chances.  It’s a joy to see my students grow, and the beauty of training is that my failures finally serve a purpose beyond frustrating me.

But as you step into the role of a trainer, you also step into the tangled web of suppliers. Yes, yikes. Endorsing one product over another can feel harmless in the moment, until you find yourself quietly boycotted by half of your suppliers. “It’s bad optics”, I became accustomed to hearing, because apparently, the fewer people who care what you think, the freer you’re able to think aloud.  Suffice to say, I’ve snuck into a lot of industry parties since then.

How could I possibly make this situation worse?  By creating my own range of wrap tools, of course.  How’s that for optics?  It’s wildly satisfying to finally act like the disruptive troublemaker that half the industry already thinks I am.  If I didn’t, would you still love me by the morning?

It’s never polite to disrupt the market. Nor is it cheap.  Australia is home to some of the best wrap shops in the world and I felt it was time that our tools reflected that.  And if a few bridges needed to be torched to make that point more salient, well, I guess you can bill me for that too.

I could end it right there, but it’s not in my nature to let go of a captive audience.

So, with a withering wrap business in one hand, and a dilapidated training program and product store in the other, what’s left to do?  Write about it, of course.  Why not lend a little humour and honesty to an industry that’s often far too serious for its own good? To contribute in this way is to risk being misunderstood, ignored, or worse, taken too seriously.  But if my words can make you laugh, provoke a thought, or even draw a begrudging nod, then it would have been worth the effort.

Every industry needs an insufferable contrarian, and I graciously accept the appointment.  Saying what you mean is easy, making others wish they hadn’t heard it is the real challenge.

So, who am I?  Unto which bin shalt thou cast me?  A wrapper, a trainer, a seller, a writer, or something yet to come?  Who knows, maybe I’ll have another brilliant idea. Maybe I’ll keep on making enemies and calling it progress.  But if this rambling reflection has taught you anything, it’s that I’m undeniably here.