SHOOTING FROM THE HIP STEPPING A for
long time ago in a high street away...
far, far
Compared with today the early- 1980s was like
prehistory. There were no mobile phones
the masses (though
Tony Blackburn had one in his car), no internet, no social media, only three TV channels and no means of recording one whilst you watched another. Telephones were hard-wired so you had no choice of handset. Yes, there were digital watches, ‘though with some you needed a torch to read them (even in daylight).
On the plus side, life was a confusion-free zone: windows allowed light into rooms, macs kept you dry in the rain, tablets were something you took to get well, and blue tooth was a pantomime pirate (I think). And certified organic gluten- free wraps hadn’t been thought of, so no risk of any shortages blighting your day. There was no PC; back then people learnt deference, good manners and respect from experience, so if someone called you a name, you called them one back, only worse, and so on until one of the parties lost interest. Mass brain- washing was the stuff of science fiction; now it’s a reality. Life was so... uncomplicated, only we didn’t realise it at the time.
Cold start, hot finish
January was so cold it would make a Siberian husky shiver; global warming hadn’t kicked in. Every morning the boss and I opened up and lit the shop’s paraffin heater. But the concrete floor in the back
www.diyweek.net
BACK IN TIME... AN INDEPENDENT REMEMBERS
Simple living, accidental arson and the first whispers of the digital age; part nine of Graham Higson’s shop-floor memories delves into the early 80s...
was especially cold and there he would stoke up a workshop stove with timber offcuts and cardboard boxes, turning the little office into something resembling a sauna. Sometimes it was too hot for me and I would hang around by the paraffin heater in the shop, arranging the mass of leaflets on the counter into some semblance of order, which is where I was when this amazingly- smart woman came in. Her clothing and body language said it all: fully-trained, on a mission, takes no prisoners – a rep, but one of a different class to the usual.
with a “whoomph!” I can still see her stunned expression, her confidence dropping away like a breezeblock with suspect mortar. Next, she was frantically squirting the aerosol at the flames, not wanting to get too close. But it wasn’t just the fuel that was alight; it had dribbled onto the leaflets and now the counter was on fire. And next door to that was the recently refilled paraffin heater. The boss came through, in defence mode, telling me to use the trusty old Nu-Swift water-gusher. But I wasn’t listening; I was panicking. So instead he grabbed it, dousing
“The flames shot up to the ceiling with a ‘whoomph!’ I can still see her stunned expression, her confidence dropping away like a breezeblock with suspect mortar.”
We dealt with around 13 reps, none of whom were as pristinely- presented as this one. She didn’t drag her high-heels into the shop, going on about the traffic or the cold weather, and instead checked if I was “the buyer”. For some reason I said yes, and she placed her steel-bound attaché case on the counter, taking out a can of liquid Ronson lighter fuel and a large, green aerosol. I got a whiff of her perfume. We didn’t usually get smells like that in our shop: sawdust, Pink Paraffin and chip fat were the usual nasal fayre. This one was exotic, taking my nose on some mystical trip to faraway places and promises of delights – until she began squirting the Ronson onto the lid. Then she set fire to it.
The flames shot up to the ceiling
both the counter and the lady rep. Silence, but for the coughing. I felt sorry for her, with all that black running down her cheeks like a nasty sink stain. Then she told him off for spoiling her demonstration of the latest in mess-free fire extinguishers: Halon gas.
known as BCF, these were fantastic extinguishers, being suitable for electrical fires, causing no staining to non-fire-damaged items. They are now illegal, by the way. They argued, she claiming it had
been a controlled demonstration. Hmm, so was that before, or after, the whole shop looked very likely to go up in flames? She would have packed up her stuff to leave but the case was still hot, so she picked up her pad and, water dripping from her elbows and skirt, asked how
For years the manufacturer had been telling the boss that this would no longer work. No good for electrical fires, but great for reps.
many units we wanted to order. She didn’t entertain the concept of humiliation, whereas for me it was a daily occurrence. I wonder if she got fired...?
Retail Revolution Reading my articles, you could be forgiven for thinking that the boss was a crusty old stick-in-the-mud to whom progress was as alien as a red tie to a Tory, but – and here’s the irony – in some areas he was well ahead of his time. When I arrived he was already taking credit cards – well, one particular card, Access, “Your flexible friend”, as it was marketed. Eventually, it was absorbed into Mastercard. But accepting cards showed a level of forward-thinking that I had to admire.
Also
Likewise, since the late 1960s our main supplier, Bird & Sons (not its real name), had been using a telephone answering machine system to take orders. This meant that over the weekend we could replenish stock and accommodate customers’ special requirements for Monday delivery, making our service unlike any of the other shops. Nor did it end there, because Bird’s also used a computer – how space-age was that, especially for a small, family- run business? Yeah, my boss and Old Man Bird, eh? – pioneers of the retailing revolution. Who’d have thought it?
20 JANUARY 2017 DIY WEEK 23
Page 1 |
Page 2 |
Page 3 |
Page 4 |
Page 5 |
Page 6 |
Page 7 |
Page 8 |
Page 9 |
Page 10 |
Page 11 |
Page 12 |
Page 13 |
Page 14 |
Page 15 |
Page 16 |
Page 17 |
Page 18 |
Page 19 |
Page 20 |
Page 21 |
Page 22 |
Page 23 |
Page 24 |
Page 25 |
Page 26 |
Page 27 |
Page 28 |
Page 29 |
Page 30 |
Page 31 |
Page 32
