I am. Unfortunately, the niceties weren't instilled in me by my mother and father. They were very direct and didn't engage in small talk. I was never taught any social graces, not even simple things like saying, 'Hello, how are you?' to people or showing interest in their lives or situations. Wenever used to exchange birthday cards or Christmas cards or anything like that at home. Consequently, the idea of sending someone flowers, chocolates or a card was alien to me. This was to come back and bite me on the nose later in my relationship with Ann, particularly when it came to her family.
I guess if you're not trained as a kid to do the decent things in life, you simply don't think to do them. However, I can assure you that whatever I lack in that direction, my wife makes up for a hundred times over.
I guess this lack of charm has followed me throughout the course of my business life. Whenever I enter a meeting and a bunch of fellows are sitting there talking about yesterday's cricket, or about Chelsea beating Arsenal, or the weather, or some other topic, I think, 'What a waste of bloody time.'
I'm straight in - bang! 'Hello, right we're here to talk about this, that and the other . . .'
I've shocked a few people in my time with my blunt entrances and lack of small talk. I have no patience at all. I know it's wrong, but I feel like it's cheating to be talking a load of rubbish, particularly when you're going into a meeting where everybody knows what has to be resolved and what you're there for.
*
I was now going for my third job in less than two years since leaving school. I duly turned up for my first sales training session, part of a week-long course at the Holloway head office of Robuck Electrical. S. J. Robinson started by telling everybody about the products and what was so special about their tape recorders - basically that they had three motors, which provided a much faster rewind speed. There were other technical benefits, but the fast rewind was the big USP (unique selling point).
We then moved on to a series of fake presentations, to learn how to present and sell the product to a retailer. We were asked to pitch to our colleagues, all of whom were much older than me. There I was, a seventeen-year-old who had to make his first trade presentation, albeit fake, to Robinson - with all the others looking on too. It reminded me of being back in that party when I was fifteen and having to make up a joke about Surf.
I was very nervous. Suddenly the chirpy chappy had drained out of me. I was useless, absolutely useless. Robinson had a stony look on his face, as if to say, 'What the hell have I done here?'
'That's no good,' he said. 'Sugar, you'd better go away and think about that again. You haven't told me about this feature and that feature. You're stumbling on your words, you're looking down at the floor, you're not looking mein the eye. What's the matter with you? You're not the same man who came here for the interview three weeks ago.'
'Sorry about that, Mr Robinson,' I said. 'Give me a few moments, let someone else have a go, and I'll definitely do better.'
Another four guys did their pitches. Watching them, I picked up a few tips. Later in the day, I pitched again, and this time, I put a smile on his face.
'Well done,' he said. 'Very good, young man. If you do it like that, you're going to do well.'
The next Monday was D-Day, so on Friday I picked up my sample tape recorder and record-player and put them in the van. That weekend, it was no longer a case of getting the bus to Bethnal Green to pick up Ann. I proudly rolled up to meet her in my new minivan, with 'Robuck printed on the side. After exchanging a few niceties, Ann said to me, 'Why are you talking funny?'
'What do you mean?'
She said, 'You're talking with an accent. You sound like a northerner.'
I'd spent the whole of the previous week with guys from Birmingham and up north, and it made my accent change. This strange phenomenon stuck with me
I guess if you're not trained as a kid to do the decent things in life, you simply don't think to do them. However, I can assure you that whatever I lack in that direction, my wife makes up for a hundred times over.
I guess this lack of charm has followed me throughout the course of my business life. Whenever I enter a meeting and a bunch of fellows are sitting there talking about yesterday's cricket, or about Chelsea beating Arsenal, or the weather, or some other topic, I think, 'What a waste of bloody time.'
I'm straight in - bang! 'Hello, right we're here to talk about this, that and the other . . .'
I've shocked a few people in my time with my blunt entrances and lack of small talk. I have no patience at all. I know it's wrong, but I feel like it's cheating to be talking a load of rubbish, particularly when you're going into a meeting where everybody knows what has to be resolved and what you're there for.
*
I was now going for my third job in less than two years since leaving school. I duly turned up for my first sales training session, part of a week-long course at the Holloway head office of Robuck Electrical. S. J. Robinson started by telling everybody about the products and what was so special about their tape recorders - basically that they had three motors, which provided a much faster rewind speed. There were other technical benefits, but the fast rewind was the big USP (unique selling point).
We then moved on to a series of fake presentations, to learn how to present and sell the product to a retailer. We were asked to pitch to our colleagues, all of whom were much older than me. There I was, a seventeen-year-old who had to make his first trade presentation, albeit fake, to Robinson - with all the others looking on too. It reminded me of being back in that party when I was fifteen and having to make up a joke about Surf.
I was very nervous. Suddenly the chirpy chappy had drained out of me. I was useless, absolutely useless. Robinson had a stony look on his face, as if to say, 'What the hell have I done here?'
'That's no good,' he said. 'Sugar, you'd better go away and think about that again. You haven't told me about this feature and that feature. You're stumbling on your words, you're looking down at the floor, you're not looking mein the eye. What's the matter with you? You're not the same man who came here for the interview three weeks ago.'
'Sorry about that, Mr Robinson,' I said. 'Give me a few moments, let someone else have a go, and I'll definitely do better.'
Another four guys did their pitches. Watching them, I picked up a few tips. Later in the day, I pitched again, and this time, I put a smile on his face.
'Well done,' he said. 'Very good, young man. If you do it like that, you're going to do well.'
The next Monday was D-Day, so on Friday I picked up my sample tape recorder and record-player and put them in the van. That weekend, it was no longer a case of getting the bus to Bethnal Green to pick up Ann. I proudly rolled up to meet her in my new minivan, with 'Robuck printed on the side. After exchanging a few niceties, Ann said to me, 'Why are you talking funny?'
'What do you mean?'
She said, 'You're talking with an accent. You sound like a northerner.'
I'd spent the whole of the previous week with guys from Birmingham and up north, and it made my accent change. This strange phenomenon stuck with me
Similar Books
