about 150 shops in the London area alone. It would require the same amount of effort to persuade the boss there to buy from me, and if I did persuade them, the order would be huge. So I decided to makecontact with the head office of Currys and, eventually, managed to get through to Michael Curry, one of the bosses. He explained that this product was not one that they would normally buy in bulk, as it was somewhat specialised in comparison to the sort of tape recorders they sold.
I reported this back to Robinson who gave me a real bollocking, telling me that I shouldn't have contacted such a big retailer. He told me it was out of my league, and that things like that were his domain. Then he said, 'You actually got through to Michael Curry?'
'Yes.'
'How did you manage that?'
'Persistence. I phoned about ten times and kept leaving him messages. Maybe he was intrigued to hear from someone with the name Sugar, I don't know, but I got him on the phone. He said that he wouldn't buy bulk lots.'
But he had also mentioned to me that some of his individual managers at store-level did have a certain autonomy to buy goods locally if they wanted to, so that they could top up their supplies of batteries, plugs and other small accessories. I managed to get a verbal okay from Michael Curry that I could offer them hardware like tape recorders. My eyes lit up as if I'd won the jackpot. There's nothing better than investing buying power in the bloke who normally has to rely on head office to send him stock. Most shop managers relish the chance of picking products to sell other than those foisted upon them by some buyer sitting in his ivory tower at head office.
Once given permission by Michael Curry, my boat had come in. The easiest sell in the world was to go and see a Currys manager and tell him that he now had the power to buy. I gave up dealing with the other retailers for a while and concentrated solely on Currys branches. I must have sold at least fifty or sixty machines to the various branch managers and I was looking forward to receiving my pay slip showing my commission at the end of the month.
*
By now I'd decided to give up my Saturday job at Mr Allen's chemist's, mainly for financial reasons. As nice a guy as he was, what he could afford to pay wasn't worth my while any more. On top of that, the photographic side of his business was going down the pan, migrating to Dixons, who were expanding rapidly. He had taught me a lot and I remained in contact with him for many years.
My brother-in-law, Harold Mazin, who was a salesman in Silver's mens-wear shop in Tottenham Court Road, told me that Silver's had a big demandfor Saturday salespeople, particularly in their two Islington branches, and that they would pay PS5 plus commission for a Saturday. He got me an interview with Mr Silver and I took a job in the smaller of the two Islington shops.
There I met a man by the name of Mr Shuster - not shyster, Shuster. He was the greatest salesman I've ever seen, and he could talk the hind legs off a donkey. He would stand outside the front door of the shop with his arms folded and accost anyone who looked at the window.
'Can I help you, sir?'
'No, I'm just looking.'
'Well, come inside. Let me see if I can help you out.'
'No, really, I'm just looking.'
'No, no, come on, sir. There's no obligation, please come in. Let me see if I can help you out with something.' The amount of times Shuster did this and persuaded some poor, innocent punter to buy something was incredible.
Sometimes we worked in the larger shop. There, Shuster really came into his own. It was like watching an artist at work. Having sold someone a suit, he would then move on to their need for a shirt.
'No, I'm okay for a shirt, mate, thank you very much.'
'No, no, no, let me show you a couple of shirts to match the suit.'
And before the customer could refuse, Shuster would have two or three shirts tucked into the jacket. Then, without even mentioning it, he would
I reported this back to Robinson who gave me a real bollocking, telling me that I shouldn't have contacted such a big retailer. He told me it was out of my league, and that things like that were his domain. Then he said, 'You actually got through to Michael Curry?'
'Yes.'
'How did you manage that?'
'Persistence. I phoned about ten times and kept leaving him messages. Maybe he was intrigued to hear from someone with the name Sugar, I don't know, but I got him on the phone. He said that he wouldn't buy bulk lots.'
But he had also mentioned to me that some of his individual managers at store-level did have a certain autonomy to buy goods locally if they wanted to, so that they could top up their supplies of batteries, plugs and other small accessories. I managed to get a verbal okay from Michael Curry that I could offer them hardware like tape recorders. My eyes lit up as if I'd won the jackpot. There's nothing better than investing buying power in the bloke who normally has to rely on head office to send him stock. Most shop managers relish the chance of picking products to sell other than those foisted upon them by some buyer sitting in his ivory tower at head office.
Once given permission by Michael Curry, my boat had come in. The easiest sell in the world was to go and see a Currys manager and tell him that he now had the power to buy. I gave up dealing with the other retailers for a while and concentrated solely on Currys branches. I must have sold at least fifty or sixty machines to the various branch managers and I was looking forward to receiving my pay slip showing my commission at the end of the month.
*
By now I'd decided to give up my Saturday job at Mr Allen's chemist's, mainly for financial reasons. As nice a guy as he was, what he could afford to pay wasn't worth my while any more. On top of that, the photographic side of his business was going down the pan, migrating to Dixons, who were expanding rapidly. He had taught me a lot and I remained in contact with him for many years.
My brother-in-law, Harold Mazin, who was a salesman in Silver's mens-wear shop in Tottenham Court Road, told me that Silver's had a big demandfor Saturday salespeople, particularly in their two Islington branches, and that they would pay PS5 plus commission for a Saturday. He got me an interview with Mr Silver and I took a job in the smaller of the two Islington shops.
There I met a man by the name of Mr Shuster - not shyster, Shuster. He was the greatest salesman I've ever seen, and he could talk the hind legs off a donkey. He would stand outside the front door of the shop with his arms folded and accost anyone who looked at the window.
'Can I help you, sir?'
'No, I'm just looking.'
'Well, come inside. Let me see if I can help you out.'
'No, really, I'm just looking.'
'No, no, come on, sir. There's no obligation, please come in. Let me see if I can help you out with something.' The amount of times Shuster did this and persuaded some poor, innocent punter to buy something was incredible.
Sometimes we worked in the larger shop. There, Shuster really came into his own. It was like watching an artist at work. Having sold someone a suit, he would then move on to their need for a shirt.
'No, I'm okay for a shirt, mate, thank you very much.'
'No, no, no, let me show you a couple of shirts to match the suit.'
And before the customer could refuse, Shuster would have two or three shirts tucked into the jacket. Then, without even mentioning it, he would
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