My best man Miles called today - out of the blue. Always a tonic, he told me about his all expenses paid week in Mauritius with other members of a 'Platinum Club' of salesmen. This group is comprised of the most effective members of the sales team at Albion Windows and Miles almost gave himself a sickener of champagne and lunchtime mojitos.
The platinum reward had been for Miles plus one. He had nobly offered the opportunity to me.
Maude vetoed it:
‘You’re a lightweight – you’ll never keep up with him.’
I suspect Mrs Miles had that very quality in mind when she suggested my name. Miles took his brother-in-law instead – still finding a way to please Mrs Miles.
It now feels, however, like a missed networking opportunity. I might have osmotically absorbed some sales nous from the platinum chaps in readiness for my impending, and as yet undefined, new direction. I ventured to Miles that my years of experience helping to take art to the undercultured had made me virtually unemployable.
‘I was in the same boat son. Just sell windows! Anyone could do it. Not everyone can do it to ‘platinum’ standard, obviously. But people are staying put in their houses and - at some point - people always need windows.’
I dictated my email address to Miles. He promised to email something guaranteed to make me soil myself with mirth.
‘I’ll just bang it straight into my i-pad 2’ .
As susceptible as the next man to the seductive appeal of new technology, I asked a few questions about the 'spec' on his new machine. Over the course of several minutes he gave me the low-down on what the machine took only several seconds to ‘rip through’. I then made the mistake of asking when he bought his i-pad – forgetting his status as a prominent member of the Albion Platinum Club.
‘I didn’t buy it, bonny lad. I achieved it.’