The Chaos Factor
by John Passmore
They say that you need to get organised to get the best out of this business.
I always knew there had to be a reason why I’m not a superstar. But on the other hand today proves that chaos can be profitable. It all came to a head at about four O’clock. I had got all this way through the day and said my 30 second thing to only one person.
This never happens; usually opportunities present themselves all over the place. But today they just didn’t. I sent texts – nobody replied. I flashed my badge around – nobody paid any attention.
By the time the children came home from school and we were into the busy beginning of the weekend, it seemed I was never going to make it.
And then: a blessing in the shape of a pot of yoghurt – or rather a missing pot of yoghurt. I needed one to start the next culture.
Dashing into town I grabbed a pot off the shelf, just managed to pay for it with the last of my small change and then decided I ought to go to the bank if I was going to buy any ice creams in the Theatre this evening.
For some reason it took ages for the machine to hand over the money. I turned to the man behind me: “I think they’re running out of money. It’s taking forever.”
He doubted it. They’d just filled it up. That was when I noticed the HSBC logo on his shirt.
“Ah you work here,” I said as if a light had been turned on. “You must know all about money. Would you like to hear how you can make some more of it. It takes me 30 seconds to tell you?”
“OK,” he said.
So I did.
Well two is better than one for a day’s score.
But no sooner was I home than the chaos factor went to work again. This time in the shape of small brown loaf – or on this occasion a missing small brown loaf. This was what our guests would need when they came to stay in The Studio (as we call the garage we converted to up-market BB).
Volunteering once more, I leapt back on the bike and back to town. This time I thrust my Win a Mini clipboard into my rucksack. The way I saw it: I had ten minutes to do three quick presentations.
But life doesn’t go on rails. The first person I spoke to turned out to be really, really interested. With BT bills of £100 a quarter, that was hardly surprising. So what was I to do? I could hardly tell her I couldn’t tell her any more because I had to go and talk to two other people. ..
So I showed her Which? Magazine. I talked about her calls to Italy and Turkey and her bills from Eon and British Gas. All the while I felt myself hopping up and down like a small boy with somewhere more important to be.
When she started talking about an appointment, it became almost too painful to bear.
This was ridiculous, I told myself. This six-a-day thing is only a device to get appointments. It isn’t set in stone – and if the appointment is there for the making…
So then we spent what seemed like another five minutes with our diaries, going through every day for the next two weeks. What we’ve ended up with is an arrangement to meet at lunchtime in Stowmarket on July 9th and she’s going to bring her bills.
And guess what? When I turned my phone back on after the Theatre, there was this plaintive message from a man called Tom who said I’d sent him a text about making money. He says he’s going to ring me tomorrow.