Nobody Asked Me . . . But - Entrepreneur’s tale dampens award aspirations
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Updated: October 15, 2009 11:50 AM
By SHILO ZYLBERGOLD
Driftwood Columnist
People often ask Bill Gates and me what we feel is the secret to our financial success. I wouldn’t want to speak for Gates, or his Microsoft empire, but I can say for sure that my own personal business acumen and savvy dates back to when I was a schoolboy in Grade 5.
It all began quite innocently. On my way home from school one day, I stopped off at my corner convenience store to blow my weekly 25 cents allowance on some gum and candy. Sammy, the proprietor, took me aside and showed me a new item that had just arrived in the store. It was a cellophane wrapped package containing two “Pocket Rockets.”
These small plastic missiles could be armed with a piece of red cap tape behind the metal nose tip. When thrown up in the air, they landed with a resounding explosion.
I was impressed. Each pair of rockets cost only five cents, so I bought three packages, a roll of caps, and my usual supply of Smarties to get me through the next day. It dawned on me that since I was the only kid at school who had moved out of the district, nobody else would have been in Sammy’s store or seen these pocket rockets. I had a plan.
The next morning, I arrived at school early and started showing off my new toy. The other boys crowded around me and watched in awe. They lined up to buy the rockets from me. I sold them for 10 cents each. I was making a 300 per cent profit!
I learned pretty quickly that nothing succeeds like success. Suddenly I became the “big man on campus,” or at least the “big boy in the school yard.” My head was in the clouds and my feet hardly touched the ground. Within a couple of days, I was strutting around with a beautiful babe hanging off each arm (well, maybe they were only nine years old, but I had just turned 10 myself). I even had my own posse watching my back. A trail of Smarties tumbled from my overstuffed pockets, marking my daily movements. If a “Fat City” existed anywhere, I was its mayor.
The dimes kept rolling in as each recess and lunch hour was punctuated with the blasts of exploding rockets. The school resembled a war zone. I soon realized that my opportunity for growth was diminishing as nearly every boy in the school had by now purchased my product. How was I to keep the demand going?
My solution was brilliant, if I say so myself. On a whim, I taped two of my pocket rockets together and was able to get double the blast noise when they hit the ground together. After a couple of demonstrations, the innovation became an instant hit and once again I had the boys lining up to give me their money for a second or third little missile. I had discovered “repeat customers.” If anybody purchased a minimum of three rockets at one time, I offered them tape and a roll of caps at no extra charge. I had discovered “customer service.”
Success was intoxicating. I began making plans to increase my net worth. Perhaps there was a way to diversify or to expand my target market. I toyed with the idea of painting some of my rockets pink so they would attract more of the female sector. I realized that if I wanted to have room for my empire to experience growth, I would have to begin franchising. The future seemed so endless with promise.
As it turned out, the future (and my life as a school yard “weapons dealer”) lasted only about a week. Just as fast as my empire had climbed to its zenith, it suddenly came crashing down around me. One morning, as I arrived at school, I noticed a large swarm of boys waiting for me outside the front door. I assumed they were lining up to buy more pocket rockets. I was wrong.
Apparently my exclusive supply of pocket rockets was a thing of the past. The product had now moved into all the other corner stores in the area. Everyone now knew that they had cost me five cents for a package of two and that I had been flogging them at an exorbitant profit. My former “satisfied customers” had suddenly turned into a “class action” mob. I had just discovered “hostile takeover.”
I tried to explain myself and somehow talk my way out of this predicament. The boys would have none of it. They demanded their money back and they wanted it now. The next thing I knew, I was being held upside down by my ankles and shaken up and down. A mixture of silver dimes and multicoloured Smarties cascaded from my pockets.
Eventually, I was unceremoniously dropped to the ground. The boys picked up the scattered booty and quickly dispersed. My meteoric rise to fame and fortune was officially over. I had come full circle and was now back again on the bottom.
You might be wondering what this has to do with anything. There is a connection. On Oct. 22, Salt Spring will be celebrating its 4th Annual Business Excellence Awards. Among the awards to be presented on this evening are the Business of the Year, Business Ambassador of the Year, Green Business of the Year and Market Vendor of the Year. Nominations have been closed since Oct. 5, but it’s likely that you might have noticed the forms on the counters of some of your favourite shopping locations. You may have even have made some nominations of your own and submitted them.
When the envelopes are opened and the winners announced on Oct. 22, my name will not be among them. I have officially withdrawn from the competition. I apologize to the many of you who probably feel you wasted your ballot on me. There’s no point trying to change my mind.
Nobody asked me, but the way I see things, it’s all a question of fairness. Why should honest, hard-working business entrepreneurs on Salt Spring have to go up against hardened tycoons like me? I know I’m doing the right thing. I’m sure Bill Gates would do the same.
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