Stepping in Paint
I’m having a “stepping in paint” day. We had a decorator in once, and he told a story about how he was having a particularly bad day, with all sorts of stuff going wrong, and how he came down off his ladder in a hurry at one point and stepped straight into his tray of paint. Now that sort of day has become known as a “stepping in paint” day in our house – and today, quite frankly – I’d rather have paint all over my shoes, than be dealing with the messy stuff that’s been raining down on me since I got up.
It started with the alarm – yes, that early. Yes, I’d remembered to set it. Yes, I’d even heard it. Yes, it had actually woken me up. Then I’d lain there, thinking I had a half-hour of duvet time and a dose of Sky News before I actually had to get out of bed. Except, the last time I used the alarm clock, I’d needed a 7am start, not a 6am start, so when I just switched it on last night, without checking the time, that’s what it gave me. It took me a good 10 minutes of staring blankly at that little clock in the corner of the TV screen before I realised. Then all hell broke loose.
You can just imagine, can’t you?
No time for a shower (on a hot summer’s day, I knew I would live to regret that, but it was, I was, too late... too late....); no time for coffee and Weetabix and certainly no time to check the kids’ homework. They’ll survive, just leave, slam the door for good measure, just to show what a bad time you’re having and maybe get some sympathy when you get home. Then a mad, crazy dash – a hopeless lost cause – for the train. It was long-gone of course, which meant my ticket, sensibly purchased weeks in advance to get the best rate, turned into just so much waste paper. That meant another ticket at a breathtakingly stratospheric cost – so high it made my credit card bleed. It would have been a bit pricey for a trip to the moon, and I’m only going to Bristol. So now I’m maxed out on the corporate plastic and it’s only half-way through to the month. Plus I gotta explain to the ‘Finance Director from Hell’ why I needed two tickets to get to Bristol on the same day.
A few minutes then, to get my breath back and gather my thoughts before the next train arrives. My breakfast is a Twix and a Mars Bar from the confectionary booth. It’s not ideal, but chocolate is chocolate. Then the train shows up and I can at least get on my way. It’s crowded and I’d normally be much more courteous, but today isn’t going my way, so I push and shove and grab the last seat, pretending to ignore the two losers who weren’t fast enough. It’s a tight squeeze though, and a stuffy carriage and I’m beginning to wish there’d been time for that shower.
We’re moving, at last, and I reach for my briefcase, sandwiched between my feet. Gotta phone the prospect to apologise ahead of time for being late – it’s going to annoy them, for sure, but there’s not much I can do about that. Much better to call than just show up late, right? But... oh, you guessed it, didn’t you?... It is a “stepping in paint” day after all.... The phone. My mobile. I know exactly where it is – and it’s not in my briefcase. It’s charging-up. On the kitchen worktop. At home.
Guess the word I’m thinking of.
Everything’s in a downward spiral now. I’m going to be late and I can’t warn my prospect. They’ll be irritated and short of time by the time I arrive, so we’ll be getting off on the wrong foot. I’ll be making a hopelessly bad impression, unwashed and crumpled. You’d hardly blame them if they picked the competition after all that, would you?
I gotta do something to salvage things.
These guys want us to handle all their imports and logistics for Europe – container loads from China every other week, cleared, stored and redistributed across, oh, 145 city-centre locations around Europe. It’s a big job. Huge. My boss nearly hyperventilated when he got the call. To be honest, I think he should be here with me, going through the pain. But between you and me, I don’t think he believes we can win it – we’re hardly one of the big boys, after all. I think he wants to maintain a bit of a distance, keep his hands clean for when it all goes belly-up. But I’m new and he doesn’t know me – he doesn’t know I don’t know the meaning of the word ‘lose’. I got off to a bad start today, I know it, but I’m going to use every ounce of hot-to-trot pure-diamond-encrusted sales brilliance I can muster. I’m going to charm the birds from the trees, sell ice to the Eskimos and sand to the Arabs.... And I’m going to dig out those killer-apps that make us unbeatable. I am the steely-eyed missile man!!!
So, to work. I had a quick word the other day with a guy from this customs clearance outfit. Guess what, they’re called Customs Clearance Ltd. None of those fancy arty-farty names for these guys – you know what you get from them. Anyhow, I’d downloaded their brochure, along with a few other bits and pieces from their website and I had the time now to take a proper look at it all. I could tell they’d be able to process my prospect’s customs paperwork a whole lot faster, and fast turnaround gives us an edge. So does the bonded warehousing and break-bulk services they can provide. It means we can punch above our weight without costs running out of control, and that, my friend, is a neat little package of added value.
So the train is pulling in at Bristol Temple Meads now and I’m getting ready to run for it. I’m gonna make it work, you’ll see. And when it comes to it, I won’t be stepping in paint, I’ll be painting the town red...
22nd July 2009
