Читать книгу It’s Not What You Think and Memoirs of a Fruitcake 2-in-1 Collection - Chris Evans - Страница 30

10 Tectonic plates

9 π

8 Iron filings

7 The binary scale

6 British standard lettering

5 Improper fractions

4 Expansion of brackets

3 Ripple tanks

2 French idioms

1 The angle of reflection is equal to the angle of incidence

The last three years of my education at the comprehensive school hold the most lightness for me from my school days. Having said that, I didn’t learn much, not because the teachers at the comp weren’t as good as those at the grammar school; it was just that the comprehensive syllabus was a year or two behind that of the grammar schools and a lot of what they were doing I’d already been taught. The result of which was a further two years of classroom boredom for me and two years of frustration for my teachers.

For ages I would be the first with my hand up to answer any questions they might ask but after a while they realised I’d learnt it all before and began to ignore me! It was hilarious—I would be there with my hand up and they would say things like, ‘Well, if nobody knows, let me explain.’

When it came to final exam time, I did somehow manage to scrabble out eight lame but just about acceptable O-level grades, as well as a couple of GCSEs, whatever they were.

Bizarrely as it turned out and very much against my better judgement (but when has that ever stopped me?), I actually decided to stay on for the sixth form. Here’s a boy who couldn’t wait to get out of the education system and all of a sudden he wants more. What a strange individual, but of course I had my reasons. They were mainly to do with a gap in the market I had spotted and the only way to capitalise on it was from remaining on the inside.

For most of my years at school I had been bemused by many things, none more than the phenomenon of the school tuck shop. Both my senior schools had such a thing and both were equally hopelessly out of touch with their clientele.

The tuck shop at my comprehensive school was run by members of the PTA—good wives and loyal mothers who had a bit of spare time on their hands and wanted to do something to help the school, absolutely nothing wrong with that. The problem, however, was that they stocked what they thought the kids liked, or what they should like, not what the kids actually did like. I remember there was one item of confectionary that I had never seen in a real sweet shop. It was as if they’d had it specially commissioned by the boring biccie factory.

Where there’s a problem there’s an opportunity (in Chinese the word for both is the same, which explains a lot!) and by this time, via my work at Ralph’s, I had good connections with the local wholesalers. I had recently also become the owner of a motorcycle, so I decided to swing into action and set up an alternative sweet emporium for my fellow students.

From day one I had it nailed. I was supplying all the latest favourites. Unlike the parents I did know what the kids wanted—after all I was still a kid myself: Refresher Chews, Wham Bars, Space Dust, the almighty Fizz Bombs, Jaw-Breakers, Sherbert Dabs, you name it, I had it…and if I didn’t I could guarantee to have it the next day. My USP was that I was also discounting my prices to beat the surrounding shops, as well as of course the good old school tuck shop which was quickly seeing business drop off. As a result I soon saw myself hauled up in front of the headmaster.

It had come to Sir’s attention that I was operating a rival outlet to the official school sweet suppliers and that, as a result, their turnover was suffering, and consequently, so was the school fund—the sole beneficiary of any tuck shop profits.

He went on to explain politely to me that this was not an acceptable practice and that he would very much appreciate it if I ceased to trade forthwith.

‘Damn’, I thought as I hadn’t considered the school fund angle. This was a reasonable point and one that had me temporarily stumped.

I bought myself some thinking time by conveying to him my sympathy as well as trying to enlighten him as to the ticking time bomb that was the death knell of the tuck shop. I explained that the whole situation was a simple case of natural market forces at work and that the school tuck shop was way out of date and now way out of its depth. What I had precipitated was bound to happen sooner or later and was in fact already happening outside the school gates in the local newsagents.

I knew I was treading on thin ice and that he was entirely justified in his initial request for me to close business but I couldn’t resist chancing my arm. I’d hatched a plan. I decided to offer to cut him a deal. I would carry on trading but I would raise my prices so as not to undercut anyone anywhere. I would then donate my new additional profit to the school fund. I also ventured that this may well turn out to be more than the school fund had ever received in the past as I was moving considerably more units than the tuck shop ever had.

Now it was his turn to be stumped: on the face of it my offer, although admittedly audacious, was also entirely plausible.

He paused for a moment before realising that this was a ridiculous conversation and one that he didn’t need to have. I was a pupil and he was the headmaster; this was his turf and I was trying to muscle in on it. He told me to close down immediately.

Ultimately I had no problem with this—how could I? He was completely in the right and he was a nice man.

So the funny kid with the guerrilla sweet stall packed up his belongings, bade his farewells and left town—out of business and out of the education system for ever.