A MISHAP AT AN AWARD NIGHT......

The day had finally arrived for the Apprentice of the Year convention in Sydney and after a lot of preparations, I started my faithful station wagon for the long drive.

Since my popular boss had great expectations of me, I made sure that the exhibition stand, I had created myself, was safely stored in the back of the car, in proper crush-proof containers, together with all the bits and pieces that link the modular panels together, the clip-on spotlights and my faithful, commercial-quality slide projector.  The slides had been checked carefully and I had this reassuring feeling that nothing could go wrong, if only my speech would go right.

Extension leads, I had been told, would be provided by our Sydney branch and the assurance was given that I need not worry about them.

There was also in my car an enormous plastic tube, with my seven foot fold-up screen resting inside. Well-cushioned with foam and closed at both ends with screw-lids that, too, had foam cushioning for extra protection. This PVC tubing was actually a gutter piping which I obtained from a builders’ supply store and, after much work, I managed to fit slightly larger tube ends, complete with thread and screw-on lids to firmly close them. All this necessitated a lot of sawing of thick plastic and gluing with an unbelievably penetrating plastic solvent. 

I had used my sales promotion equipment many times before and my only apprehension was my speech, which I had memorized word for word in my attempt to avoid bloopers.

There would be waiting for me in Sydney my friend Mel Addams, from a  technical college in Melbourne, who took it upon himself to record the whole event in every detail with his newly acquired video camera.

He kept telling me now for days about this project of his and I had this added assurance that the whole event would be preserved for eternity.

Driving into the vast Sydney Convention Centre, where all the company employees and our honoured guests from all over Australia were staying, I felt the yearning for a good stretch out and a long and relaxing shower. The trip had been approximately ten hours and whilst it is really uplifting to drive through picturesque little towns and impressive scenery, a motel is always welcome as a second home!

Turning into the driveway of the motel and convention centre, I pepped-up a bit noticing my friend Mel Addams standing next to the reception hall, his camera primed and filming my arrival.

‘Hello Peter!’ He shouted enthusiastically. ’You’ve made it. How was your trip?’

‘Great drive, Mel. But somehow, it was a bit too long!’ I returned his smile.  

‘Everybody else is in the bar,’ he pointed with his chin in the direction of a double door, whilst filming my car and the equipment inside.  

‘That’s great Mel. I just want to unload my things and then change clothes and relax. By the way, where is the lecture room?’

Mel, good mate that he is, helped me carry my equipment to a large hall, where a sufficient number of folding chairs had been leant against a wall.

‘Thank you for your help, Mel, I think that’s it. Just one more thing…..where is the power point?’ I was looking around with rising alarm. My sixth sense told me that something was not right.

‘It must be here, surely.’ Mel started to march along the wall, staring attentively at the space above the skirting boards.

‘Nothing, Peter!’ he simply stated, with his usual calm.

There were, however, alarm bells ringing in my head. Whenever I give a lecture, or a demonstration of some sort, there is always a chance of making a fool of myself due to what I term ‘human error’! Totally unforeseen things can happen and leave me red-faced, stammering and with sweat pearling on my forehead. Therefore, it is very important to forestall all this in the first place.

Where was the company’s state manager for NSW? After all, he was the host and had promised me on the phone that he would see to it that nothing went wrong.

‘’Leave everything to me!’ I could still hear his reassuring words.

Luckily, a sales representative from New South Wales, Tom Minter, tried to slink past the door and I managed to stop him and explain my matter with urgency in my voice.

A short time later, Tony Selby, the state manager himself appeared, trying to look as distinguished as our managing director but failing in the voice department.

‘Ah, Peter! Glad you could make it.’ Assuming immediate command of the situation, he added: ‘Well, this is the room! I see that you have already assembled your display stand, your projector and put up your screen – great-looking equipment you have! Did you want anything from me?’

I explained to him my concern.

‘Oh the power point?’ His voice sounded like dealing with a small detail. ‘It is in another room, at the end of this corridor……..’ In his mind the problem was as good as fixed, why, I would only need to plug in there – it’s that simple,’ I could read his thoughts.

‘Tony, I always carry an extension cord with me, but it is not that long! The distance would be over twenty metres.’

‘No worries, Peter, I’ll get my son to bring you an extra long extension cord from home. I’ll give him a phone call now.’ And with a casual gesture he had copied from Declan, he fished out of his pocket his trusted mobile telephone. Apparently, there was an extremely long extension lead at home and, for him, like I said, the problem was as good as solved.

My friend Mel would not leave my side, filming everything for his epic movie. The way I looked for a power point, the way Tony phoned home for the extension lead, the smallest detail was going to be preserved!

‘I want to record everything, Peter, and edit later for a long documentary!’ His enthusiasm was infectious, however, there will be a lot of editing of the video recordings, I thought.

Whilst waiting for the extra long extension lead to be brought, I ambled into the big function room where the actual presentation of the award will be held and had to stop and gasp at the entrance. The sheer number of visitors was astonishing and what’s more, all the important people, captains of the flooring industry, were there. I also noted some well-respected politicians and even the Minister for Youth and Training with his own entourage of followers. Plus, news reporters and press observers from the mainstream press. They all mingled happily, mostly with a glass of drink in one hand, the other one being used for gesticulating, I observed. Obviously, the whole gathering has been going on for quite a while. The room itself, with its chandeliers and gilded plaster pillars, red carpet and the long bar at the back, all brightly lit and showing off their gleaming rows of bottles and dispensers, helped the atmosphere along. Also, the happy looking and eager staff kept floating through this crowd of people with both hands full with trays of delicious finger food which made everybody feel well cared for and at home. The whole hall had an ambience of cosy comfort and well-being.

Mel was standing beside me and, yes again, he was recording this situation. ‘I’ve got everything on tape,’ he kept assuring me with enthusiasm, obviously proud of his camera and feeling kinship with the other members of the press.

‘I am gonna show this film in the technical colleges around Australia as motivation for all our apprentices’, he assured me.

‘Good idea, Mel’, Have you thought of a title for this film?

‘Oh, I shall think of one. A catchy, inspiring opening…..yes, I can see it already…. a great opening would be very important.’

I had to extricate myself from his daydreaming as somebody tugged me on my sleeve. It was a young lad with dishevelled dark hair and pimply face, obviously Tony’s son.

‘The extension lead has arrived. We have already plugged it in down the corridor in the photocopy room.’ Great news, I thought gratefully.

It has always been my method to connect everything and switch it on for a try-out! Only when I had found that everything worked perfectly, would I switch everything off and await, with peace of mind, the time when I had to give my product presentation.

Sipping my cup of strong coffee in a little cafeteria to fortify myself, I heard a distant bell ringing and Tony, the state manager and host, appeared and motioned me that it was now my turn to perform.

Entering the lecture room, I was amazed at the number of people waiting and they all seemed so eager to hear my report on the latest in flooring technology. It is always with some apprehension that I start to speak but once the second and third slide went up on the screen I was alright because the picture actually tells me what to say. I simply pour out my knowledge relevant to the shown slide, however, I’ve learned that every now and then a little humour loosens things up a bit and prevents my presentation become tedious.

The grateful applause at the end of this report rewarded me for my forty-five minutes of sweating it out! When that sweet noise finally subsided, Declan was suddenly at my side, whispering:

‘Well done, Peter!‘ I don’t know how you do it! When I speak for ten minutes I run out of things to say.’ I was grateful for his approval which I considered my real award.

All this was filmed by an eager Mel.

After saying a few words of thanks, Declan invited our guests to the awarding of the apprentices which was being held in the largest room, on a stage.

As this was the end of my contribution to this event, I started to pack-up my equipment and with the help of my colleague, Ken Butterworth, and Tony,  the state manager, everything was carried to my station wagon and stored carefully and securely.

Walking into the great function room, I noticed an atmosphere of excitement. Like I mentioned before, It was filled with important people from our industry, retailers, architects, government departments, politicians, teachers from the technical colleges and, of course, fellow representatives like myself. And everybody was mingling, talking, eating and -  you guessed it - drinking.

And through the masses pushed Mel his faithful camera, filming everything. Despite his enthusiasm Mel began to irritate me the way he would poke his camera into all my activities.

In an adjoining room were the floor laying apprentices. They had been tested with small, practical flooring installations and product-knowledge via written tests. And now, everybody was waiting for the announcement of the Apprentice of the Year!

Sweating profusely and breathing heavily, they sat, drinking their Coca Cola. Now the door opened and, yes, Mel entered the room filming them as they munched their sandwiches and downed their drinks.

In the convention hall, Declan, again, opened the event with cheerful words, praising the event, his company (and thereby indirectly himself) and emphasised the importance of this event for the whole flooring industry and for the participating apprentices.

The Minister for Industry and Commerce was introduced and he, too, stressed the training of apprentices as a noble task more companies should participate in and so on.

He was filmed at close angle by the eager Mel and would be a major part in his feature film. Nodding towards me between his filming, he obviously saw himself as a movie director  at the start of his illustrious career.

Declan, as our managing director and MC, with his beautiful baritone voice and classic theatrical accent, read the names of the apprentices off a list he held elegantly in his hand.

Mel did a close-up of this and had to be waved back by Declan. The first name was called for an Encouragement Award and it was very quiet in the room. All eyes were fixed to the left side of the stage where the first apprentice was expected to appear. Necks were strained, breaths were bated, and Mel tried his best to steady his camera in his exited hands.

And then, something unbelievable happened. Out of seemingly nowhere a sound was heard: ‘Peter, I’ve run out of film!’

The sound rolled through the hall, an outcry of incredulity and helplessness! All eyes were fixed on Mel who was staring at me with wide open eyes, his jaw dropped and his hands, still holding the camera, were hanging down in helplessness.

With his film career in tatters, Mel slunk defeated from the stage, whilst the events took their turn to their successful conclusion.  

On my long trip back to Melbourne I had time to reflect on a past hectic year and wondered what will be in store for me in the coming year. Of one thing I could be sure, there will still be a road to travel!

Peter Frederick

http://www.peterfrederick.org

http://www.life-on-the-road.com  

HEAVY DRINKERS.....

In general, this exhibition went well and all the firms there were very happy with their results. They had met with many of their customers, even with those who were not easily accessible to the representative when visited.

Feeling magnanimous, Declan, my boss, explained to me: ‘We are having a bit of a get-together when this exhibition is over. It gives us time to get to know our customers better. There is a nice pub across the street and I have arranged for a spare room to be  reserved for us. So, you may invite whomever you wish.’ He smiled at me encouragingly and I smiled back – rather forced, because in reality this was a planned booze-up and therefore a torture for a teetotaller like myself!

On such occasions, everybody is friendly enough at the beginning. There are a lot of pleasantries and business matters being discussed which are, of course, is always welcome.

Later, I always noticed that what people said was often  exaggerated or strange. This was followed by more talk that doesn’t make sense to me and I was always in an unreal world where everything was warped. It ended with a situation where I was out of touch with everybody and had nobody I could converse with!

Respected business men, upright members of their  communities, would slide into dirty talk, others told lies or, worse for me, started to tell me how good they were and what they said to a customer, what their customer replied and what they said back.

Do you follow me? Such events were always a kind of purgatory for me. If you are a Catholic you will know what I mean.

And then, as a refinement of this torture, there was always a small group of people that refuse to take their leave. Standing in a circle, beer glass in their hand, they have such a good time slurring their words and guffawing in unison, with no concern for their hard-working hosts who deserve a night’s rest after a long hard day.

Myself, I had to go on a country trip the following day and therefore leave home very early.

It was past midnight when Declan whispered into my ear: ‘They are not leaving Peter - I’ve tried everything!’ He himself was unaffected by all that drinking, or perhaps I should say impervious; standing there, elegant and suave in his Armani suit, a very successful company director, and yet helpless since he did not know these people that well. How do you tell them it is time to go when they are immune to polite hints?

Myself, I felt worn out but elated to hear from him that the end of all this drinking was near.

‘Since they are mostly Ken’s customers, I think we should ask him about the best way to close this er…..meeting. He will know how to handle them!’

With trepidation, I carefully extricated Ken from the centre of the crowd and, when out of hearing and as diplomatically as we could, Declan and I broached the subject of closing the meeting,

‘Is that what you want?’ Ken’s reddish face showed no sentiment, only his eyes bulged a little bit and his shoulders shrugged momentarily.

He spun around and facing the circle of hard-line boozers he shouted the immortal words: ‘Piss- off you bastards, the lot of you! Go on – go home.’

This was greeted by loud and lasting laughter, with some of the lads bent double. But they got their hint and began staggering slowly to the exit.

Whilst I was standing, shocked and transmogrified, at the door, a large beefy retailer from one of Victoria’s backwoods shook my hand warmly, swaying back and forth, and assuring me what a ‘bloody good bloke’ Ken was!

And another one managed to slur: ‘What a great evening…my two floor layers over there are very happy with your company!’ And he pointed a heavy sausage finger in a vague direction across the room. I tried to recognise his two floor layers but could only see one fellow leaning against the wall, pale and trying to steady himself..

Within a few minutes the room was empty, a situation, we could have achieved sooner if Declan and I had confided earlier in Ken’s unique diplomacy!

 Peter Frederick

http://www.peterfrederick.org

http://www.life-on-the-road.com

A BOOK READING EVENT….

Peter Frederick

http://www.peterfrederick.org
http://www.life-on-the-road.com

THE LATEST IN CRIME FIGHTING.

Nigel Osprey sits in front of his television set with a can of beer in his hand, slowly raising it and taking a luxurious sip and a sound escapes his wet lips ‘ah…..this is life!’

He is enjoying the sport on television, holding his favourite brew in his hand as symbol of freedom, whilst stabilising a family size pizza that had just been delivered and now balances precariously on his knees. He notices its steam rising gently and wafting through the air, filling the room with his favourite aroma: ‘food!’

He listens with rapture to his favourite football manager's ranting.

Yes, he reminds himself with glowing eyes: that manager’s a real man, strong, with a thick-set body and a mouth that continually seems to burst forth outrageous statements! And expletives – admittedly beeped out by a sissy programme editor – seem to stream effortlessly from his thick and egotistic lips.

Nigel giggles to himself. He is enjoying these outbursts; they are amusingly insulting and words are being aired that cannot be received over the airwaves because of their earth content – they are too earthy! But one can always lip-read and not missing out, thereby increasing the fun!

Wonderful thoughts are coming to his mind as he takes another strong suck from his beer can: The wife’s gone away, this time for good! The divorce was very disturbing and a real upheaval. She seems to live now with her aunt Gerti in Muckalot in the state of Victoria – wherever the hell that is.

Her dim-witted cousin Winston had come and picked-up all her belongings. He’s taken a lot, piling it high on a truck, but it was great to see the last of her junk!

From now on, he keeps reminding himself, there is no more screaming at him, no more berating, the home is now quiet and peaceful as there is only he and his cat Benny, who is in complete agreement with him.

He glances around and notices that the room now looks sparsely furnished. His wife, ex-wife to be exact, has left him with the bare necessities! But there is a tranquil light filtering through the sheer curtains, making all the dust in the air visible and yet giving the room a tranquil ambience.

‘This is a man’s paradise’, he thinks, nodding to himself. There are his scattered newspapers, with the sports pages open and soon there will be a few magazines lying around the room he would normally not have dared to buy.

‘It‘s great to be free’, he thinks – it is a wonderful feeling, and he becomes aware of an intoxicating rush rippling through his body, making him sigh in bliss.

Suddenly, there are knocks on the door, rather firm and banging with determination and impatience.

‘What on earth…..’ He doesn’t like unforeseen visitors, especially when they are interrupting his favourite television programme.

Before he is able to shout ‘Go away!’ it bangs again, this time with an added touch of impatience and extra annoying! He feels his fury rising.

Opening the door somewhat to avoid further noise, he becomes aware of two men who were obviously detectives, identifiable by their tight fitting suits and felt hats – ‘who wears hats, nowadays?’ he observes. Behind them jostled a fat policeman with a television news team, complete with camera man and sound technician.

The detectives worry him - right from his first glance at them he has this gut feeling that they spell troubles. These two men had faces so leathery and weather beaten and with darting eyes that, when making eye contact, seem to yank out any secrets a person might want to withhold.

They are with a third man, a kind of professor-type, with thick glasses, holding a clipboard folder in his hands.

The news team is getting visibly exited, starting to push their way closer to Nigel. They are of the delicate type, colourfully dressed, ‘very pansy-like’, Nigel observes.

They are holding their various apparatuses as if they were doing the public, and humanity in general, a great favour! ‘But what is this all about?’ his thoughts keep racing through his mind.

Before he could think straight and absorb all this gathering, one of the detectives, with a face like a constipated bulldog and with eyes that were big and bloodshot and darting everywhere, held out a shiny metal plaque.

‘Homicide!’ he rasps, ‘Are you Nigel Osprey?’ He did not wait for a reply – so sure was he of his case.

‘You are under arrest for the murder of a Mrs. Emilia Prattlelot…, your ex wife!’

‘W..w..w.whaaaat?’ Nigel could only gasp incredulously.

‘That’s right!’ You heard!’ This bellow comes out of non-existent lips.

‘Come with me now. Come on, come on…..’ A huge fat hand reaches out to grab him.

‘What are you talking about?’

Nigel instinctively tries to close the door in an attempt to shut out this hostile crowd.

Unfortunately, this Robert Mitchum look-alike has big feet – very big, they reach all the way to the door gap, preventing its closing.

The third man, the one looking like a boffin, but with the same non-descript clothes, had white hair and probably a large bald spot that, too, is covered by the old-fashioned hat. His pronounced features were thick spectacles – very thick. They were so pronounced that they seem to convex out in an attempt to reach him. Two tiny black spots are trying to hypnotise him – they were either his pupils or the dots flies had left on his glasses.

‘We know’, it escaped his stern lips. His Adam’s apple moved up and down his scrawny throat with a collar that was far too big, giving the impression that he is shrinking whilst on duty!

The policeman, was in a uniform that tries to control his excessive weight by compressing it severely. But it only shifted his blubber downwards, manifesting itself in legs like concrete crushers, with rather broad feet.

Now, he too, tried to get into the act: 'Come out, quick!’ escapes his thick lips.

Nigel feels that it is time to say something:

‘Look, I haven’t done anything to anybody – I just wish to be left alone. He forcefully stemmed his weight against the door, jamming that giant’s foot as hard as he could – with no effect.

‘He must have a prosthesis’, he observes as the man’s features betray nothing.

The man with the thick goggles explained: ‘We are from PCU, Predictive Crime-fighting Unit, based at police headquarters……’

‘I don’t give a fig what you are – I haven’t done anything and my meal is getting cold’

(He didn’t shout exactly ‘fig’, but this writer is of good upbringing and would not know how to spell the exact expletive!)

Nigel keeps banging the door against the detective’s shoe - a useless exercise.

‘Hey’, shouts the man with the microphone, ‘can you come out a bit and give us a smile – you will be on the news tonight!’

Amazed, Nigel opened the door and steppes outside. ‘What news? What are you talking about?’

The reporter was quite friendly; ‘Our government has installed a new supercomputer that not only records all the crimes in this state, keeps statistics as to their frequency and type……..’

The scientist took over:’ With all the demographic details, and the time-span, motive and all other relevant personality traits of the perpetrators, we are now able to forecast where a crime will happen, by whom, the reason, et cetera, et cetera’ letting the Latin words dissolve on his tongue.

He looked really exited about this new era of crime fighting. His hand, holding the pen, seem to write something unseen in the air.

‘What rubbish! I ‘aven’t done anything and that’s it. Leave me alone – the lot of you!’

His eyes encompassed everybody and his chin pointed especially at the reporter and his team. Blood is draining from his face and suddenly he feels so alone and helpless.

‘This is a nightmare! How do I get out of this?’ his thoughts keep racing. And there are now signs of perspiration on his forehead.

‘Come with us – come on, come on!’ The hefty detective uttered these words like a busy landlord reminding his patrons of closing time.

‘Just to show you how accurate we are,’ the scientist tries to demonstrate eagerly, ‘You’ve ordered a pizza for dinner, with extra anchovies and mushrooms.’ Staring at his clipboard folder in his hand, he rattled off the words.

Stunned silence prevailed.

‘Well, yes, but…..’

‘Come on, come with us. Don’t give us any troubles.’

The mountain-man began tucking at his arm again - a symbol of his impatience.

‘Leggo of me - I ‘aven’t done anything!’

Nigel’s cry now sounds a bit more desperate.

Staring at his clip board folder, the scientist eagerly continues:

‘You’ve ordered this from an outlet called Pizza Paradise – did you not? Then you fed your cat – didn’t you? Also, you rang your friend Alfredo, inviting him for the evening?’

The last sentence was shouted with disgust.

In the background, the television anchorman started to talk into a microphone, explaining to the unseen viewers this great new technology, with the eager face of an expert and an uneasy stomach because he was not sure what exactly he was talking about.

Standing on a nature strip, he notices that this was not the only thing he was standing on. Don’t people believe in picking up after their dogs?

Now the policeman gets into the act: ‘You have a brother called Arthur who lives in England. And a cousin in Townsville, called Edward, - right? And your car number is ……’ Raising his voice in triumph he finishes:

‘Your ex-wife will arrive any moment now, attempt to take custody of the dog, leaving you with the cat. And then it will happen!’

He nodded at the increasing number of spectators. Justice is being done – everybody can see this!

A new person, female, approaches the crowd. She is somewhat dowdily dressed, with a headscarf and showing an expertly way of pushing and shoving her way into the crowd and through it.

Nearly reaching Nigel, she nods at him.

‘Stop! Where do you thing you are going? And who are you anyway?’ The policeman held up a big hand with sausage fingers.

‘Let me through, I must see Nigel!’

The detective tried to state a fact:

‘So, you are Emilia Prattlelot, the ex-wife?’

The gathered crowd outside the door stiffens; they look at each other, nodding ‘I told you so!’ Then they step back somewhat, aware that they are facing a cataclysmic moment.

‘No, I am Sally the cleaner! I am here to pick up my pay for the house cleaning. She looked at Nigel, holding out a hand: ‘You promised you’ll have the eighty-five dollars for me…..’

Nigel gasped: ’Of course, Sally, eighty five-dollars did you say? No problem! Reaching into his back pocket he produced his wallet and carefully counts out the money into her upheld palm.

Staring at the money piling-up in her hand, she readily gives information to the questions. Yes, she comes regularly and this afternoon is her pay-day.

Great consternation is spreading and the police suddenly look deeply wounded: It is supposed to be the time of murder!

There are frantic phone calls to the police head offices and phones are ringing in reply, back and forth.

‘Thanks, Nigel, see you soon!’ Sally disappears with the same amount of determination she came with, but this time with an added touch of triumph.

For some reason the group of police are looking pale and stunned. The scientist staring into his clipboard folder was suddenly red-faced, the police crowded around him, all attempting to look knowingly.

‘There is no mention of a Sally!’ The geek with the thick glasses seems to have his eyes protruding like on stalks.

‘The wife is not here, but a cleaning woman turns up…..’

First, a murmur goes through the crowd, then a kind of rebellion starts spreading. Mumbling first disappointment, then loud sounds of dissatisfaction about the police in general and the law enforcement in general are beginning to be aired.

The television team hurriedly pack-up their various equipment with downcast expressions whilst their bus driver starts the engine. Now, they have no story to report!

People are walking away, with disgust and in all directions, having been cheated out of a real drama.

The people of the law are still making frantic phone calls to their head offices, especially to their computer department.

‘Goggle-eyes’ stares at his mobile as if he cannot believe what he’s just heard, Fatso tries to crush his phone in his meaty hand and the bulldog’s blood-shot eyes keep staring in disbelief at the scientist’s computer readout.

But after a while they too, withdraw, making their exit with a final glare at Nigel: ‘We will be back,’ their looks seem to say.

Everybody withdraws – the new, crime-predicting, computer has made a mistake!

Leaving only Nigel standing outside his door, alone and scratching his head. Shrugging his shoulders he murmurs: ‘Who the hell is Sally?’

Peter Frederick

http://www.peterfrederick.org

http://www.life-on-the-road.com

NEW BOOK RELEASE

ON THE ROAD AGAIN

…and laughing all the way!

Do you love to laugh? Enjoy a ridiculous situation? If yes, then why not download a sample chapter of my latest book from my website? It is full of hilarious recollections of the funniest encounters of a travelling salesman and interspersed with mellow moments.

Only life itself can create such incredible encounters. Come and join me in my travels through Australia’s beautiful countryside and experience the adventure of being on the road again!

Peter Frederick

http://www.peterfrederick.org

http://www.life-on-the-road.com