Pete The Market Trader

I was up in Leicester this week seeing my old mates Iqubal and Salim. They run a socks and pants cash and carry just off of the Narlborough Road. They are importers and have good gear that you can’t get in London.

We have our own way of talking on the markets. Market inspectors are called toby’s, five hundred quid is a monkey and fifty-pound note is a McGarrett.
I’ve been on the markets for over forty years now and I thought that I had heard them all.

Anyway I was talking with the boys up in Leicester about a certain customer who is a right time waster and Iqubal said:
“You mean she’s a Chisit?”

I put down my Styrofoam cup of coffee and said, “What’s a Chisit?”
“You know” he said “the ones that never buy anything they just walk around the stall picking things up and saying ‘I’m a Chisit, I’m a Chisit’”

Thanks boys, it’s been an education.

That’s this week’s report from Pete the Market Trader. The man on the street. Literally.

The sun is shining and we are all geared up and ready to go, or at least so you might

This guy walks up to the stall and asks: “Got any T Shirts?”

I look around him at a stall filled with nothing but T shirts so I reply:

“My friend, practically all I’ve got is T Shirts.

I’ve got T Shirts with a big horse on
I’ve got T Shirts with a little horse on
I’ve got Round neck t shirts with a little horse on
I’ve got Round neck t shirts without a horse
I’ve got England t shirts
I’ve got Coloured t shirts
and I’ve got plain white t shirts”.

He takes one look at me and says “Got any V neck?”

No I didn’t have any V neck.

Time waster.

That’s this week’s report from Pete the Market Trader. The man on the street. Literally.

v

I am ashamed to say that I lost my temper with a punter this week. Our customers are not always the easiest to deal with but over time I have built up an armour.

Once in a while someone comes out with a line that you haven’t heard before, you do your best to keep it under control and ready a response for the next time it happens.

The last time I lost it was when a guy said: “I could have nicked this but I didn’t so you have to give me it cheaper”. I chased him off of the stall shouting words that my lady customers really shouldn’t hear.

I was on Queens on Thursday when a guy interrupted me serving two ladies demanding money back on some pants he bought.
Now I give money back on everything but not pants since I once got back a three pair pack of mama briefs and one of the garments was decidedly not white.
I explained that I was sorry but I don’t take pants back and I explained why but he was having none of it.
In the end I decided that I wasn’t worth the effort so I gave him his two pound back and told him to go.

Only I didn’t exactly say go.

He told me I couldn’t talk to him like that. I told him that he had got his money back and that I would talk to him exactly how I liked. Then I told him, in not so many words again, to go. Then as he walked off the stall he called me that word that you’re really not supposed to use.

That’s when it started to get ugly. I nearly hit the guy.

Fortunately, I managed to come to my senses in time and defuse the situation. It was the first time I had lost my temper with a customer for two years and now I have to start from scratch.

I suppose that’s why they’re called boxer shorts.

That’s this week’s report from Pete the Market Trader. The man on the street. Literally.

Andy the material and his brother Jack are big time Charlie’s in the material game. They have been trying to get a regular pitch on church street for many years now. It’s a very busy market for material sellers but as a result those that are there already are very protective over their turf. One of the older material sellers just gave up his licence and this gave the brothers their chance.

“What we’ll do” said Jack “Is we’ll go in with big ticket prices. We won’t sell anything to start with but we won’t upset anyone and then when they give us the pitch on a regular basis, then we’ll go cheap”.

Andy and Jack got a pitch opposite some bloke who thought he was all that. He was busy all morning and kept looking over at the boys with a smug expression on his face. In the end Jack couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Right” he said to Andy “Stick fifty pee tickets on everything.

The brothers smashed it.

At the end of the day the inspector came over to the lads and said:

“Sorry boys. I can’t let you on permanently, I’ve had too many complaints”.

“I don’t care”, replied Jack, “It was worth it to see the look on that blokes face”.

That’s this week’s report from Pete the Market Trader. The man on the street. Literally.

Ricky turned up a Finchley this week. He turns up once in a while and then moves on, never wanting to ‘overfish the sea’, or get caught, you decide.
He sells the ‘miracle car wax’. One side of the car bonnet he uses for his demonstration is cleaned with normal car wax the other with ‘miracle car wax’ and you can see how much better the miracle wax is.
He neglects to mention the reason that the side of the bonnet that he puts his wax on looks so good is that it has eight coats of paint on it and it has been triple baked in an industrial kiln. Don’t get me wrong, what he sells is good, just not that good.
There used to be another demonstrator called Goobta who used to sell the ‘miracle cleaner’ at the Elephant and Castle. He would smear a square of carpet with boot polish and then exclaim:
“Oh No! Boot polish on the carpet! What are we going to do! Never fear miracle cleaner…” and he would wipe the polish away like it had never been there.
The polish was poster paint. He used to top the tin up between pitches.
He sold out once and was on the verge of leaving the market when a punter came up desperate for some ‘miracle cleaner’ he said:
“I think I might have a couple left in the lock up”. He found two empty bottles in the back of the van, ran round to the bogs, filled them up with water and fairy liquid and sold the two of them for a tenner.

It’s still a cleaner, of sorts. Buyer beware.

That’s this week’s report form Pete the market trader, the man on the street. Literally.