Pete The Market Trader

Ricky the Demonstrator

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.

Boot fair antic’s

To pull in a bit of extra dough lately I have started pulling the occasional Sunday car boot.

Car boots are different to markets: as much room as you like; cheap rent’s; early start but early finish.

They also have a very different type of punter.

So I set my stall up, four twenty foot rows piled up with gear and the first bloke walks between all of the stuff and says:

“How much for the flask?”

I look at him.

“No mate” I said “That’s my flask, it’s got coffee in.”

“Oh”. He said and walked off through my massive stall full of gear.

Second bloke walks up.

“How much for the radio?”

“No mate” I said again. “That’s my radio.  I’m listening to it.  While drinking coffee out of my flask”.

“Oh” he said and also walked off through the stall.

Boot fair customers are a law unto themselves.  I honestly think that if I was standing there with a gold bar and a broken tea cup the first five people would ask “How much is the cup?”

That’s this week’s report from Pete the Market trader, the man in the street or this week, in a field.

Lenny’s Candles

Laurence the towel’s dad Lenny came into a parcel of candles this week.

They were a tidy line in a little glass container and a presentation box but they weren’t selling.

Lenny noticed that all the girls would pick the sample up, smell it, and then put it down again.

So he went to Janine two stalls down and bought a can of haze air freshener.

After dousing the top of the candles with the aroma of lavender they flew out.

He never said they were scented.

It reminded me of another blinding parcel of men’s dress shirts he once had. Packed beautifully in smart boxes with a Perspex front displaying both the collar and the cuffs.

It wasn’t until you opened the box that you realised that they were only the collar and cuffs.

He never actually said they were shirts.

Buyer beware.

That’s this week’s report from Pete the market trader. The man on the street. Literally.

Customer IQ Test

It seems that the longer days are making some of the punters even more dopey.

I honestly believe that some of my customers had their common sense removed at birth.
This is a genuine conversation that happened this week regarding a pair of children’s pyjamas:

“What’s the biggest size you have in these?” asked the lady.

“Eleven to Twelve, love”. I replied.

Apparently unable to understand my clearly cryptic response and in a slightly higher tone she asked again.

“What’s the biggest size you have in these?”

“Eleven to Twelve, love”.

“So eleven to twelve is the biggest size you have?”

“Yes!” I blurted out incredulously.

She paused for a second and then asked:

“Got any for a thirteen-year-old?”

This is what I’m up against.

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

Pulling a Sunday

I worked Western International this Sunday.

It was Optimistic Ken’s fortieth birthday and I said I would cover for him so that he doesn’t have to pay double rent next week and besides Western is quite a good market and I get an extra day out of it.

Just to the left of Ken’s stall is a tea waggon that has wooden A-frame tables outside of it, like the kind that you get in pub gardens.

‘Add a nought Alan’ and ‘the Barbie doll twins’ were sitting down to a full English when Alan was called away to deal with a difficult punter on his stall, leaving the twins both sitting on the same side of the A frame table.

It was at that point that ‘Big Gareth’ wandered over with a cup of tea and started talking to the twins.  Now Gareth is not a little chap and I really don’t know what possessed him but he decided in his infinite wisdom to prop himself on the edge of the bench where the twins were sitting.

I watched from Ken’s stall in what seemed like slow motion as the entire A-frame table ‘up ended’, launching the twins half-eaten fry ups right into their laps.

 

I can honestly say that it’s the funniest thing that I have ever seen.

 

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