That is one nice guitar! Do you mind if I give it a whirl?
Not at all mate, fire away!
My friend from work, the Popinjay, pointed me toward his amplifier and a spare lead. A couple of us had popped round to his for some Xbox gaming and beers after work one evening.
He lived alone and it was the first time I had been in his flat. I and Mr T who had accompanied me had tried not to look like awestruck tourists as we entered his lounge.
It was quite the place. Expensively decorated, nothing out of place. It looked almost like a showhome. The television we were gaming on was a 55 inch monster of a thing. We had settled down to play the latest shoot-em-up and it was then I noticed the Jackson guitar on a stand in the corner of the room.
I approached it with awe, I played the guitar myself and had always fancied a Jackson guitar. It was a white flying V style and it made my pantaloons swish with excitement to gaze upon its beauty.
I plugged it in. I noticed that he had the knobs on the amplifier turned to teenage-boy settings. All scooped mids and boosted bass/treble.
I tried not to snigger.
I played a few notes. The guitar sounded amazing. I played some more. The guitar sang to me.
You want me. Take me, I am yours. You need me...
I looked around at the popinjay and Mr T. They were oblivious to the siren song of the guitar.
I felt a pang deep in my belly. Damn. I wanted this guitar but this kind of thing was well out of my normal price range.
How much was this beauty?
I asked.
Oh six hundred odd, I think.
Said the popinjay in a casual way. As if such an amount was a mere trifle and beyond any concern.
Is that all?
I laughed. As if that was nothing to me either.
The night passed and we headed home. I had played the guitar almost as much as I had played the XBox. It was fair to say I had fallen in love with it a little bit.
But what to do?
There was nothing to do. I would just have to accept that she would never be mine.
That is, until
I sat at lunchtime in the cafe nearby work across from the Popinjay. We often had lunch here. The past few days though he had been quite gloomy and today it all seemed too much for him.
You alright mucker?
I asked.
Ach, yeah. I suppose.
He sighed and looked morose as if troubled by otters.
You sure? It helps to talk?
I was horrified to find myself spouting the same sort of bilge that old people do when they are in the queue at the bank.
Well... It's my own fault really.
Go on mucker?
I put on my best listening face. Which bears a striking similarity to my underwater face.
He sighed once more and then the floodgates burst wide open.
He started telling me of his debt situation. How he lived beyond his means and was fantastically and horribly in debt. How it was all getting out of hand and he could barely afford the minimum payments on his credit card. This month had been a particularly bad one for him and he needed to get a hold of 140 pounds to pay his electricity bill.
By the end of it, he was holding his head in his hands. I feared he might start sobbing so gave him a manly thump on the back.
Then an idea came to me.
Hey, why don't you sell some of your stuff. You have loads of things you could sell. I mean. It would get you through a bad patch and give you some breathing space to get your head together and make a plan to get out of this situation?
He looked up, his face wide and innocent like a baby deer.
Really? You think I could sell something? I don't know if I have that long. I have to pay the electric bill in three days.
Sure you can, stick an advert up on eBay or Gumtree for a couple of things. Heck, put that Jackson guitar up for sale, you will sell that in no time?
He looked thoughtful. Then the thoughtful turned cunning before turning greedy. It was like watching a cat metamorphose into a wolf then a toad.
Of course, if I had the cash I would buy that Jackson off you but I would be lucky if I had even the 140 you need for the electricity bill...
He spluttered in indignation.
No offence mate but I would never sell the Jackson for 140. NEVER.
I nodded wisely at his indignation the same way I would nod at a dog that pooped on my carpet before belting it on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper.
Fair enough mate. You are absolutely right not to compromise. I admire that. You might get your electricity cut off but your pride will be intact.
I laughed like we were two gentlemen discussing the downturn in the spice trade.
As we parted back to our respective desks I ground my teeth slightly in frustration. Dammit. I was so close to having gotten my hands on that Jackson guitar for pennies. So close and yet so far.
I vowed to myself not to give up.
The next day I mailed him.
Got any bites yet?
His reply was quick.
No mate, the guitar is up for 450. Its a steal at that price but no bids yet.
I waited a bit before replying.
Well, if you get desperate I managed to round up 140 smackers. It's yours if you want it. Cash in hand. :O)
There was a long pause before he replied.
Thanks mate but I think I made my position perfectly clear.
Hmm, I detected a slight frostiness in his reply.
Oh well. I had one huge advantage in this game of fools. I knew his electricity was going to get cut off in two days if he didn't get his hands on some cash.
The next day I mailed him again.
Yo yo yo! How goes it dudester! You sold that funky geetar?
He responded instantly.
No mate. You know, I was having a think last night and I thought it wasn't fair to ask you to pay what I would ask others to. If you wanted, I could sell it to you after all. Mates rates?
I waited an hour before responding.
Mates rates, oh aye? How much then?
300? That's less than half price.
I waited another hour before responding.
Ooft too steep for me mate, sorry.
The next day was D-Day for him and I knew it. Toward the end of the day, I approached his desk.
He looked up as I approached.
Alright mate.
He muttered morosely, obviously tortured by thoughts of his impending electric-less future.
I stopped a couple of feet from his desk and in a fluid flourish pulled my wallet out which was carelessly stuffed with notes. It accidentally fumbled out of my hand and landed almost at his feet, ten-pound notes spilling out of it.
Oh silly old me, dropping my wallet. Goodness, look at all those notes!! That was the money for your guitar. Oh well, I don't need that now!
Grinning hugely, I picked up my wallet and slowly counted the notes to make sure they were all there. I looked up at the Popinjay. He was transfixed by the notes sliding slowly back into my wallet.
Something broke inside him.
Look, I will sell you the guitar. Do you have 180?
I made a man smelling feet face.
No, No, I don't. In fact, I don't even have 140 anymore. I have 130 because I spent some of it.
I switched to full on reptile face and stared at him.
He stared back, his face flitting between desperation, rage and despair.
Alright then. 130 it is.
He whispered hoarsely.
I counted out the money.
A deal! And think of it this way mate. You said you would never sell it for 140... You were right!
------------------------------------
What about you? Have you ever been as ruthless as a crocodile when closing a deal? Have you ever made it so in your quest for something you need?
Is it all just business?
Tell us your best tales in the comments. I will be there to listen!
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