If at First You Don't Succeed...

Yesterday.

Day 2.

Bastion Square.

The beginning of the season is always slow. Very slow. Terribly slow.

At the end of Day 1 I was really happy, for I greatly exceeded sales expectations, which wasn't all that difficult. My expectations were low. Very low. Terribly low. I could have given away a bracelet and exceeded expectations.

My hopes for yesterday weren't much better.

But then this couple came up to the booth, well tanned, older but not elderly, and obviously still very much in love with each other. I loved talking with them. They were fresh off the tour boat, and live in Arizona. After talking geography for a bit, I learned that his daughter lives in the town in which I grew up, over 3600 km away. That was a nice little connection.

Now, let me back up a moment. In recent weeks the issue of materialism has been rearing its ugly head over and over. You only need to read my article on the business of business to understand that. And with market season beginning, the importance of people over profits is something I have to deal with even more. Just the other day I saw a video in which another artist is "coaching" artists on how to sell their work. She actually says "Don't compliment people on their jewelry." Don't compliment people? She acts as if the sale is the most important thing of all, forgetting that community and people are far more important. We're not Walmart, Shell Oil, IBM, or any other corporado. We don't have to believe the lie that growing the economy is the most important thing. We can understand that people come first. We can act on it. We can make a difference, when we recognize that people come first.

Have I mentioned that? It really is important. Here. Let me say it again.

People come first.

Anyways, back to yesterday.

Mr and Mrs Arizona came by, and we had a delightful little chat.

They were also fascinated with my work.

Of course, they'd seen chain-mail before, but "never anything like this". They would pick up a bracelet, examine the structure and weave, and he would place it on her wrist. She would smile and praise the piece, but I could see in the ever-so-slight wrinkling around the very corners of her eyes that this was not a piece she would wear.

She liked the colour, the weave and everything about it, but it would just sit in a drawer.

"How about this one", he asked, putting a $15 item on her.

"Well...", she began.

"It's not really your style", I offered, relieving her of the conflict of wanting to say 'no', but not risk offending either him or me.

"So how about this one", he said, trying on a $30 bracelet.

"It's nice...", she began.

"But you wouldn't wear it," I said, as I smiled at her, "would you?"

"No, not really. I mean I love it, but I just can't see myself wearing it." She looked as if she wanted to apologize for that, but I assured her that it was ok. I understood. I didn't want to sell a piece that would just sit around. People have their preferences, and that's great.

I told them that I was very happy just having met them, that I wasn't worried about selling anything. I'd make a living this year, I knew that. I trusted it. They shouldn't feel any pressure.

This goes back to that materialism thing, again. People are more important. I often praise their jewelry, or something else that is praiseworthy about them. I try to get to know them a bit, and if I feel that another vendor may have something that they would love, I let them know. "Oh, you seem to like this style of work. Be sure to check out my friend over there." It all works out, and makes them feel that they are more than just a walking wallet.

I made sure she knew that she didn't have to buy anything she wasn't going to wear.

But he really loved her, and this was how he expressed his love. He enjoyed buying her little gifts. I understood that and honoured it, too.

Over and over he offered her various bracelets, rich purples, ruby reds, emerald greens, sapphire blues, all the bright tones. Over and over again she smiled in loving appreciation, and declined each and every offer.

Then it hit me.

I reached over to a pile of stuff I hadn't sorted out yet and got out a necklace made by my friend Francois. It was a simple necklace made in a random assortment of gemstone colours.

"Here", I said, offering it to the man. I realized that he had only been showing her bracelets. I said that I could cut it down to a bracelet, if he wanted, assuring him that I just make lengths and sell them as whatever.

But I knew her. I had watched her reactions. It wasn't the chain-mail she wouldn't wear. It was the bracelets. She had enough bracelets at home already.

And the corners of her eyes lit up.

He saw it, too.

He had found her piece.

He also found a piece that he could buy from me, which was his way of expressing thanks. I knew that was important to him, too, and I acknowledged it.

In some ways, he reminded me of my own Father. That was how he would say "thank you", too.

After they left, I found myself admiring this guy and thinking of him often throughout the rest of the day. Come to think of it, I find myself thinking of him today, too. I admire his tenacity, his determination in finding a way to say "I love you" to his wife, and "thanks" to me. I mean,  I was satisfied with just having met them, but watching this made it more special to me. I just know that they're going to talk about it, too.

Oh, and the cost was far more than that initial bracelet, which I could have talked them into, had I wanted the quick sale. But really, I was far more interested in their happiness. The fact that I ended up with a larger sale is incidental.

Actually, the fact that it was one of Francois' pieces makes it even more special to me. Good job, Francois.

And thanks, Dad, I love you, too.