Red is the color of Passion

A shopkeeper’s mutterings to everyday entrepreneurs

You don’t know me. You may know what I sell but not why I sell it.

I run a small wooden handicrafts business that started in a basement eight fine years ago. I built my first toy under the watchful eyes of my grandfather.

But you don’t know that. You never ask me my story.

You don’t know why my boxes feature tiny birds on handles. Birds are my rebellion, my symbol of freedom. I mostly work with shades of red because red is the color of passion. But you don’t know that. You don’t know anything.

You walk in with your fancy suit and flashy smile and extend a hand that seems more like a cold grasp than a warm shake. You feign interest in my store, maybe look around for five minutes…… maybe not. You don’t notice that I keep my shelves low, so that children can reach my creations, you are busy calculating how much of a profit I make.

You ask me if I get enough customers. Do I want more? Am I blogging, using Twitter handles and Facebook pages? I should really blog you know, my audience is waiting behind glazed computer screens. Really! It is! I should buy your app or subscribe to your digital marketing packages. You make awesome posters too by the way!

But you my friend can’t storytell. You can sell (though now I doubt that too). You don’t sit and have a cuppa with me and talk to me about my life or aspirations. You are busy looking for your next big sale while I am looking for someone who can view my work the way I want to show it to the world.

My handicrafts are not “products” and I don’t want a good “service”. I want someone who knows why I chose red and birds and why my shelves are low.

I want a good storyteller. I want someone with empathy and not the guy with the next big business idea.

I nod my head while you talk and shake it when you start explaining about your product. You smile at me, shake my hand and slowly turn to walk away. I pick up my glass as I watch you exit the door, your eyes busy searching for the next conversion.

I gently sip my cuppa.

You were the tenth guy with a “business idea” who walked in this week and I am not sad to see you go.