Who Dat Need Beads?

By David Prange

I just got back from the “Who Dat Nation” (aka New Orleans) as I write this column. I was there to root on the Saints to their first ever Super Bowl victory…oops, I mean to visit very important customers. But that comes later. My American Dream, as many do, started on a barstool.

I had gone to my favorite local watering hole for one of their delicious Bloody Marys and to reserve a stool for the big game. It was 10:45am. I settled in with my drink and the local papers, just killing time and enjoying the local flavor. Then I realized the game didn’t start for another six hours! What was I going to do all that time?

Just then I saw an ad for wholesale beads; the warehouse advertised hours of 24/7/365. I decided it would be good to get some of the local currency and some souvenirs for my kids, so I hailed a cab. With all the Mardi Gras parade routes and Super Bowl traffic, it was a mess, but I made it there by 12:30. I started to shop.

Man, I had no idea there were so many types. I had about 12 dozen assorted beads for every occasion when my representative suggested that I should take a few New Orleans Saints beads too, since it was such a special day. That was when it hit me, my American Dream of February 7, 2010. I would start selling these Saints beads, five varieties to choose from, on Bourbon Street! Easy money, cover my overhead and have some good ol’ retail sales fun. Some business plan.

I added a few dozen of each to my order. Happily paying the cashier, I hoisted the box of beads onto my shoulder and left the store. Uh oh! No cabs, no problem, I will just walk to the French Quarter and start counting the money! But who knew plastic beads could be so heavy? Twenty-five minutes and two angry shoulders later, I set up shop in the middle of Bourbon Street; “shop” meaning a place for my 50-pound box. I merchandised as best I could, one arm for $5 beads, one arm for $10 beads and the rest around my neck. Now I just needed a marketing campaign. I smiled and shouted a variety of come-ons until the people started to come up. I stayed firm on my prices to test my menu and the marketplace.

My inventory was depleted in under 30 minutes! Three-and-a-half hours to kick-off and I have empty shelves. Blinded by the sales frenzy and greed, I revised my plans. (I love America, and I love these fans.) I decided to make a run to the warehouse. Taxis were giving up, so I commandeered a horse and carriage for the round trip. While in route I did a quick accounting job and found I had a gross profit of $100, my gift inventory was completely paid for and my only expenses were transportation charges of $50. If I had bought the right mix at the beginning, I would be rolling in the clover. This time I had market research and actual sales for me to get the maximum profits out of my inventory. I doubled my previous purchase and wondered how I would spend my hard-earned money.

Returning to the scene of my previous success, I opened up shop. I sensed a change in the market — they seemed drunker and in a hurry to get to their spots for the game. Same location, same items, same prices, same great sales staff, but the customers had changed. It was harder to get them to pay attention and even harder to get them to part with their money. Then a variable was thrown in — a man-statue painted in gold was looking me in the eye and screaming at me! He inquired as to my itinerant merchant permit, he threatened to call the cops and that I would surely be sent to a New Orleans jail for trying to rob him and his spray painted friends of the passersby’s money. I hadn’t figured legal bills into the equation; I grabbed my inventory and ran for two blocks.

I needed a local partner; I swapped space for some beads with a friendly doorway barmaid and continued my dream. I scraped by and sold a few dozen more, but the sales didn’t come easy. I thought discounting might help; it didn’t, and I just sold less for less money.

In the end, I lugged home 50 pounds of unsold beads and shared my American Dream with my family. My kids said I lost money, my wife said other things and I said they were both wrong — I just have excess inventory.

It reminded me of our industry; 25 years ago you could throw down your box almost anywhere and make money. Now it takes stronger planning and execution because the market has changed. But what about my inventory?

Hmmm. So, while supplies last, get yourself a free memento of the big game. Tell me about your American Dream, and I will send you some great beads!

See you at iFLEX presented by AOCA next month, and as they say in the Big Easy, “Laissez les bon temps rouler!”

DAVID PRANGE is with ITW/QMI, suppliers of Full Throttle and Heartland products to the fast lube industry. He is available for training on a wide variety of topics and can be reached at 800.378.7891 or: daveprange@aol.com