BOO! Closing in on Halloween, there’s lots of scary stuff around. Especially if you’re a Bull.

Lately it seems like I’m getting red flags waved in my face at every turn.

As a small business in a heavily regulated industry in a country struggling with a manufacturing-hostile economy, it’s easy to see red. Add to that the joys of Making a Living in the Visual Arts and it’s not hard to feel under constant siege.

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Last week one of our people passed along an angry email she’d gotten from the head of a teaching program. We’d had to decline his request for free glass.

“I understand that you are strictly ‘business’, we will have to reconsider our alliance,” he wrote. In spite of his teachers having requested Bullseye for their classes, he made it clear that his program “… will be going with another company.”

Strictly business. The sinister, money-driven devil percolating at the heart of Bullseye.

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Number Two in my little List of Irritations is the crabapples who accuse Bullseye of being a hotbed of elitist snobbery with no interest in the beginner or hobby user.

An obvious diss to anyone working out of a QuickFire, Bullseye has clearly lost sight of the noble masses who wouldn’t dream of making whole walls out of glass threads.
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Twelve years ago we responded to a recurring complaint that we’d heard from front line glass users for over a decade: the scarcity of our Tested Compatible glass in the retail market. After a bunch of internal bickering and squabbling - that’s what I love about this place: all the Yes Men got fired decades ago - we made the decision to open a Resource Center and to sell direct.

Why’d they paint the place that Halloween color unless it’s a portal to Hell?
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Leaving the bucolic idyll of North Lands, I’m back in London for one drizzly Turner-esque day, a climactic decompression chamber in which to re-orient myself to the less romantic side of Bullseye, before I fly home to the daily challenges of a small business, its piffling aggravations and less than dreamy realities.

An overcast boat ride between the Tate galleries seemed an appropriately lugubrious place to reflect on a variety of attitudes I find particularly annoying in Bullseye’s marketplace.
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