Traveling Salesman in Training
I was nearing the end of my college days, so I thought a summer job in my field would make sense. I searched the “Want-Ads” in the local newspaper for anything related to marketing and promotion.
Shortly after mailing my resume, I was invited for an interview. The place had a nice spread of snacks and drinks. I helped myself and took a seat with about a half dozen other candidates for the job. I was the only one of two carrying a portfolio. One by one, we were called into an adjacent office. The weird thing was nobody came back through that door. When it was my turn, I answered question after question and was offered the job on the spot. I accepted, shook hands, and was escorted out a different door that led directly to the parking lot.
I practiced my 45-minute presentation on my girlfriend (future wife). I had an expensive kit of some sort of water purification system that worked magic throughout an entire house. Your car paint shines better after washing it with this filtered water. Your health will improve. Your clothes will last longer. Appliances that use water will last much longer. The benefits were incredible. Hell, how could anyone pass on this opportunity of a lifetime? Even with its lofty price tag, you have to figure it pays for itself soon enough.
I met with the sales team and looked at what they said I could bank in no time. Jeez, screw that last year of college, I’m about to make some serious dough right now!
But first, I had to shadow a top sales guy for an evening of house calls. The potential customers were screened by phone and actually set up an appointment for us to come out and go through our dog-and-pony show. The hard work was already done. We just had to demonstrate the results of this magical product in their homes.
Nobody answered the door at our first stop. We banged and rang a couple of times. Then the old wiry guy showing me the ropes said sometimes people use a different door than the front door, so we moved to the side of the house. As we passed a window along the driveway, my mentor put a finger to his lips and pointed inside. I heard before I saw. We hustled back to the car, giggling.
“We call that an I.B.S.,” he laughed. “We’ll come back later.”
I asked naively what an IBF was, and he answered, “In bed ……..”
Our next stop was a trailer park. That guy answered in a hurry. He was really old and shaken up about something. But my bull-salesman of a mentor didn’t bat an eye and whipped out the sample of the product and unleashed his spiel. About one minute into his delivery, the elderly man burst into a shoulder lunge, sobbing at the kitchen table. We tried to console him, but he got worse. Here, he had lost his wife of 50 years just a few weeks ago. It became clear to me that the old man was accepting of any company and was an easy mark for our telemarketers. Fortunately, my mentor didn’t see an easy mark and managed to find the exit after some soft talking and understanding.
We traveled in relative silence to our next mark.
This time, we got through the entire presentation. This massive midlife gentleman was welcoming, cooperative, and everything you want to have on that side of the door. I could hear the commission ringing up in my head.
“Son, go get the cookies and juice,” the man said to a grade-schooler.
That’s when the massive man stood between us and the door and declared in a preacher-type bellow, “I listened to you, now you listen to me.”
Just then, the boy came into the room with the cookies and juice. If I read his face properly, that boy had the fear of God in his eyes.
And there it was. The man proclaimed Jesus our savior and delivered a full-fledged sermon to his audience of two sinners. I pushed the cookies and juice away and eyed up the glass window I planned to thrust my body through if this crazy S.O.B made a move toward us.
Long story short, no sale. In fact, we didn’t make a sale in the four or five stops we made that night. When I arrived back at my girlfriend’s place, she asked how it went.
I answered her question with a question: “When do we enroll for the fall semester?”
By Frank Rocco Satullo, The OhioTraveler, Your Tour Guide to Fun
