Out in the big, bad real world not many people really like the idea of selling for a living; few of us that actually do sell relish the cold call.
I remember a piece of advice years ago from a trainer as he schooled us in the said art and urged us to practice that very day; if you don’t feel like making the call then don’t. On that particular day I didn’t, although the irony seemed lost on him.
In truth, we all sell to some degree – maybe consciously, maybe not – and few businesses simply win sales just by wishful thinking.
I was stood in the queue at the post office and, by the time I actually got to the counter, I could have bought a credit card, pension, savings account and a box of Cadbury’s Creme Eggs.
Even the Postie was at it trying to convince me that a quid on the Euro Lottery would change my life. Of course, on the phone its a bit different as most times we haven’t got a clue who we are talking to.
When you pick up the phone you risk arrogance, condescension, indifference and rejection and all at the hands of the unseen dreaded Gatekeeper as she files her claws and chalks off another “block” on the office wall.
“Thou shall not get through my defences!”
Numerous sales books have been written in our attempts to understand, pacify and ultimately conquer the Gatekeeper but then numerous books have been written about baking and my sponge cakes are still concrete in disguise.
So you might consider me a touch deranged to have voluntarily left the comfort of my fantasy early retirement zone with series-linked Homes Under the Hammer and Loose Women to re-enter the gruesome world of sales.
Everybody loves a challenge though and so brave new world here we are again.
There are also parallels with our youthful days as well. Try to remember the first time you set eyes on the love/lust of your life at the school disco, hormones flying all over the place, brain totally scrambled and mouth instantly dry.
Deaf, dumb and mute in a flash – how on Earth would you make a move? Go sell yourself boy! What could you say to entice her? Come on smarty pants…say something…anything…please!
My best effort was asking a girl with a broken arm if she fancied a game of tennis; you see, the brain just seizes up.
The cold call is very similar but instead of trying to woo Young Britney, we in sales have to conquer Grumpy Gladys.
You can only assume she was Britney’s ugly mate many years ago, who’s foot you trod on – boggle-eyed over Britney – ignoring Gladys in your stampede.
You left Gladys with her Diet Coke and double hot-dog, slavering mustard down her bristling chin and vowing revenge in later life on all smart arses.
Of course, not all gatekeepers are fire-breathing dragons so you have to vary your approach accordingly in the world of sales; they call it empathising…which is another term for arse licking.
Take the younger versions who, although they have been in the job a few years, still cannot tell the cleaner from the Managing Director.
As you try your best to be nice and cope with her IQ that clearly is single digits, you know they are glued to their iPhones.
Oblivious to anything other than Simon Cowell’s latest shag and listening to music through their spare ear…the one that is loosely connected to their brain…you soon give up hope of progress here.
At the other end of the scale is your classic nightmare – middle-aged, miserable and menopausal – old Gladys is about to make your life hell.
It’s as if she has a club at the end of the phone and can splatter your head in seconds all over her desk just for having the cheek to interrupt her day.
It’s not me, you convince yourself as you try to stay calm under fire. Just occasionally though, something quite out of the ordinary happens and you actually speak to someone cheerful.
The other day I chanced on a local company new to me, did the usual research and made the call.Honest, this is not rocket science.
In an instant the voice at the end of the line – male this time – struck me as very familiar but the last thing you can say is “do I know you?”
It’s like the old classic “have we met before?” And it generally gets the same response…”No…**** off!”
Maybe I should have guessed from the way the conversation went as I sought out a conversation with the Managing Director, the man in control of the company’s investment plans.
“Can I speak to Gary please?” I asked, knowing that Gary would not know me from the next but hoping my cool manner would mask this.
“Who’s speaking…and if you get that right there’s a bonus mark if you can answer where are you from” said the very familiar voice…surely not?
I ploughed on.
“It’s Steve from Crystal Business Finance” still maintaining my authority as no risk of menopausal rage here and maybe even a kindred spirit.
“Can you tell me what it’s about and for another bonus point why you think Gary would want to talk to you?”
I started to think I had to look at what I was drinking these days. Maybe that survey suggesting two pints of beer a day increased the risk of dementia was bang on the money. Determined, I pressed on for one last try.
“I notice you invest in plant and equipment and would simply like to provide a financing quote if you were in the market this year.”
True not the best pitch but I’m rusty – I was crap was I was “polished” – and by now was rattled by the familiar dulcet tones. Anyway, Countdown was about to start soon.
“We might do but here’s your tie-break question. Get that right and you get a free gallon of ale and a chance at the jackpot question”.
It WAS Mick the Quiz from The Scruffy – I knew it but still how could I risk my rapidly evaporating professionalism with a “…is this Mick the Quiz?” And even though he suspected he also knew me…would he put me through? Not a bloody chance!
“If you buy this raffle ticket I might put you through…or I might not!”
It left me yearning for old Grumpy Gladys and a quick death.
The Accountant Get’s a Scare
My pal Rick is a level headed bloke preferring the even keel of life to any histrionics. After a day crunching numbers he likes the gym and can often be seen extending his loping stride on the treadmill, lost in his thoughts.
Peace was shattered the other day though and I was there to witness it, perched on one of the step machines behind Rick, which was just as well as I had handles to hold onto to stop me falling off in fits.
I saw her first; luminous yellow top, several sizes too small and definitely not gym wear. She was like a cross between a giant penguin and a canary as she waddled into the gym.
Beneath it a gigantic pink bra – not the sports variety – and probably capable of stuffing my entire week’s groceries in.
Fully made up complete with headband she mounted the treadmill next to the becalmed bean-counter, wobbled a bit then pressed “Start”. The belt wheezed into action like the airport carousel with a full load.
I could see he was tempted to look, even break his stride, as she started with short, uncertain steps gradually increasing her pace…thud, thud, thud. How long could she last?
The quicker she went the contest between clothing and body mass intensified; at one stage her arms were pumping so vigorously that the two enormous boobs looked about to eject and fly to all parts like an exploding blancmange.
I lost sight of her as tears of laughter flooded my eyes as Rick focused on the big screen ahead, grateful for MTV for the first time in his life.
Game effort you may claim but not from where I was.
The Forgotten Age of Philanthropy
Anybody who saw the local news clip of a frightened and confused old lady just after she had learnt that her care home would be shutting courtesy of Doncaster Council’s financial ineptitude surely would have wondered why?
As a wealthy and civilised nation can we not treat our elderly in a more dignified fashion?
Similarly, the community in Wakefield that has lost it’s swimming pool with few apparent other counter attractions for the kids was another reflection of these straightened economic times.
By the way, the cost of refurbishing the pool was roughly less than 0.15% of the total cost of the Olympics; once again show me the legacy?
Councils rightly have to make hard decisions because – IMF good news vibes or not – UK plc is still massively in debt and we have yet to even begin to stop adding to this mountain.
It may be a dark, gloomy afternoon as I write this but is it dreamy to suggest that as the mighty start to calculate their annual bonuses – deserved or not – some may be tempted to simply improve the lot of a local community – however distant – and put some of their obscene wealth to better use?
After all, what kind of country do we eventually want to live in?
Smell An Election?
This week’s political spat concerns a bloke most of us have never heard of and one we will most likely never hear of again in a while; Lord Rennard, former Chief Executive of the Liberal Democrats and Deputy PM, Nick Clegg.
Briefly, allegations that the rotund peer “mishandled” a few party workers have been around for ages and, despite the usual attempts at a cover-up, have refused to go away.
Hey-ho as elections loom, Clegg suddenly plays it tough but he does it about as convincingly as Dale Winton taking a lead in a Dirty Harry movie.
The Lib-Dems know they are about to get roasted in the European elections this summer and beyond that in the General election next year.
Clegg’s only hope is everybody else does as bad so that somebody will still need him, always assuming the voters of Sheffield Hallam don’t kick him out next year.
There is another far more odious scandal just breaking in the national press concerning attempts at covering up another Lib Dem serial groper. Again this is a story – largely thanks to Private Eye – that has refused to be buried.
Politics is a dirty game indeed.
The Cowboys Are In Town
The gold rush is back on! Yet another estate agent has opened in my tiny village which is hardly a twee.
Everybody is out to be a millionaire again selling houses.
There is an influx of gel headed, shiny suited, moccasin attired wide-boys smelling of Old Spice all out for a quick buck.
Been here before…?
Rose says
Loving your weekly grumpiness Mr Wilson 🙂 … Makes my everyday life seem soo much brighter !!! …Who Gladys The Staffy? …… She obviously Crufts candidate ???? She adorable !! Never knew you into dogs ?? ………. Makes you more human 🙂 …… Better than your pusseycat stories !!! x