ag's Story

I been selling all my life. Started back in junior high when I worked for a florist during school vacations and sold Easter lilies or Christmas trees depending on the holiday. When I got out of school I started doing it for real and I been a salesman ever since. Big companies, small companies, water filters, nutritional supplements, solar heating panels, industrial printing, collection services, home study courses, custom T-shirts, airplanes. I done it all.

Meanwhile, I been screwed all along the way. Like I can’t even tell you how many times a manager fucks up and the only way he can keep his job is by getting rid of mine. Or I get stock options in a company where the president embezzles from his own firm, or I build up someone else’s business from scratch and get canned when things get rolling because the guy’s wife has a cousin who needs a job. I’m tired of being fired, I’m tired of being downsized, I’m tired of being over promised and under delivered, I’m tired of being screwed. I’m just plain tired. But I still like to sell and I need the money cause I know how to spend it just as good as I can make it.

So a couple years ago I land this job with a company selling aluminum replacement windows. It’s not the best job I ever had and it’s not the best company I ever worked for and the rest of the salesmen are butt heads, but the potential is there to make some big bucks and a good salesman is never out of work so I say what the hell.

It’s 100% commission, no draw, no advance, no expenses, no nothin’. Just sell and get your money. Real simple. Leads are scarce and I’m the new kid on the block so what can you expect, they give me crap. One night I get an old immigrant couple from somewhere in Slobovia living in a four-room one-story bungalow on the other side of the river. I give up dinner and drive thirty-five miles through a cold driving rain to get there.

Now not to toot my own horn, but I’m a pro and the scene is classic textbook. They are on the couch in the living room and I’ve pulled over a straight backed chair and am facing them from three feet away. My miniature sample window and looseleaf binder with pictures of the home office, Better Business Bureau certificate, and reference letters are on the coffee table facing them, just like they are supposed to be. I give the canned pitch perfectly.

"Ooh, dat's a lot of money", says the old guy when the numbers come up at the end and the room is filled with a loud deafening silence. Mama and papa are holding hands would you believe, staring at me with great big eyes like deer caught in the headlights. I have done my job good, they want the windows, they just can’t afford them. No shit. Who can?

I play the scene just right, savor the moment, furrow my brow and purse my lips. I am searching deeply for a solution to the problem this sweet old couple is experiencing.

"Now just to clarify my thinking", I speak slowly and rub my fingers across my chin as if I have never run into this situation before, "if I can figure out a way to put these windows in your home this week without your having to pay anything at all then we got a deal, right?"

"Sure", says papa and I reach into my case, withdraw the order pad and fill in the pertinent information while I go through the no money down extended payment plan according to the book, according to the law. I turn the pad one hundred and eighty degrees and place it on papa's lap. “So that takes care of the problem, right?” I say, nodding my head up and down as I speak and extending the pen. "Put your name, here"

"Dat's still a lot", says mama squeezing papa's hand and I switch into high gear. This is a closer, a perfect sale. I can even justify it, legit. I mean there’s a miniature windstorm blowing right through their house in the middle of a cold wet upstate New York winter. Why the hell do you think I suggested they sit on the couch instead of at the kitchen table. Because that's where I feel it coming in the most when I did the walk-around. They need these windows and I need their signature. "I don't know", says papa, the pen poised in place. "Fourteen years payments, dat's a long time."

I am not going to lose it. I redo the savings on fuel, the low-low financing, the optional insurance, the comfort, the peace at night and safety from intruders. I lean forward, make eye contact, modulate my voice. I am perfect. By the book. The old man’s hand comes down to the surface of the paper. It is a done deal and I am three seconds away from a $1500 commission.

He makes a single vertical stroke on the page and then stops. "But dat's still so much every month", he says. They are screaming their poverty through every pore of their body. "We are poor and old. What good are fuel savings over the next fourteen years if we have trouble putting food on the table now? We won't live long enough for your windows to make a difference." I can hear them even though they are only shouting it through their eyes.

I breath deeply, reach for a second wind. I have been perfect, absolutely perfect and I AM going to sign them. I am not going to lose this sale, by God, I am NOT going to lose it. "What are you talking about?" I say with an edge to my voice I never heard before. "You don't want your wife to get sick from cold coming in while you're sleeping? Do you? You know it’s cold. She could die. You know what you need. You started to sign, just finish what you started so we can do this for you and make her safe."

I know what happens next, the one who talks first loses and I... will... not... lose. They sit there trembling. The old man looks at me and turns away, stares down at his lap and up again into my face. Our eyes touch and I look down at the pen then back up at his eyes. My eyes say “take it and sign”. “I can't," says papa's eyes, "I can't."

And that’s when I see what I've done. I see their fear of this smooth talking, neatly dressed, well fed representative of the system, with the official looking papers, who walked into their home an hour ago and is trying to walk out taking what little savings, what little income they have, and all for their own good. Yes, their windows are leaking, but they can stuff a towel around the edges and wear sweaters. Who am I kidding? I saw the remnants of their can of dinner when I came in. I know they can’t afford the prime product I am offering. But I want the sale and in order to get it I am scaring them to death.

I am peddling fear. I can keep up the pressure and close them, I know I can, but only by using fear. And then I hear my voice ring in my head, “You vill sign these papers! Und you vill sign them now!! Sig heil!!”

Something goes limp inside me, something I never felt before. Sure, I missed sales, but never when I knew so clearly I could win, and never never because I felt pity. My head is spinning and I mumble something about being sorry it didn't work out and I close up my kit and walk out into the night. I even think I said "God bless you" as I left. On the ride home I wonder where my weekly check will come from. I don't know. I only know it will not be coming from the old couple I just left who needs it more than I do.

The next day I turn in my kit and quit and I haven’t sold anything for years. That’s why I took this job. It’s not selling. It’s taking orders. I figure I’ll get back into it slowly.

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