In case you didn't catch it, part 1 was two weeks ago...read it before you read this weeks post. To catch you up if you did read it, when we last left our hero, he had just knocked on the next door...
The door creaked open to an elderly woman with thin, white hair and glasses thicker than my arm. She quietly asked what I was doing out on such a hot day and invited me inside. Perfect, I thought, this will be an easy one. Once inside a house it usually only took me a few minutes to get the sale made and I could be on my way, but this sale wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought.
“Now, what are you doing out on a day as hot as this?” She asked again as she handed me a drink of water. I started into my pitch, pointing out flaws in home design that made her house susceptible to break-ins and the benefits of our alarm system as she listened intently to what I had to say.
“Now you can use this system to contact the police or ambulance for anything, whether it be a medical emergency or for the police, and they can talk to you anywhere in the house through the speaker we’ll put right here!” I was acting excited as I spoke, getting ready to make my second sale of the day, when she said it sounded good. I pulled out the paperwork and asked her name just in time for her to run back to the kitchen.
I sipped my water as I waited, and she returned from the kitchen with a glass of water in hand. I assumed it was for her, but she handed it to me and asked “Now what are you doing out on a day as hot as this?” I paused as I took the second water glass and took a quick look around…calendars were pegged to the wall from as early as 1998, a large bottle of pills set open on the table…I realized I was in a very grey area when it came to sales. The last thing I wanted was for this old woman to wake up one day and wonder why the hell an alarm went off every time she tried to leave the house. I went through my pitch again to test the waters while getting started on the paperwork. I figured if she was lucid for a few minutes and did want the alarm I had better be prepared.
“So you can talk to cops or whoever through the system…do you want it?” I quickly asked, before the entire conversation was lost in the abyss.
“Sure I do! It sounds great!” She replied, as I silently celebrated as I asked for her information. About halfway thorough the paperwork she got up to go to the kitchen, and I decided I’d better expedite the process if I wanted to make this work. I downed the two waters sitting in front of me just in time for her to hand me a third as she asked “Now, what are you doing out on a day as hot as this?” I began to speed through my pitch only to have her exit once more to the kitchen. I quickly dumped my third into a nearby plant as she exited and waited patiently for my 4th glass of water.
“Now, what are you—“ I cut her short and went straight into it.
“It’s a security alarm, do you want it?” I asked bluntly, to which she surprisingly said yes. We finished the paperwork and I called our main office to schedule the technician to come out and install the alarm before she forgot about it again. I wanted things to go quickly before she walked into the kitchen for more water and took my sale with her. In my haste to get things done so quickly I neglected to realize the dreaded confirmation call…a call between the office and the customer to make sure I had explained everything properly and there was no surprise when the customer was billed $45 a month from now. I cringed as I turned to hand the old woman the phone to see her offering me another glass of water.
“Hello?” She spoke into the receiver as I sipped on what felt like the 10th gallon of water I had drank in that home. I listened inconspicuously to the conversation, only to hear her ask “now what is this for again?” I hung my head in agony over the 45 minutes I had just wasted pushing this sale on this poor old woman, when she responded “well I’ve always wanted one of those! That sounds fabulous!” I looked up in shock as she agreed to all the charges and she handed the phone back to me. I quickly hung up as our installer arrived, and sure enough he was greeted by a glass of cold water and an inquisitive old lady, who wondered “Now, what are you doing out on a day as hot as this?” I quickly informed her she had purchased an alarm system and slipped out the door before any objections could be raised.
I wish the story ended there, me with a sale and an old lady with a direct line to a police and ambulance dispatcher, but her son, who doubled as her caretaker, arrived home moments before the installation was complete. He swore up and down and me, claiming I had taken advantage of an old woman who didn’t know what was going on. To my credit, she actually defended us and didn’t care what she had bought, “I’ve got all the money in the world and these nice boys can take it for all I care.” Unfortunately, seconds after this statement, she handed me a glass of water and asked “Now, what are you doing out on a day as hot as this?”
Thus ended my life as a door-to-door salesman.
Showing posts with label last day. Show all posts
Showing posts with label last day. Show all posts
Friday, April 9, 2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
The Last Day in Hell (a.k.a Kansas City): Part 1
At 51 sales on the summer, my last day knocking doors in Kansas City needed to be amazing. I had initially wanted to hit 55 sales as a personal goal, but I was so burnt out on knocking on doors and being demoralized I was almost ready to settle. Steve (our boss and driver) dropped me off on the street I had started working the night before, and I started knocking. The first home had no answer, and as I walked through the humid Kansas City air towards the second home, I felt like dying.
Before my fist could connect with the oak, the door swung open to a 30-something black woman in a towel. “You look hot and I saw you coming!” She stated in a Kansas City-esk accent. “Why don’t you come in for a bit?” I looked down the street at the plethora of houses just waiting to reject me and I decided to oblige her.
It was a typical Kansas City house…a couch, a few chairs, an enormous big screen television that you have to wonder how someone on welfare can afford…the usual setup. As she motioned towards a chair for me to sit in, she laid on the couch and began asking me about how my day had been and what I was selling. This was also typical of Kansas City—there may be three shooting deaths a day in that town, but people sure were pleasant. I informed her of the alarm company I represented, the heat, the fact it was my last day, and she decided to celebrate. I got a little worried she might strike up the marijuana joint resting on one of her end tables, but instead she picked up the phone and made a call to her landlord.
“I got a friend over here and we need some ice cream and Sobé,” she proclaimed into the phone. “Hurry up, he’s got a job to do.”
Bewildered at the interesting choice of celebratory food, I quizzed her on her relationship with her landlord. He and her had been dating on and off for quite some time, but I got the feeling she took advantage of him to do things like bring her ice cream at 11:30 AM on a Thursday.
We spoke more about the alarm I was selling and she informed me she would love to have one, but couldn’t pay the $99 deposit our company requires. Still in sales mode, I informed her if that was the only problem, I could take care of it, and she decided to buy. I began to think the day might start looking up, but this was no ordinary sale. The law requires that any improvements made on a home be done by the owner, and with the owners consent, and this 30-something black woman in a towel was not the owner…her friend brining us ice cream, however, was.
It took three more phone calls and 45 minuets for the landlord to show up, but sure enough, when he got there he had ice cream, drinks, frozen candy bars, everything you could want on a cold day. Lucky for me, I was also going to get a sale. After fifteen minutes of convincing, I got a signature on the contract from him, which was all I needed. “I really don’t want this alarm thing in here, but I guess I don’t have a choice.” Those were the words we loved to hear…having someone buy something from you that they really don’t want was the mark of an excellent salesman. He exited the cool house back into the humid Kansas City heat, and I worked on finishing my ice cream bar, when suddenly the 30-something black woman in a towel hit me with something else.
“I don’t have any way to pay for this alarm, you know.” I had the ice cream bar half-way down my throat when she mentioned this tidbit and I nearly coughed it back up, but I managed to choke it down and ask for a clarification by what she meant. “I don’t have a credit card or checking account or anything. I just pay cash for this place.” I looked at my now useless contract, bemoaning the fact that I just spent two and a half hours waiting on ice cream in the hopes of a sale. I went to tear the contract in half and leave when she put me in quite the pickle. “I have his credit card though…” she stated. I looked at my contract, looked at the black, 30-something woman in a towel, and then at my watch. It was nearly 2 PM, I only had 7 hours left, and if I wanted to show anything for this day, I had to act.
I sat silent for a few seconds, staring at the signature on the dotted line of the contract, and noticed the small print underneath which read “The signee hereby declares intent to pay all charges associated…” upon seeing those little words I didn't need to read anymore. I had explained how much it cost and he signed the papers, so at this point it was out of my hands. I took the ‘borrowed’ credit card and finalized the sale, feeling justified in my actions. As the installation technician entered the house, the black 30-something woman in a towel thanked me for getting her an alarm system, and I knocked on the next door, which would be my next sale of the day.
More on my last day in Kansas City later.
Before my fist could connect with the oak, the door swung open to a 30-something black woman in a towel. “You look hot and I saw you coming!” She stated in a Kansas City-esk accent. “Why don’t you come in for a bit?” I looked down the street at the plethora of houses just waiting to reject me and I decided to oblige her.
It was a typical Kansas City house…a couch, a few chairs, an enormous big screen television that you have to wonder how someone on welfare can afford…the usual setup. As she motioned towards a chair for me to sit in, she laid on the couch and began asking me about how my day had been and what I was selling. This was also typical of Kansas City—there may be three shooting deaths a day in that town, but people sure were pleasant. I informed her of the alarm company I represented, the heat, the fact it was my last day, and she decided to celebrate. I got a little worried she might strike up the marijuana joint resting on one of her end tables, but instead she picked up the phone and made a call to her landlord.
“I got a friend over here and we need some ice cream and Sobé,” she proclaimed into the phone. “Hurry up, he’s got a job to do.”
Bewildered at the interesting choice of celebratory food, I quizzed her on her relationship with her landlord. He and her had been dating on and off for quite some time, but I got the feeling she took advantage of him to do things like bring her ice cream at 11:30 AM on a Thursday.
We spoke more about the alarm I was selling and she informed me she would love to have one, but couldn’t pay the $99 deposit our company requires. Still in sales mode, I informed her if that was the only problem, I could take care of it, and she decided to buy. I began to think the day might start looking up, but this was no ordinary sale. The law requires that any improvements made on a home be done by the owner, and with the owners consent, and this 30-something black woman in a towel was not the owner…her friend brining us ice cream, however, was.
It took three more phone calls and 45 minuets for the landlord to show up, but sure enough, when he got there he had ice cream, drinks, frozen candy bars, everything you could want on a cold day. Lucky for me, I was also going to get a sale. After fifteen minutes of convincing, I got a signature on the contract from him, which was all I needed. “I really don’t want this alarm thing in here, but I guess I don’t have a choice.” Those were the words we loved to hear…having someone buy something from you that they really don’t want was the mark of an excellent salesman. He exited the cool house back into the humid Kansas City heat, and I worked on finishing my ice cream bar, when suddenly the 30-something black woman in a towel hit me with something else.
“I don’t have any way to pay for this alarm, you know.” I had the ice cream bar half-way down my throat when she mentioned this tidbit and I nearly coughed it back up, but I managed to choke it down and ask for a clarification by what she meant. “I don’t have a credit card or checking account or anything. I just pay cash for this place.” I looked at my now useless contract, bemoaning the fact that I just spent two and a half hours waiting on ice cream in the hopes of a sale. I went to tear the contract in half and leave when she put me in quite the pickle. “I have his credit card though…” she stated. I looked at my contract, looked at the black, 30-something woman in a towel, and then at my watch. It was nearly 2 PM, I only had 7 hours left, and if I wanted to show anything for this day, I had to act.
I sat silent for a few seconds, staring at the signature on the dotted line of the contract, and noticed the small print underneath which read “The signee hereby declares intent to pay all charges associated…” upon seeing those little words I didn't need to read anymore. I had explained how much it cost and he signed the papers, so at this point it was out of my hands. I took the ‘borrowed’ credit card and finalized the sale, feeling justified in my actions. As the installation technician entered the house, the black 30-something woman in a towel thanked me for getting her an alarm system, and I knocked on the next door, which would be my next sale of the day.
More on my last day in Kansas City later.
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