Sometimes I feel rather loquacious when I'm a little hungover, such as today. I had some leftover turkey (the Wild kind) from Thanksgiving that I snacked on for Thursday Night Football, and let me tell you.. the 101 proof is no joke.
Anyway, I've been meaning to type this up for all of you gangsters and wannabe gangsters here in sales for awhile to get the conversational juices flowing. I feel like anyone who has been in this profession long enough should have some good war stories. I'm very fucking good at my job and have pretty stellar reputation in my narrow field. I don't have a resume. I haven't applied to a job in 15 years. However, the beginning of my career was a bit like watching a walrus cross a freeway. Just a fucking mess.
This post hopefully helps anyone out there who thinks they've had a tough go of it.
My first real sales job- I got hired to sell steel for a small company. I was going to do anything to get out of waiting tables, so I took the first thing that came around posing as an actual career. The position was Inside Sales, and it sucked (they paid me like $30k and made me work in the factory for awhile too), but after 6 months I had The Itch. I did fine manning the phone/emails, but I wanted to see some customers. I knew I was not an Inside dog. I wanted to run!
My boss was a hardass, but he eventually agreed to let me set up an in-person meeting with a new potential customer. He drilled into me two things: 1) "do not be fucking late" and 2) "you are the company, dress and act like it".
The day before, I laid out my suit like a fuckin 8 year old before the first day of school. I was pumped. I was going to show my boss that I was an eagle that just needed to soar. I had some chicken wings for dinner, to get some fire burning in my belly. The heat drives me.
The meeting was at 9am the next morning, but I rolled my sexy Saturn Vue into the customers parking lot at 8:30 sharp. I was going to nail this. I had my talking points, my goals, and my questions ready. I was looking fly as shit in my cheap suit, and this customer was going to be eating out of my hand in about 1 hour. I leaned over in the drivers seat to look at my hair in the rear-view mirror, and I felt a little fart bubble up. No biggie, I let it pop.
Big mistake. This was going to be a "can't trust a fart" day, I found. Those wings betrayed me. How could they? Didn't they know this was my time?
Panic rushed over me. I felt heat in my face, and my britches. I shit my pants. A hot little bubble of deceit was nestled in my suit pants now, and I had 20 minutes until my meeting. My first fucking meeting of my career, with a big potential client, after I begged my boss and told him I wouldn't fuck it up. And here I am, shitting in the parking lot.
I threw my piece of shit car into Drive and hauled ass to the nearest ANYTHING- I found a McDonalds a block away. I waddle-walked into the restroom, and found a glimmer of hope in that nobody was in the stall. I dropped trow, and to my relief it wasn't a complete disaster. It was (mostly) contained in my boxers, and (mostly) solid. I felt a little pain for the poor kid that would be changing the trash here today, but I carefully stripped off my boxers and trashed them along with The Traitor, and quickly put my suit back on. I exited the bathroom, ran back to the Vue, red-faced, and checked my watch. 8:58. I got this.
I hauled ass back to the building, still smelling a little poopy, but as I screeched back into the parking lot I found an old Axe Body Spray canister in my center console. It gave me everything it had left. Just a little tiddlywink of piddle piss fell out of the nozzle, but it was enough to cut the lingering air of mud that I was sure was nestled in my loins.
Have you ever worn suit pants without undergear? It feels.. perverted?
Anyway, I walked into the building, feathers rustled as hell, around 9:04. The customer didn't come out until 9:30. I didn't get the sale, probably because I still sucked. And I had just shit my pants.
But for some reason, I wanted more. Now here I am.
What about you folks?
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