I Remember the Alamo
Before things started taking off for me on this job it was pretty rough going.
I figured coming from a building background would be helpful which it was, just not to the extent I thought it would be.
I remembered the days working as a tradesman in the field where the salesman would stop by in his warm vehicle, shiver as he asked you if you were all set, and then get in said warm vehicle and drive off leaving you to the cold. I never resented those guys, but I did think that might be a better gig than the one I had.
What I didn't see coming was the reality check that lumber sales is a job that requires a tremendous amount of knowledge and contacts for it to work out well. It literally takes years to develop these things and you really feel like you have to conquer a lot to gain a little.
As I said earlier, no one wants to see a salesman coming.
I don't want to see a salesman coming!
I recently needed a car and drove onto a lot to look around. I counted five salesmen coming out of nowhere and descending on me like flies – I never got out of the car. I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I hate being "sold" anything.
After a while I learned that sales is about relationships and being of some real service to someone who just happens to buy from you. The money is secondary to the service if it's done right.
But when I first started I had little knowledge, and only a few contacts close enough to warrant calling on. There was a lot of cold calling and an equal amount of rejection.
The Steve Carpenter visits are very rare and the Pinhead encounters far more common.
There was a Mexican restaurant in the town next to the one I was working in called The Alamo and I stopped by for lunch one day. I'm not an alcoholic, of this I'm sure – and I don't drink on the job – anymore. But those were stressful days indeed and the Alamo became my little haven of safety from the cold world of retail sales.
I began to forego the nacho supremes for the more attractive option of getting hammered on margaritas. First time it was one – on bad days maybe two – and on the worst day I downed three of them.
Needless to say I was rendered useless for the rest of the afternoon.
This was a true low point for me. As I write this I realize that it might be risky to divulge this sort of information. What will the world think of me?
Well I could never write a blog like this and not be honest – you would know.
This is after all, a recounting of what it's like to do this sort of thing for a living and to tell you it's been great the whole time would be a downright lie. I've known some outrageously successful people who have drunk themselves silly at lunchtime but I also knew I didn't want to be one of them.
Eventually I realized I couldn't keep up my visits to the Alamo.
My honorary seat and monogrammed remote control for the T.V. were revoked and I sought the more wholesome lunchtime alternative in the deli at Whole Foods Market. Soup, sandwiches, and green tea had replaced nachos and tequila and things were getting better –
The Steve Carpenters, Giggles and her extremely cordial and wealthy friends, even the Hungarians were keeping me busy and I was learning a ton and becoming a more useful salesman. All that and a lot more took place in the span of only three short years and then I felt the call -
It was time to relocate .........to Maine.