What I kept getting drilled into me was that I should make as many lunch dates as possible. It is the best way to sell, I was told. I thought to myself, why would someone want to go to lunch with someone they just met. It should take a couple of meetings first. Why go to lunch and waste the company’s money if they didn’t have any interest in what I had to say or sell.
But that was the company’s way so that’s what I did. About once a week Sam would accompany me on a sales call to observe my sales techniques. He always had something negative to say and never complimented me on any of my selling points.
On one particular sales call, I had invited the Purchasing Director from a major prestigious department store to lunch at the Oyster Bar of the Plaza Hotel. Sam was to come along. I was trying to sell them a business return advertising envelope to use with their revolving credit invoices.
We met at the restaurant and I introduced Sam to Jack Dobson, my prospective client. When we were seated, Sam proceeded to remove his polyester suit jacket, loosened his tie, opened his shirt collar, tucked his dinner napkin into his open collar, rolled up his sleeves and lit up a cigarette. I was mortified, like I just got caught cheating on a test. Here I was trying to impress a potential client from an elite department store and my sales manager was acting like a slob. Who would want to do business with us?
The waiter came over to take our drink orders and leave us the menus. Before he could get a word out of his mouth; Sam said in a loud voice, “I’ll have a Piña Colada.” I wanted to crawl under the table. My sophisticated guest ordered a glass of white wine and I a wine spritzer. For lunch, I requested a salad and a plain piece of broiled fish. Jack had asked for a salad and grilled shrimp. After Sam finished his second cigarette, he polished off a large appetizer of fried calamari, washed it down with a second Piña Colada, followed by almost half of a loaf of bread with butter.
I was nursing my drink. I am a cheap drunk; one glass of wine and I can sleep all day. When our salads arrived, I used a little oil and vinegar. I don’t remember what Jack had on his salad, but my hero and mentor was asking for more Russian dressing and another loaf of bread, while popping antacid tablets like I eat M & M’s.
When lunch arrived, my fish was done just right. I asked our guest if his dish was alright, as Sam was asking the waiter for a side order of French fries to go along with his fried mixed seafood platter.
All during lunch, Sam ate with a lit cigarette sitting in the ashtray beside him; neither Jack nor I smoked. Twice during lunch the waiter came over to change the ashtray for a clean one.
Dessert was the next disaster. Jack and I ordered coffee while my mentor proceeded to ask for cappuccino and pecan pie á la mode. This guy was a walking time bomb. No wonder he had heart problems.
We finished lunch and I told Jack that I would call him in a few days to follow-up on our discussions. As we walked away from the restaurant, Sam started to critique our lunch date. He said that I should learn to be more relaxed, as a potential client feels uptight if I sit there with my jacket on and shirt buttoned up. I guess he never heard that neatness counts.
When he suggested that we catch a cab back to the office, I said that I had wanted to follow-up on a sales lead and would meet him there later. There was no sales lead. I just didn’t want to be around him; he made my skin crawl.
A week went by and I called Jack Dobson to see if we could meet and continue our discussions. I never got through to him. He wouldn’t take my calls. I didn’t have to ask why.
