Sold!!

Poverty drove me to take the job.

I had no experience in sales but, I figured anything was better than what I had been doing which was starve.

So after twelve years of trying to make a living as a “male masseuse” – I finally threw in the towel and quit my job at a high end Spa in Napa.

A few weeks later,I found myself one day standing in line at the local coffee bar  trying to swallow my embarrassment of having to pay for my latte in small change. My cheeks burned with shame as I carefully counted out the $4.99 in quarters, dimes, and pennies, making sure not to include a roach, a broken button – that went to some damn article of clothing, a sticky Altoid mint and what suspiciously looked like belly button lint. The look of the woman taking the spare change for my order would have frozen the carrot off of Frosty the Snowman. 

After paying, I slunk off and tried to hide in one of the corners of the Cafe. Assiduously avoiding any stares from any members  of the hipster crowd who had witnessed my gross ordering faux paus.

As I waited,  I happened to glance down at a stack of discarded newspapers lying on a table top.  There in want ads a huge banner proclaimed “SALES CAREER IN SELLING WINE!”

Well, hell I thought this could be a sign from the gods. So I grabbed the paper, tore out the ad and stuffed it into my jeans pocket before any one was wiser.

I then snatched my quadruple shot latte off the counter and without looking back, bolted for my car outside. 

*

Staring at my computer screen, with a list of leads in one hand and a telephone in  my other,  I seriously wondered if I had made the right decision to try my hand at wine sales. So far I hadn’t sold squat in three days and I was starting to feel desperate. 

Meanwhile the winery’s sales floor was buzzing with excitement.  Many of my coworkers were waving orders in the air with whoops of celebration.  

“How are we doing in today’s sales, Biff?” asked Stratton Palmer, a twenty something kid with fade haircut who sat to my right in the next cubicle. 

“Reggie’s team is still ahead by thirty cases, but we’re gaining on them. So keep calling today’s leads. We still have most of the afternoon to catch up and pass ’em,” said Biff Badd, our team manager. 

“We’re gonna annihilate those jokers. Just watch us, dog” said Stratton. 

“Well, show me Strattman. Let’s see if you can make another sale in an hour.”

“I can make three…just watch me.”

“Chad, how’re ya doing with your sales today?” said Biff peering into my cubicle after walking down the line.

“Umm, I got a guy who said he was gonna call me back confirming he wants two,” I said.

“Two cases…that’s great!”

“No not cases, Biff.”

“Pallets?” asked my manager, his voice could barely contain his excitement. 

“Uh, no. Bottles.”

“What?! Bottles? You’re waiting on a sale for just two bottles?”

Abruptly the sales room got very quiet and it felt like everybody was looking at me.

“Yeah,” I said, afer clearing my throat.

“Did you try to bump him to buying at least a whole case?”

“Well, he only wanted to buy one bottle, but I convinced him to try two.”

“I see. Okayyyy. Get back on your phone and see if you can do better,” said Biff walking away.

“Dude, I hope you have a back up plan or somethin’…cause if you don’t sell something soon – Biff is probably gonna fire you today,” whispered Stratton to me through the cubicle partition. 

*

The rest of my day continued to be an exercise in misery.  

The guy who had promised to buy two bottles of Chateau Merde de Cheval dodged my calls and no one on the floor would talk to me. It seemed I had become the winery’s new social pariah.

I called over a hundred numbers but the results never changed. No one was interested in buying wine from a telemarketer.  

But, on my hundred and eleventh call I found someone who finally showed interest. 

The number was listed to a Mrs. Penelope  Topping.

Me: Following the sales scripted pitch:

“Hello, is this Ms. Topping?

“That’s me, who is this?

“My name is Chad and I’m a wine consultant for Vintage Vintages. I’m calling you with a special offer. But, before I do – do you enjoy wine?

“I do,” said Ms. Topping.

“Ms. Topping, what do you prefer – red or white wines?” I asked.

“I like them both! I like them both!” she cried.

“You do?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes, I like them both. What wines are you offering today?”

“Well today we are offering two very special wines in a split case.  There are six bottles of Goats du Roam which is a delicious cabernet. It has notes of plum, slippery elm and blackberry with a wonderful after taste of goat droppings,” I said.

“Mmmmm…sounds yummy.  What is the white?”

I continued to make my epic sales pitch – “Our white selection are six bottles of  chardonnay from Driest Creek which is a small vineyard located in the Mojave desert.  It is chock full of butter and Blu Bonnet margarine. On the palate one can denote mouth watering notes of dried fig, lemon and cactus with a hint of astringency very similar to Listerine mouthwash. “

“Wonderful. Can I get more than one case, Chester?”

“Absolutely.  If you order two cases I can offer you our special today – which is free shipping,” I said.

“I’ll take two cases then.”

I grabbed a pen and order form with trembling hands and got ready to close my first sale.

“Okay, I’ll just need your address and a method of payment. We take all major credit cards.”

Silence.

“Hello? Ms. Topping? I’ll need your address to ship these wines to you.”

“I don’t know where I am.”

“What?” I said stunned. 

“I don’t know where I am. My daughter put me in this nursing home and I don’t where it is,” said Ms. Topping. 

“You have no idea of where you are living?”

“No.”

“Do you have a credit card?”

“No, I don’t have anything like that. Does this mean I can’t get the wine?” said Ms. Topping.

“Uhhh…I’m sorry, Mam. But, I don’t think we can do business without that information.”

“Well, shoot. Thanks alot for nothing then, Charlene,” said Ms. Topping, abruptly hanging up on me.

As if carved in marble, unable to speak, I sat for what seemed to be an eternity at my desk. I was so insensible they probably could have moved my body outside and posed me as a garden statue. Perhaps a bird bath with a scattering of touch-me-nots could have completed the tableau.

I was eventually summoned to my manager’s office.

Biff angrily informed me that he had just received a hysterical phone call from Ms. Topping’s daughter. Seems she wanted me fired for trying to sell wine to her mother who had Alzheimer’s. 

The winery was more than happy to oblige her request. 

Luckily my old job was still available at the Spa and soon I was haunting its hallways. Didn’t work much, but hell at least I had a job.

Ironically no one had noticed my absence while I was gone.