You could sit in a conference room and talk for years to a bunch of people; train them like mad, get them to understand the quirky business of being a salesperson. But, none of it would equal a day in the field; meeting real customers, being asked to get out, and all that. TPYP had a tradition of sending greenhorns to the field along with an experienced salesperson for two days. The greenhorn is supposed to watch and learn as the experienced salesperson, the mentor, interacted with customers. But no one wants to carry a greenhorn around. So, the mentor would take you for two customer calls, take you to a roadside teashop, and ask you to go home and rendezvous in the evening in a predetermined location. And, the mentor would leave you and go home to sleep, leaving you clueless and jittery. I don�t remember who took me on my field trip, but he did not bunk work that day. He made call after call with a vengeance. He spoke to me about making a call, closing, asking for the check etc. So, after two days of field training, I was all set to take on the field on my own. I was given pin codes 10, 29, 30 and 31 to cover (Kilpauk, Aminjikarai, Shenoy Nagar, and Chetput). I was told that I had to generate sales only from these areas; and that if I booked ads from other areas, it would amount to �poaching�, which was punishable by death.
CS, my territory manager (TM) gave me a DMR (Direct Mailer Response). �Go, get an NB1 (1cm classified box ad) from him.� He said. �Wow! That is so simple!�, I thought, tucked the DMR in my kit-a sexy leather bag-and ran down the steps, all six floors of the Kannamai building, and stood gasping in front of my bike (KB-100, courtesy my brother Sriram). I lit a smoke and let the smoke scream through my nostrils. I watched all the guys leave for the field. I was not sure if this was going to work. All my dreams of becoming a copywriter were on the back-burner. I had no clue how I would fare as a salesman. All right, I had some part time sales experience, but this was different. Selling a concept like ad space was right at the top of the tough jobs list. Someone told me that a salesman�s job is the second toughest; the first was that of the fighter pilot. I did a big favor to Indian advertising by not cracking a copywriter�s job; I was horrible with my grammar (still am I guess) and my pronunciation was the butt of too many jokes. I mixed up my Vs and Ws, and firmly believed that pronouncing �have� as �Haaff� was very American.
I had twenty bucks on me, enough in 1995, to see you through the day. I kicked my KB-100 to life, and rolled into what I believed was murky waters. I did not even have a driver�s license, nor did I have any registration papers for the bike. I was sure that the traffic cops would arrest me, hang me upside down in a dingy, dark cell, and beat the shit out of me with lathis and those heavy leather belts.
I walked into my first client�s office with the confidence of an earthworm in a birdcage. The client was a printer, on Medavakkam Tank road. His office was tucked away in a small lane that was within a maze of lanes; I spent half an hour hovering around his office before I realized it was right there. I hesitated at the door. Deep inside, I reconnected with god, as we always do when we are uncertain and scared, and asked god to be nice to me. So I walk up to this gentleman sitting behind a desk and sifting through a pile of papers. He tilted his head up, revealing his huge forehead. His small eyes burnt a hole through me. �Yes?� he said, stretching the word as far as he could.
�I um am coming from Tata�� I started.
�Not interested.� He waved me away with his pen. I stood there rooted to the ground, not sure, if I had heard the right thing. My mind raced like a dog chasing its tail.
�I�d appreciate if you could spare a few minutes of your valuable�� I restarted.
�Saar, don�t you understand English? Not interested means not interested.�
I wanted to cry and scream �unfair�. I bit my lip. This guy sent a mailer to us ticking the �I want to advertise� check-box and now he does not even give me an audience. I was not cold calling on him. I was here because he responded to that god damned DMR. He looked up again, shrugged, and dove back into his papers. There I was, wannabe-copywriter, dude-with-the-attitude, outgoing, go-getter; crumbling to pieces at my very first sales call. I was a bloody chicken. I should have taken a crack at the banking clerk exams or the Railway Recruitment Board exams. I decided there to quit my job. I wanted to go home straight. I would never return to TDL. But, I could not handle the misery of this failure. One more shot, let us try something different, I told myself and moved close to his desk.
I placed the mailer-response card on his desk and very humbly asked him, �Sir, did you send this?� He was startled I guess. He picked up the card and held it at a distance like it was a snake, and peered at it, locking his thick eyebrows into an almighty frown. �Yes, I did� but I don�t know what the mailer meant. I mean I thought it was something free.� He said. I looked at him for a moment evaluating the situation, and said, �It is free. You need to fill up a form. It�ll only take a couple of minutes.� Not all information in a directory is paid for; and a directory is only good if it is comprehensive. So, it was normal practice to include all unpaid businesses for free.
He weighed my offer for a fleeting moment and said, �Ok, sit.�
I told him I was from TPYP and did not have to educate him about Yellow Pages; he was an advertiser with our arch rival M&N. He said that he was not too sure how effective TPYP would be. �M&N is official saar. You could be Tata, but you are not the government no? Ha ha ha!� he said gleefully.
I pulled out a free listing card and asked him to fill it up. He scrawled away.
He gave the card back and I said, �Thank you sir but don�t you want to see how your listing would appear in the book?� He nodded �yes�.
I pulled out the Bombay directory (we were selling for the first directory of Chennai) and showed him the Printers-Offset category. The free listing was deliberately made to look insignificant and dull. Among a hundred free listings, a paid ad would stand out. Even an entry-level bold listing was 1000 times brighter than the free listing. After five minutes of checking out the directory, he said, �How much is that small listing? That bold one?� He asked. My legs became weak. I said, �1000 rupees sir.�
�Hmmm, that box?� he said. So, I ran him through various products. There was this vacuum between us. He was rethinking. I mustered enough courage and said, �it is funny sir, but we need free listings. I mean, we need to make the ads look prominent. In your own way, you are helping us. Free listers make us comprehensive and make the advertisers happy. Thank you.� He stared at me for a complete minute and smiled. �I�ll take that bold listing. For you. You are a smart salesman. How long you have been with Tata?� He said. �This is my first day sir.� I said. That created some kind of sympathy I guess. My mind said, �take what you get and run from here.� But I wanted to push him.
�Sir, a bold listing is better than a free listing, but a classified box has 30% more pull.�
Finally, after some haggling he said OK for an NB1. I pulled out my contract book and started filling up details using his business card. Every TPYP sales person is given half a days of training on filling the complex contract. I pushed the contract book across and said, �Your signature sir.� and while he was signing, I said, �Cash or check sir?� He did not even look up when he said, �Check.� I pounced on it and hit him with �May I have the check details sir?� He pulled out a checkbook and read the check number to me. I was on the verge of crying. My legs were shaking. He stuck the check at my face and I snatched it and tucked it in my contract book. I gave him his copy of the contract, thanked him and walked out of his office. I stepped out and took a deep breath. �I am a go-getter.� I said to myself and lit a smoke. I could have pushed him for a display ad; I could have pitched him for another ad for his computer stationery business; I could have, but I did not. The euphoria of getting a check on the first call of the first day of your first job blinded me I guess. I was not complaining. But that first call had a valuable lesson for me: people love free lunches.
Write to me: suman 'at' sumankumar 'dot' com
Labels: stories
Add to:del.icio.us|
Digg|
Reddit|
StumbleUpon|
Technorati
(Image courtesy: DK's newsletters)
