The Sales Force

Posted on March 23, 2006 by Jim

You know how it is… on the way to work you stop at your favorite place to pick up a bacon-egg-and-cheese-on-a-hard-roll, a large coffee, the morning paper and a powerball ticket.

It’s your favorite place because it’s nearby (or at least en route), Jimmy knows how to not over cook your egg, and perhaps, most importantly, it’s a place to engage in 3-4 minutes of conversation with a casual acquaintance or two — the score of last night’s game, the weather or something from page one.

Some of the folks waiting in turn are tradesmen… you see their vans and trucks squeezed into the parking lot… painters, HVAC men, electrical guys, GCs, lawn & maintenance crews…

And then there is this guy with shined shoes, pressed slacks, dress shirt open at the collar and a suede jacket, his hair is neat and combed straight back, toothpick peeking out from his lips…

He exchanges his opinion with last night’s game with Jimmy & the plumber while he waits for his egg and double bacon well done to come off the griddle. From the sound of things he must have gone to High School with the plumber… they also share words on the fortune of their old basketball team.

But obviously their roads have diverged (although it is not clear who is at an advantage). The BMW parked outside (albeit of earlier vintage) must belong to Mr. Sharpie.

So who is he? This guy who drives an older BMW?

He’s got to be a salesman of some stripe. And you have just caught him removed from his element.

This is his “locker room” and he is prepping himself to go on to the playing field… to put black below his eyes, to steel himself for the contest ahead… to the challenges of his chosen path… to make the sale.

Look at him closely. He bears the countenance of someone who travels from point “A” to “B”… hoping to surpass last month’s figures, to surpass last year’s figures… each landmark already an improvement. He can’t be at ease (he is working that toothpick to shreds). Yesterday’s success, if it was there, is now a mirage.

Maybe he sells pharmaceuticals, kitchen appliances, fancy stereo equipment, health insurance… maybe even fancy BMWs!

But he is in sales.

And you have just caught a glimpse of him in an unprotected moment away from his brethren… away from the cloistered existence of his calling.

Look at him again… imagine his conversations with his “brethren”… sure it may begin with yesterday’s game. But eventually it reverts to business… comparing sales, talking “shop”, perhaps thinking about the next regional sales meeting when other salesmen (representing their companies) gather to hear boring presentations and eat & drink on the house.

Look at him again adjusting the collar of his shirt.

Each day simply leading to the next… perhaps if he’s lucky, better than the next guy, he can earn a trip to the big national conclave in Las Vegas.

Days of countless figures to meet.

Days of hoping that your figures will at least cover your draw.

Look at his eyes.

Never at rest. Sipping from his coffee… the forced laugh. Stirring his large Colombian Dark Roast beyond its need. More laughter, smaller this time, a cock of the head and then a raised eyebrow… the High School Coach will retire at the end of the year.

Maybe this guy doesn’t want to leave Jimmy’s Deli… doesn’t want to punch the clock yet… doesn’t want to be near his fellow sales associates… the most recent colleague coming from a competing firm, and replacing a departed colleague who has joined another competing firm. Interchangeable parts.

The cup of coffee is stirred yet again… anything to delay the departure, anything to delay the true beginning of the business day. Maybe it’s just the reluctance to simply see the familiar faces of the fellow members of the sales force, its managers, its support staff. And maybe it’s fearing the lack of success.

But his eyes never cease moving from one place to the next… one more look at his coffee… he collects his egg with double bacon well done, picks up a pack of gum… pays his tab, throws a good word to Jimmy and a “see ya next time” to the plumber.

Outside, he glances to the sky. Paces quickly to the BMW… a member of the sales force once again.

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Punch the Sky

Posted on March 18, 2006 by Jim

I love to watch Tiger Woods play golf. I want him to win. I want him to win every time he plays. It’s the way I felt about Arnold Palmer when I was a kid.

I no longer play golf. But when I did, I rarely watched it on TV… it was nigh impossible to follow the flight of the ball & coverage of a tournament was limited to the final 5 or 6 holes.

There is a big difference in watching golf on TV today… in watching Tiger launch a rocket from the tee, as opposed to watching Arnie years ago nail a fairway wood to the green. Thank you technology.

Watching golf is infinitely better today. Better equipment, better angles… easier to follow the ball’s flight path… and coverage begins on the first hole.

I will catch the last day of a Grand Slam tournament… particularly if Tiger is still in the hunt. I’m going to watch Tiger. I’m going to root and twist my body to make that 20 ft birdie putt drop… and if the putt lips the cup, I’ll toss my hat down… and if the putt curls into the cup, I’ll jump up and punch the sky! Yes, I want him to win.

Golf on TV is one thing; but playing it is another matter. And as I say… it’s been years since I had a 7 iron in my hand. But there isn’t a time I watch Tiger pursue a winning trophy that I don’t remember playing golf with my Dad and Paul at Racebrook

To this day I can remember specific shots on specific holes. Each time I recall that perfectly placed drive to right on the 7th hole, I think of Paul and Dad & summers of sun and mixed clouds.

And at the conclusion of the round, regardless of the golfing success of the given day, the Club House and the Grill Room awaited.

I think I was sixteen when I was allowed into the Grill Room at Racebrook… back then it was the Men’s Grill Room. No women… not even on waitstaff.

Go ahead. Drink your beers or your gin ‘n’ tonics, play cards… fart, swear and tell dirty jokes to your heart’s content.

Paul and I were there to eat (although he taught me how to play poker dice). We developed a routine… we would order three cheeseburgers between us, fries (which were potato fries, thick, well done on the outside & tender on the inside)… and then importantly one of two accompanying beverages: a black cow or a razz lime.

Black cows… simple: root beer with vanilla ice cream (I have also heard this referred to as a brown cow… but I think that was made with Coca Cola). At Racebrook the vanilla ice cream had a lush richness that vaulted the black cow to a different level.

Razz limes… also simple: raspberry soda in a tall glass with a generous wedge of fresh lime perched on the rim of the glass. Real simple. Real tasty.

Paul and I had many a black cow and a razz lime. And when we scarfed down our cheeseburgers and ordered a second razz lime we would have recounted a particular shot on a particular hole that gave us joy… a perfectly lofted 9 iron from the rough on the 4th hole that put me 2 ft from the stick. Arnie couldn’t have done better! Hell… Tiger couldn’t have done better! A razz lime never tasted better.

Razz lime… red “kid’s drink”? I don’t think so! The lime elevated it somehow… made it adult… made it better… made it perfect like that 9 iron on the 4th.

So let’s say that Tiger is one up on the final round of the Masters and on the par five 15th he puts his second shot five feet from the cup… I will smile and punch the sky.

But in truth, while I want Tiger to win another Green Jacket, my mind is to other places.

I punch the sky for Dad.

I punch the sky for Paul.

I punch the sky for black cows & razz limes.

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Treasure the Day

Posted on March 15, 2006 by Jim

I bumped into Brad at the Office the other night at my second office, AKA Ash Creek Saloon. I haven’t seen him much since the Yanks took it on the chin in September (or was it October?).

He ordered his usual… Coors Light, and I ordered my usual… some sippin’ whisky from Kentucky (no “e” in whisky please… we have to defer to the Scots who invented the idea).

We got caught up on news a bit and then talked about the upcoming baseball season. With our second round (actually it was his third or fourth), our gripes emerged in full colour.

So imagine it this way…

“I just had a real lousy day. Real bad. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong. Murphy’s Law times ten. Have you had a day like that?”

“Do you want to compare notes? Compare the size of our scars? The amount of blood spilled?”

“That’s a contest that you or I really don’t want to win. There aren’t winners there. And to force a comparison would do a disservice to each of us.”

So there we are… comrades in arms traveling a crossed path, perhaps…

And you are at the end of a gruesome day… peeling off the adhesive tape that kept you together… each part of your body bruised and aching, blood mixed with dried sweat, your hand unable to stop its tremble. And the natural thought is, perhaps, I wish this day didn’t happen… I don’t want to be here now, I wish to be no where tomorrow. Please take me out of this.

I wish this day did not exist.

How many days do you accumulate like this over the course of a life time? And I have come to the conclusion that even one is one too many.

Our days here are already few in number… but a blink of an eye across the expanse of time.

So be careful about wishing to remove a day in your life… about wanting to make a block of time disappear…

For sure there will be a reckoning… and a time to move to the other side of the river. Do you really want to leave days on this side?

No. I don’t think so.

Hurt for the day, sure… but treasure the day, for you will never have another chance to live that day.

Treasure the day.

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Caesar Didn’t Have All the Facts

Posted on March 9, 2006 by Jim

During the rule of Julius Caesar the calendar for Rome and its Empire was reformed. Prior to 45 BCE when the Julian Calendar took effect, the Roman Calendar consisted of 12 months totaling 355 days. To make up the shortfall to the solar year, an intercalary month was inserted on occasion between February and March: a mensis intercalaris.

This played havoc with scheduling sporting events, inviting folks over for supper or planning Bar Mitzvahs.

Caesar put “his people” to rectifying this situation. Calling the top Alexandrine Astronomer of the day, Sosigenes, to the task, a new calendar was designed: a regular year would be 365 days, spread into 12 months, a “leap” year added every four years in February.

But even this was not good enough! It became apparent (to those in the know) that 11 minutes were gained each year against the actual astronomical calculation of how long it took the earth to circle the sun. This meant that every 134 years a day has to be added.

Not good. The Calendar was yet again tweaked in 1582 when Pope Gregory was sitting in Rome… and the Gregorian Calendar was put in place and established our present calendar… it was also determined that the day before Ash Wednesday as the day when women bare their breasts for the cost of a few beads.

But we get ahead of ourselves… baring breasts was not on Caesar’s mind when the first contemporary calendar was put into place; but ruling the Empire was.

When were the “Rites of Spring Orgy”, when do we beat up another civilization, when is the Senate in session? You can see where a good calendar would be necessary.

But consider this… the first day of any month is known as Kalends. So… our “May Day”… the First of May, in Roman times would have been referred to as Kalends of May.

And now it gets more complicated. Depending upon the length of the month, the 5th or 7th day of the month was called Nones. And then it falls that the 15th of March, May, July and October is called Ides (in the other months Ides is on the 13th day).

Talk about confusing! Tough to run a railroad that way!

So it’s 44 BCE… and a sayer of sooths warns Julius Caesar to “Beware of the Ides of March“… and oblivious to this, Caesar goes to the Senate and Brutus does him in. The rest, as they say, is History. Rome is thrown into turmoil and historical “Monday morning quarterbacks” say that Caesar should have taken better care.

History has been unkind. Caesar had a lot on his mind.

The new calendar was only in place for a year… and who the hell can remember whether the Ides falls on the 13th or the 15th (maybe they didn’t have a nursery rhyme like 30 days hast September, etc., etc. to help them).

And what about that strange month, this mensis intercalaris, that was inserted between February and March… maybe that was still in play?

No wonder Caesar paid no heed to the warning. You know… he probably thought, “Ides of March”?? Is that when gladiators and lions report for spring training?

The way I look at it… who the hell really knew what day it was anyway? Some fancy shmancy Astronomer in Alexandria?

And this soothsayer? Where’d he come from? With all the craziness of the calendar and the days of the week, not even a Nostradamus could have predicted Caesar’s fate (this soothsayer guy called a lucky one!).

Sure… Caesar was caught off guard.

But you know what… I’m giving Caesar a pass on this.

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