I had it made when I was 25.
I found I had a knack for sales, and rose to the top of my department. I was one of those guys they didn’t dare promote, because I was too good at selling, but I kept getting raises because management didn’t want me thinking I was getting passed over. Middle management was forced to leave me alone and let me do my job, because I was bringing in so much money. Life was good.
Then, one day, there was a shakeup. No one bothered ME, of course, since I actually served a function for the company… but management slurried and turned over, and suddenly, I had my same boss… but a new crop of supervisors. I ignored them and kept doing my job, selling stuff and making money.
One day, a supervisor decided that I needed to move from my office to a cubicle. I told him to take it up with the boss. Boss told supervisor to stay the hell away from me, leave me alone, let me do my job.
Drove supervisor nuts. An employee I can’t randomly give orders to, just for the purpose of flexing my executive muscle? As the days ground on, my very existence became a thorn in the side of this chump, and he began looking for ways to make me do things. Not major things. Nothing bad, or evil, or even really important. But somehow, if he could not find a way to force me to stop doing my job and acknowledge his authority, somehow, then the universe would surely grind to a halt and Chaos would return to rule!
Over time, this became a major matter with the entire Supervisory Group. Entirely too many sales staff were autonomous, because we actually made money for the company, knew what we were doing, and didn’t violate any rules or policy.
Or, at least, get caught violating any rules or policy.
They finally found a chink in our armor. Plainly, if a good salesman is a good salesman, then with proper application of motivational materials and good management, he can be made a GREAT salesman! And a GREAT salesman can be made into a PHENOMENAL salesman! And a PHENOMENAL salesman can be…
…you get the idea. More and more of my work week began to be devoted to meetings. Long, pointless, stupid meetings in which people who didn’t know anything about salesmanship taught me how to sell things.
Pressure increased. For some reason, if sales did not jump sharply after a “motivational session,” then one’s attitude was suspect. Was there a problem? Why are your sales numbers not increasing?
“My sales numbers are the highest in the department, and have, in fact, set a record.”
“Yes, but why are they not better than they are?” And ghod help you if your numbers actually dipped any, even temporarily. This was indicative of a need on your part for “motivational counseling,” which basically amounted to more and more meetings.
Y’know what? The more time you spend in meetings, the less time you spend selling. The less time you spend selling, the less money you make. The less money you make…
…well, not only was I working partly on commission, but like I said: a dip in your numbers, for any reason, was considered bad trouble. Motivational counseling and salesmanship lectures would be administered.
The company hemmorhaged more money. Steps would have to be taken. We all voted to eliminate the stupid damn meetings.
When the Big Boss Meeting was over… our boss had been kicked upstairs. A new boss had been appointed to oversee the sales department, and he’d been listening to his supervisors.
My job became a nightmare. If I didn’t live up to my old numbers, I was expected to sacrifice some of my numbers from the following week to get up to quota. Meanwhile, there were endless, daily lectures and seminars about how sales could be increased. We found ourselves watching videotapes of ourselves, made without permission, as we dealt with customers, and having our performance dissected by idiot supervisors. “Now, THIS is how you could have NAILED THAT SALE DOWN, son…”
Since our supervisors knew nothing about finesse or salesmanship, they decided that the secret to success was simply to never stop talking, and to frantically hard-sell every customer we dealt with, simply not letting them leave or get a word in edgewise until they gave in. And if they didn’t like this tactic and walked out on us, it was still our fault.
Over eight months, I went from “happy young capitalist” to “frustrated, enraged, nervous young man who feels like he’s being sent out to rob orphans and widows in order to keep his damn job.”
And I realized that the only thing sales had to offer was the money. I was unhappy. I had no sense of accomplishment. Where’s the meaning in talking people out of their money?
So I quit. Went into the mental health business, working in a psychiatric hospital. A friend of mine got me the job, and felt that my interpersonal skills would be useful.
It worked out rather well. It was really very satisfying, feeling like I was helping people, being able to watch people getting better, and feeling like I was part of something big and positive, you know? The money was nowhere near as good, but I was happy.
Over time, things changed. A major HMO bought out my hospital, and immediately began making changes, downsizing, rightsizing, streamlining, and so forth. All of a sudden, quality care went out the window; the bottom line was the money. At one point, I found myself in a seminar on extracting insurance information from patients.
“Pardon me,” I said, “I’m not in financial. I’m direct care, under nursing. What do I have to do with insurance?”
“Any information you can gather and pass on to financial will be helpful,” I was told. “This is how you will gather that information. It is now part of your job.”
After seven years, I quit. The last year in particular, I felt like I was back in sales, all over again, but worse; at least in sales, I’d felt like I was parting competent people from their money, as opposed to mental patients.
I went back to school and got my teaching credentials. I teach high school, now. The money’s okay, the benefits are better, and the kids are much the same as my old patients, except they don’t scream, spit, howl profanity, or throw furniture at me anywhere near as much. Once again, I feel like I’m doing something worthwhile with my life. I’m not miserable for the sake of a paycheck.
Life is too damn short to spend it being miserable for money.
