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Vigilante
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I stopped by a UPS store this morning, and interrupted a sales guy that was in there shooting the shit with the UPS retail clerk.
The sales guy was probably 57 years old. Shirt and tie. He was running around town doing cold call sales calls for the printing company he worked for. As the clerk rang me up, the sales guy continued talking with him. The end of the month is next week, and the sales guy assumes he is going to be "waxed" from his job. I put that in quotes, because he used the word four times while I was in there for four minutes.
He has a quota of new business he must prospect and close every month. Residual business and reorders don't count. If he doesn't bring in a certain amount of new business, he doesn't hit his quota, which is tied to a draw against commissions. A few months of your draw exceeding your new sales means you are on the chopping block. He knows where he is at for the month, and knows he is not going to hit the number.
The F*cking guy is 57. What ever choices he made in life (and we all make shitty ones at times) brought him to this point.
The guy has a shitty, terrible job where he is barely making ends meet. And even that is about to come to an end. No idea if he has told his wife yet that he's a week away (6 days away) from losing the pittance they rely on.
The guy was sweating this. Talking with strangers or in front of strangers about it. About getting "waxed" next week. The consternation. The sweat. The fear palpable.
And he's just a number on someone else's white board.
And he's just... a number.
The sales guy was probably 57 years old. Shirt and tie. He was running around town doing cold call sales calls for the printing company he worked for. As the clerk rang me up, the sales guy continued talking with him. The end of the month is next week, and the sales guy assumes he is going to be "waxed" from his job. I put that in quotes, because he used the word four times while I was in there for four minutes.
He has a quota of new business he must prospect and close every month. Residual business and reorders don't count. If he doesn't bring in a certain amount of new business, he doesn't hit his quota, which is tied to a draw against commissions. A few months of your draw exceeding your new sales means you are on the chopping block. He knows where he is at for the month, and knows he is not going to hit the number.
The F*cking guy is 57. What ever choices he made in life (and we all make shitty ones at times) brought him to this point.
The guy has a shitty, terrible job where he is barely making ends meet. And even that is about to come to an end. No idea if he has told his wife yet that he's a week away (6 days away) from losing the pittance they rely on.
The guy was sweating this. Talking with strangers or in front of strangers about it. About getting "waxed" next week. The consternation. The sweat. The fear palpable.
And he's just a number on someone else's white board.
And he's just... a number.
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