In “Basketball and Books”, I mentioned an experience that I had while living in Chicago. It was the best and the very best time I have ever spent while being totally pissed off.
Thanks to the nefariousness of Craigslist, I was duped into an unimaginable journey into the boring, dull, awkward, and very depressing world of Direct Marketing. I was pretty much willing to try anything in Chicago. Well, not really, because after this experience, I pretty much decided that I was not going to be living there much longer. But, I gave this opportunity a shot anyway.
I wish you could have seen their ad on TheList. It was convincing enough for me. Everything written in this ad was a total lie. They supplied the potential applicant with a link to their website. ( I was up all night trying to remember the name of this firm. Unfortunately, I cannot remember for the life of me. ) They listed a few of their clients as well: The Kansas City Royals, The Chicago White Sox, and The Chicago Fire ( of Major League Soccer) just to name a few. I was sold. I should have scrolled down though. Then I would have noticed the rest of their clients. To save us some time, just think of the worst establishments possible, including fast-food gnawsheries.
I decided to go ahead and forward them the items they requested (i.e. my resume, cover letter, my pride) and fishily, I received a phone call within a day. An interview was set up, and I was on my way…down(town), which was where the interview was held. I was very skeptical. The secretaries called to confirm my interview 20 minutes before said interview was to take place. I kid you not. What kind of disorganized mess is this? Oh we will just have to wait and see…
The suite was nice. A little too nice. Actually it looked like a converted studio. But I wasn’t there to judge. The two secretaries looked like a couple of strippers/beertub girls/crack whores, whose previous jobs were probably working the customer service counter at Super WalMart. But again, not there to judge. I met with the Marketing Team Manager and he was really intimidating. He spoke in an aggressive manner and kept asking me if I was scared. Not scared of him (which I was), but scared of committing to the industry. I had no idea what working with his company entailed, so of course I replied with a “no…(gulp)…sir.” One of his subordinates (assistants?) went to school with my roommate in Chicago, and played soccer with him at DePaul. I was informed (later on), by my roommate, that this guy had been arrested, on several occasions, for random acts of violence and drug usage/distribution/etc. Uh, NOW, I CAN JUDGE.
I got home, got all spoonay, and waited. I was waiting for a phone call. The Marketing Team Czar said he and his cohorts would discuss all of their respective interviewees and [they] would select the right candidates to call for a second interview. There was no way I wasn’t going to get that call. Right? Well, I did. And the second interview was going to be the worst interview I have never had.
The second interview wasn’t even an interview. Nice try though. (What am I saying, I fell for it.) It was a day in the life of a Direct Marketing rep, a.k.a a day in the life of an aggressive, overly ambitious door-to-door salesman. I agreed to do this, but I still had no idea what was going to happen. I thought we were just going to go from business to business, around the city, visiting current and potential clients. Still not my cup-o-tea, but the idea wasn’t terrible.
I meet the salesman that I am to be shadowing for the day. African-American male, in his late 20’s, lower middle class, from the South side of Chicago (Hyde Park)…this is going to be very interesting. (Oh by the way, this is the individual who played highschool hoops with Stefhon Hannah) We get in his 1996 Toyota Tercel and head straight for “Daaaaaaaa’ Burbs”. What.The.F@@@!
WE’RE HERE….
It is like 9 in the morning and I am god knows where. What we were doing was going door-to-door, trying to convince these scared suburbanites to consider getting random work done on their houses. We were there on behalf of Sears. Given the season, which was fall, it was apparent that the only possible work done on any of these homes, would be the installation of new windows. So Stefh’s boy just went with that. There is a script that should be prepared before you commit to any aspect of sales. And his script was a bunch of garbage. I was jotting down everything that was laughable, just so I could share the stories later. At some points he caught me writing and would ask me, what it was that I was writing down. I had to think quickly, so I just told him that I was taking notes. He tried to peek and I pulled my pad toward my chest, nothing he would ever understand. With accordance to his script, he would first inform the homeowners that he wasn’t there to sell them anything. He would then tell them that he was there on behalf of Sears. You would think that that would settle down the suspicious suburbanite(s)…eh…not so much. He would change the script up sometimes. He would mainly do this when we hit the home of an elder citizen. “Hi, how are you? I’m not here to sell you anything. I am here on behalf of our company. We are going to be in the neighborhood, working on some of your neighbors houses, and we just wanted to let you know that we will be around for a few weeks just in case you feel like you would want some work done on your home. ( he then attempts to hand them a laminated sheet: this part was difficult due to the fact that most of these people were hiding behind their screen doors, brimming with fear. And every house we hit had a screen door.) Our company is Sears…have you ever heard of Sears?” I cannot believe that this line is in his script. How can you ask anyone if they have heard of Sears? Especially a 65-year old woman. One lady responded with, “Yes, I worked there for 12 years ( and she was not smiling when she said this) .” I mean, honestly, it is a pretty offensive query. That is like some hot-shot asking me if I have ever seen Once Bitten or Steel Dawn. That amount of disrespect will definitely get a man’s arse kicked.
For every lead, or person(s) he got to sign up for services, he was to receive $40 dollars. That is how they get paid. No salary whatsoever. But that did not matter to me. I was out as soon as I stepped into our boy’s Tercel. He asked me at least 200 times if I could see myself doing what we were doing. I tried to be as cordial as I could possibly be. My only response was, “it’s not a question of whether I can do this, it’s do I want to do this.” He understood that the job wasn’t for everybody. And I was one of those everybodies. The more houses we went to, the more disrespectful (older) the neighborhood folk were getting. I was growing restless and annoyed not only with him but with his insane amount of confidence in all of this. He just did not care that these people weren’t going to bite. I admired his determination, but I wanted to get the hell out of there…or let’s at least get some eatums. So we did just that. And where did we go?
After we had it our way, it was back to the streets. Oh yeah, I had to pay for my own meal. Which was expected. Anyway, there was no chance I was going to see the sun. It had been cloudy all day, and it was going to remain that way. It was too cold to be doing this. We have hit at least 60 or so houses at this point. And he was only able to muster one lead. I have checked my phone almost 30 times, contemplating a phone call to a close friend or even a cab. I was desperate to get out. And I would have paid for it. But I didn’t know where I was and didn’t want to exert any effort into finding out. I was stuck. But that Burger King was damn good. (Italian Chicken Sandy with a Double Chay-Burger kicker)
The day was almost over. Nighttime was approaching and I was so thankful. I have never been happier. Stefh’s boy wanted to keep working though. It was dark out and he was still knocking on doors. I had to finally come out of my shell and tell him that these people are getting ready for dinner, if they aren’t eating already. Plus, it’s dark out. I wouldn’t answer the door if I were them. He kept telling me just a few more houses, then we will go. A few more houses turned into a few more streets. Come on. At this point, hungry dads who had been working all day were practically slamming the door in his face. Total embarrassment. But my boy finally got one more lead. There was no way he would want to go any further after this, and he didn’t. It was now time. We hiked it in the cold, dark night, back to the Tercel. I was so happy to see that piece of sh*t. Let’s get the frick out of here. Good riddance. Middle-aged families living in “Daaaaaaaaa’ Burbs” of Chicago need to get out more. They are just so scared, which is obviously the reason they live where they have chosen to live. I feel so sorry for them and their unborn children. I could care less about the oldheads. Their days are numbered anyway.
We got back to the city and headed to their headquarters. Everyone was just getting back. It was so sad. They are out this long, 5 days a week, sometimes 6, going door-to-door. I filled out some paperwork, more of a quiz/questionnaire on what I didn’t learn for the day, and I got out of there. My guy was asking me to consider taking the job. I told him I would have to go home and think long and hard about it, although the decision was made before we even left that morning. But I at least owed him that.
I sent the Marketing Team Warlord an email the next day…and it read:
Dear Marketing Team Warlord,
…DENIED
signed: NOT INTERESTED
DA’ END…
