Wright Selling Your Confidence

1. Auflage 2023
ISBN: 978-1-957651-34-7
Verlag: Indie Books International
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 115 Seiten

Many entrepreneurs are loathe to identify themselves as salespeople. It is a term that is often considered sleazy or aggressive. But let's face it, we're all selling something. Whatever the product or service you're sharing, you need to be viewed as capable and knowledgeable. You can be genuinely excited about the work you've chosen and become a skilled expert who loves what they're selling. Author Jean Wright wants women to know they have the potential to excel in the world of sales. She shares lessons from her four decades of selling experience with corporations, nonprofits, and media companies. You'll gain the confidence to proudly build successful sales relationships and make the close.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Wright, Jean

Leseproben

3 LEARNING TO “WALK THE LINE”: RED FLAGS AND ME TOO My sales experiences started with me feeling “I’m Thumbody” special, but once I decided to pursue a sales career, I quickly learned that the joy of selling is just one part of the career journey. With every new job, there is a learning curve. Each new opportunity means we need to figure out how to navigate the culture and new rules of our office and company. It’s important not to make mistakes and recover as quickly as we can when we inevitably do cross a line invisible to a newbie. And what about those learning experiences that we remember forever because they were serious red flags we should not have ignored? Over the years I’ve learned how to walk the line between professional and personal behavior. I was lucky in my early career days to have sidestepped minefields that could have landed me in trouble. Sometimes experiencing uncomfortable circumstances will teach you what to look out for in the future. Remember, once you recover, these red-flag encounters make great stories. RED FLAG #1 Beware of a business owner who is looking for the “nice Catholic girls” (or some other nonprofessional, sexist, or odd category) to work for their business. Always ask to see the actual product you are selling and make sure it is real. I was looking for part-time employment in high school when a classmate told me about her job as a telemarketer for a real estate newspaper. Her boss wanted to hire more high school girls, just like her, to work for him after school and on weekends. Previously, I had worked as a prep cook at the Murphy Mart and disliked the work. I could never seem to please the lady manager who had a seriously bad attitude. Anyway, making Jell-O salads and frying breaded fish shapes were not skills I needed for a college application. I thought nothing could be worse than that. So, I applied to become a “telephone solicitor,” as they called it, and got the office phone job. I never aspired to be a telemarketer. Even back then, people outside the business thought of the work as annoying, persistent calls, always asking for money at ungodly times of the day. But it was sales and, like selling the cookies, I thought I might actually enjoy it. What I didn’t know was the difference between a legitimate business and a shady setup. We worked in an office in a mall complex, so it had a real address—legit, right? The setup was professional enough, too, desks with phones arranged like a classroom in front of a big whiteboard tallying yeses and nos from our solicitation calls for the day. I called endless lists of people on evenings and weekends, anyone who owned real estate from Maine to Alaska, especially those with swampland in Florida, asking them to advertise their out-ofstate property in our newspaper. Soon I had become that telephone solicitor, the most annoying weekend caller. I felt bad when a Sunday morning contact kindly said, “I’m leaving for church now, honey, I can’t talk now.” And I couldn’t blame the irritated person who snapped, “Don’t you know this is Mother’s Day? Could you call me another time?” What nerve I had, calling people on Sundays and holidays. I also got a crash course on geography and city names. I talked to a lady in Decatur, Illinois, reviewing her address for accuracy, saying, “Dec-a-tour, correct?” Instantly she knew from my pronunciation that I was not from those parts. She sensed I was probably calling her from some legitimate newspaper business in far-flung Pennsylvania, which of course, I was. Except it wasn’t legitimate at all. It was a standard setup for telemarketing. We had a quota of calls to make and specific yes goals for the day. We spoke lines from a scripted message, and recited the same for each call to every unsuspecting landowner. I tried to learn how to properly deliver my script to the people I was calling, but most simply preferred to hang up on me. There was no training. My job was to persuade them to say, “Yes, I’d like more information about selling my out-of-state property” and mail them advertising rates. After getting used to hearing no, it didn’t take long for me to build some confidence and sound “nicer” to persuade my customers to say yes. When the boss came in—we’ll call him Joe, to protect the guilty—he expected a stack of envelopes ready to be mailed out to all the yeses we received that day. He was a middle-aged Italian man with a strong personality. All of us teenage phone solicitors anticipated that daily “surprise” visit with dread. Joe seemed like a nice guy at first but when the stack of envelopes addressed to his potential victims did not touch the ceiling, he would explode with rage and accuse us of failure. Then the tantrum began as he threw the envelopes on the floor, sputtering out of the room mumbling what I assumed were four-letter words in Italian. It could have been worse—at least he didn’t throw the envelopes at us. We just had to restack and count them all over again. Joe’s minion—we’ll call him Bruce—sat in the back of the room making follow-up calls. He looked like a nerdy accountant, and sat behind us, never moving, as if chained to his chair, even eating his meals at his desk. We figured he was probably reporting back to Joe if we were slacking off. Bruce made the follow-up calls from the letters we sent and supposedly closed deals for the high-priced ads. He was like a dog, obedient to his master who tossed him little treats when he made a sale. I left this job after my senior year to go to college, and soon learned the real estate newspaper did not exist, and Bruce was closing deals that put money into his pocket and Joe’s. The more people he could swindle, the richer he would be. My parents called me at school to share the news that Joe was convicted of fraud and sent to jail. I’m not sure what happened to Bruce. My dad said he was surprised I wasn’t subpoenaed to appear as a witness in court. What really angered me was the fact that Joe took advantage of naive high school girls to do his dirty work. We wouldn’t ask questions, accepted low hourly wages, and increased his profit margin while earnestly trying to please him. I also felt bad for all those people I called like the property owner in Dec-a-tour, the real victims of his fraudulent scheme. I swore that the next job I had would be with a business that had ethical standards. RED FLAG #2 Don’t accept rides from your boss, whether you think he’s been flirting with you or not. And remember, harassment is more than a nuisance. Report the jerk. When I returned home during winter break, I looked for temporary work to earn extra spending money. The Kelly Girl agency sent me out on a unique assignment—to promote a new printing business in town. It was to be my first experience cold-calling in person. I learned that just opening the front door and expecting people to sign up for huge, commission-earning orders doesn’t happen overnight. Building a client base is one of the most important aspects of running a new business. Forty years ago, there was no social media to spread the word, just snail mail, phone calls, and knocking on prospects’ doors. Nor was there social media with “New Store Open” messages flooding the cyber universe. I was given well-produced flyers and branded tablets to distribute as I drove around to shops and office buildings. I remember enjoying the freedom of being in my car and meeting new people as I dropped off materials introducing the new local printing franchise. The owner—we’ll call him Fred—seemed very impressed with my hustle to bring in new clients. Business was starting to pick up and he always complimented me on my efforts. Then he started complimenting my appearance. Of course, I felt good about looking professional and being appreciated for the hard work I put into my workplace package. It never occurred to me that he was actually checking me out. I used our family car for my daily marketing calls, and I enjoyed getting out of the office, especially when I suspected Fred was starting to flirt with me. It was a first, while working, so I couldn’t believe it was happening. For one thing, he was quite unattractive, and a married man with children. I was nineteen years old, which made his flirtation feel unnatural and strange, to me that is. But I kept my distance and stayed out of the office as much as I could, until the fateful day my car had to go into the shop, so my mother dropped me off at work. I had some filing to do so I just sat at my desk making calls. When it was time to leave for the day, Fred offered to drive me home. I thoughtlessly accepted, thinking it would save my mother a trip to pick me up. Quickly, the ride went south. Fred kept looking over at me, explaining that he wanted to “be” with me and that since he was having marital problems it would be okay. I looked at his unappealing, red-pocked middle-aged face with disbelief and dread. I especially didn’t want him to try and kiss me, so I moved close to the door. I told him that not only was I not interested, but that he was being inappropriate. The car...