The salesman had just gotten a bump from his customer. He picked up his write-up, and started back toward the sales manager’s office. As he rounded the corner at the receptionist’s desk, he grabbed his chest and fell to the floor. He was having a heart attack.
The other salesman gathered around, gawking. 911 were called. The sales manager came out of his office and saw his salesman lying on the floor, the write-up still clenched in his hand. He hurried over, knelt down and grabbed the write up. “I need a turn!” he said to the salesman gathered around their fallen brethren.
You see in the car business, the deal always comes first.
Sales managers; what are you going to do with them? If you’re lucky you work for a good one. If you’re unlucky, you’re screwed. They can be tyrants. They can be friends (but watch your back). They sometimes think they’re God, a state of being that I have yet to verify. They can be yellers and screamers; they can be inspirational. They can help you make your deal; they can also do what they can to screw it up.
I’ve been thinking about this subject for a long time. This blog entry is the beginning of a discussion that might take up the next couple of entries. Future writings will deal with different types of managers, from the incompetent to the weird, and finally I’ll have a few words to say about good managers. Today I will get the bad stuff out of the way by concentrating on the worst type of manager: SALES MANAGER’S FROM HELL!
My two worst managers were both from the Middle East. I don’t think this was a coincidence. I know I could be accused of being racist, but I’ve come to the conclusion that these guys always look at you (and therefore treat you) as an infidel. You are never worthy in their eyes. This doesn’t mean I haven’t worked with Middle Eastern guys who weren’t okay. I have. But the managers. . .
One went by the name of Joe. I can guarantee you that his real name wasn’t Joe. He had a thick Syrian accent and seemed to be incapable of using the word “a” in a sentence. Joe was a yeller and screamer. His pencils were illogical and damn near impossible to get. His abilities were strictly controlled by his emotions, and he was pissed off nearly all the time.
We worked in a dealership that had no sales meeting room. The so-called meetings were held in the showroom within earshot of any customer who happened to wander in. This didn’t seem to concern Joe. At least once a day he would gather the troops to vent his frustrations. He used to shout this phrase: “IF YOU WANT TO BE PRO, BE PRO!” over and over. H demanded 100% attention to his rants, and he would threaten anyone who didn’t appear to be hanging onto his every word. These crap-out sessions would sometimes go on for nearly an hour. The result was a sales crew that was part desponded and part pissed off.
Here’s the weird part. When Joe started the job, he took me aside and asked me (very nicely I have to say) for advice on how to handle our temperamental GM (another psycho). I gave him my take on the situation and offered suggestions on how he could best deal with the guy. I believe Joe was shocked at the depth of my insights and instantly considered me a rival. Within a month, he fired me.
The second manager from Hell was a man named Eddie. He was the worst sales manager I have ever encountered in my life. Eddie was Iranian, the son of an exiled military man who had fled Iran after the fall of the Shah. After working for him as a closer for a couple of months, I came to the conclusion that he was evil incarnate. He was tyrannical, no sense of humor whatsoever, and had a way of looking at me with his angular face and black eyes that gave me the creeps. There appeared to be no emotion in him. I was no more than a piece of meat in his eyes.
In late 1995, my father collapsed and was taken to the hospital. He had a ruptured aorta, a condition that would eventually take his life. On that frightening evening I was up all night at the hospital with my family. I was deeply worried and extremely stressed. Early in the morning, I decided to go down to the dealership and explain the situation.
I will always remember standing before Eddie, tired and sad. I told him my story of woe. Eddie did not react. He did not say, “Gee, David, this is a tough break. I’m so sorry for you and your family. Get your ass out of here and get some rest. Take all the time you need.” Or something like that.
Instead he looked at me with his blank, executioner face and he said, “Do you have any deals working?” Deals were the furthest thing from my mind, but I believe I managed to stammer out a no. Blood was rushing to my brain. I thought, “This cocksucker could care less about me or my father.”
Eddie said. “Be at work on your shift this afternoon.”
At the time, I need that job. I was not in a good place in my life. But thirty days later, I was gone.
Side note: A friend of mine who also worked there felt the same way about him. A few weeks after he departed he found himself in the same line as Eddie at a bank. Eddie didn’t notice him, but my friend told me that just seeing the guy so unnerved him he left the bank without doing his business.
So I guess it wasn’t my imagination!
Talk to you later,
David
1 comment:
Post a Comment