Less than Nothing
*deep breath* Okay, the time is 4:43 am, and I haven’t slept at all. I have a training session today, and listless/tired is not a good way to go to one of those. Plus this is my first day of demos. I’m EXTREMELY stressed because Hank is shoving himself down my throat because I’ve only got 3 demos scheduled, and every else has at least 6. Why did the stupid thing have to be Labor Day weekend? Everyone I know is out of town. I called everyone he okayed on my whole list, and only half of them DIDN’T hang up on me. They just said “no”. 14 people called. 3 people allowing me to visit them. The rest don’t even want to think about it. Is it my phone voice? Is it because I’m inherently stupid and it carries across? Probably. Who would buy knives from a kid anyways? It doesn’t mater that I’m 20, everyone looks at me and sees “barely 16”. I get asked all the time which school I’m going to, when I graduate, and if I have any college plans afterwards. I’ve had several people ask me if I’m legal to drive yet, and even a couple ask me when I’m expecting to get into high school.
I think a lot of my frustration is because I have to work covertly. My mother is absolutely out for blood because of my job. She’s gone out of her way to make my job fail and my life miserable so that I’ll quit, because this is a job she “doesn’t approve of”. As is the case with most of the people I call. As soon as I say the word “sell”, they hang up. Hanks target market is “over 25, married, owns their own house.” I know maybe 20 people who fit that description, only 5 of which live close enough to be practical. I’m scared to death I’m gonna go in and he’s gonna say, “Well, I’m sorry, but your performance just isn’t meeting up to expectations, so we’re going to have to let you go.” Great, I can’t even hold down a job that’s meant for college students with no experience. Any my wonderful, supportive family whom I’m living with because I can’t freakin’ afford to live anywhere else (and I get plenty of flak about that, believe me) is trying to ruin my business because they hate marketing of ALL KINDS. So I can come back from a fruitful day of “Hey, all you have to do is find five people that are willing to listen, even if they don’t want to buy” and can’t even let on that I’m calling people because my mother will call them back and talk them out of letting me over. No, she likes my temp agency job. Never mind they’ve only called me in once. She still expects me to call in every day to see if they want me to work that day, and if they do, I’m supposed to quit Vector.
Hank loves to tell how he started in Tacoma only knowing one person in the whole town, and now look at him, the oober-successful businessman. But darnnit, we should know enough people to sell to that we can pack this entire weekend. Somehow, my parents got a whiff that I was doing demonstrations this weekend, and so I’m not allowed to freakin’ leave the house, Sunday. And nobody wants me over on Monday, because it’s Labor Day, and they have real lives and don’t want to listen to some telemarketer that they can’t just hang up on. No one understands my job. Even when I explain it, because no one wants to understand my job. They don’t care. I’ve joined the “enemy camps” by taking on any sort of position that involves selling anything, so I’m now the enemy, and it’s their personal duty to shred me and everything I represent. And then Hank gives me those looks that say “Hey, I told you to leave all your problems at the door!” or “If you don’t show me some enthusiasm, I’m gonna fire your tail!” as if I can magically ignore the fact that by being present in that room I’ve earned the undying hatred of everyone I know. And then I’m in trouble because these people that hate me don’t want to talk to me. My only hope of having a job at all is that the referrals I get will be people who DON’T know me.
I’m doing Hank a huge injustice. He’s been nothing but supportive. I suspect most of what I’m feeling from him is a reflection of my own dark thoughts of self-worthlessness. It’s okay, I’m worthless. I look at my friends, most of them younger than me, and they all hold successful jobs and either have or are close to getting nice, fancy college degrees. I’m just a statistic. Another college dropout that is undermining the moral and social integrity of this country. Just another “the majority of youngest siblings are so spoiled and stupid that they can’t even make it through college”. Just another DROP OUT. Heck, I can’t even sell a product that’s guaranteed to sell itself. How pathetic is that? But still, I can’t make myself enthusiastic about it. I can’t forget that my friendship is worth less then a couple kitchen knives. That I’m selling a product that’s better than I am, and people aren’t buying it because of that very reason. Because I walk around scared to death someone’s going to recognize me and I’ll have a blood-hunting mob out to kill me. And I don’t even have to guess what it’ll say on my gravestone, because no one will want one for me. The last thing they want is their precious dirt being soiled by the presence of a salesman. I’m gonna talk to Hank about all this tomorrow--today, rather...in a few hours--because I can’t stand to keep it to myself any longer. I don’t care if I’m supposed to leave my problems at the door. I would then never be able to leave that room, because my problems would have grown to an uncontrollable force out for my blood.
Jess, Lindz, anyone one else, this has nothing to do with you. Sure, things happen that add a little bit of stress, but this matter is between me, my mom, and my boss. No matter how much want to take credit for it all, you can’t have it. It’s mine. All mine. I once heard someone say that it’s impossible for any one person to hold ALL the credit for something. That’s okay, I’m not a person anymore. I’m nothing but a salesman.
-Homo Sapiens #5243879629 of 6314613402
I think a lot of my frustration is because I have to work covertly. My mother is absolutely out for blood because of my job. She’s gone out of her way to make my job fail and my life miserable so that I’ll quit, because this is a job she “doesn’t approve of”. As is the case with most of the people I call. As soon as I say the word “sell”, they hang up. Hanks target market is “over 25, married, owns their own house.” I know maybe 20 people who fit that description, only 5 of which live close enough to be practical. I’m scared to death I’m gonna go in and he’s gonna say, “Well, I’m sorry, but your performance just isn’t meeting up to expectations, so we’re going to have to let you go.” Great, I can’t even hold down a job that’s meant for college students with no experience. Any my wonderful, supportive family whom I’m living with because I can’t freakin’ afford to live anywhere else (and I get plenty of flak about that, believe me) is trying to ruin my business because they hate marketing of ALL KINDS. So I can come back from a fruitful day of “Hey, all you have to do is find five people that are willing to listen, even if they don’t want to buy” and can’t even let on that I’m calling people because my mother will call them back and talk them out of letting me over. No, she likes my temp agency job. Never mind they’ve only called me in once. She still expects me to call in every day to see if they want me to work that day, and if they do, I’m supposed to quit Vector.
Hank loves to tell how he started in Tacoma only knowing one person in the whole town, and now look at him, the oober-successful businessman. But darnnit, we should know enough people to sell to that we can pack this entire weekend. Somehow, my parents got a whiff that I was doing demonstrations this weekend, and so I’m not allowed to freakin’ leave the house, Sunday. And nobody wants me over on Monday, because it’s Labor Day, and they have real lives and don’t want to listen to some telemarketer that they can’t just hang up on. No one understands my job. Even when I explain it, because no one wants to understand my job. They don’t care. I’ve joined the “enemy camps” by taking on any sort of position that involves selling anything, so I’m now the enemy, and it’s their personal duty to shred me and everything I represent. And then Hank gives me those looks that say “Hey, I told you to leave all your problems at the door!” or “If you don’t show me some enthusiasm, I’m gonna fire your tail!” as if I can magically ignore the fact that by being present in that room I’ve earned the undying hatred of everyone I know. And then I’m in trouble because these people that hate me don’t want to talk to me. My only hope of having a job at all is that the referrals I get will be people who DON’T know me.
I’m doing Hank a huge injustice. He’s been nothing but supportive. I suspect most of what I’m feeling from him is a reflection of my own dark thoughts of self-worthlessness. It’s okay, I’m worthless. I look at my friends, most of them younger than me, and they all hold successful jobs and either have or are close to getting nice, fancy college degrees. I’m just a statistic. Another college dropout that is undermining the moral and social integrity of this country. Just another “the majority of youngest siblings are so spoiled and stupid that they can’t even make it through college”. Just another DROP OUT. Heck, I can’t even sell a product that’s guaranteed to sell itself. How pathetic is that? But still, I can’t make myself enthusiastic about it. I can’t forget that my friendship is worth less then a couple kitchen knives. That I’m selling a product that’s better than I am, and people aren’t buying it because of that very reason. Because I walk around scared to death someone’s going to recognize me and I’ll have a blood-hunting mob out to kill me. And I don’t even have to guess what it’ll say on my gravestone, because no one will want one for me. The last thing they want is their precious dirt being soiled by the presence of a salesman. I’m gonna talk to Hank about all this tomorrow--today, rather...in a few hours--because I can’t stand to keep it to myself any longer. I don’t care if I’m supposed to leave my problems at the door. I would then never be able to leave that room, because my problems would have grown to an uncontrollable force out for my blood.
Jess, Lindz, anyone one else, this has nothing to do with you. Sure, things happen that add a little bit of stress, but this matter is between me, my mom, and my boss. No matter how much want to take credit for it all, you can’t have it. It’s mine. All mine. I once heard someone say that it’s impossible for any one person to hold ALL the credit for something. That’s okay, I’m not a person anymore. I’m nothing but a salesman.
-Homo Sapiens #5243879629 of 6314613402