The Curious Incident of a Salesaman in the Day Time

Sometimes, you hate your job so much that you’ll wonder when you can quit, or retire, and go fishing in Maine. On any good day, stress is something you normally cannot perceive, how it might affect you, which on a bad day will make you wonder why on earth you never thought about it before and took precautions. It was during one of those frustrating weeks that I called my friend, my former roommate, and said I’ll be visiting him that weekend, on a small retreat to refresh myself, so that I could return and work with full enthusiasm.

In Downingtown PA, a suburb of Philadelphia, my friend was working as a consultant with IBM and was given to stay a giant mansion, owned by his boss’ company, so that his boss could save money on per diems and hotel expenses. His kitchen contained a deck overlooking a spectacular view that comprised of a canopy of Oak trees, Elm trees, and other needle shaped trees whose branches intertwined and permeated the surroundings forming a densely wooded region. A few feet down the road there was a lake, which offered a variety of recreational activities including wind surfing and kayaking. Considering he is a software engineer who earlier shared a single bedroom apartment with friends, this unexpected placement on his new project was undoubtedly a windfall.

“How was it this week?” My friend asked.

“It is the same trouble with sales people.”

The stress that I was experiencing was not because of an irate customer or an overweening boss. In some small companies, like mine, there was a very thin line separating marketing and sales division where one could easily mistake them to belong to the same department and in fact you could even consider customer service department as a part of the family. In most circumstance, they lacked foresight and could never get the correct specifications from customers. Worse, for some products, there was no such thing as “Marketing Research.” Engineering was constantly in battle with the sales-marketing-customer service department and while we blamed them for providing improper specification, they blamed us for failing to deliver products on time.

If I had the power, I would lay my finger right in the beginning at marketing when they submit the Marketing requirements document (MRD) and ask us to write the Engineering Specifications. It is after strictly adhering to the MRD, without a cerebral approach of challenging marketing and using intelligence in finding out what exact application the customers is, are products badly engineered. What was once conceived an orangutan at the time of its inception eventually turns out into a mongoose upon completion of the product. And you’re forced to reshape the mongoose into an orangutan in a matter of two weeks. No doubt god is the greatest engineer - He doesn’t have a salesman.

My friend had been patiently listening for the past few minutes. “Therefore, I conclude, a salesman becomes a salesman because he has tried everything else in his life and eventually becomes so after realizing his life is a failure.” I said vehemently.

My friend retaliated, “That conclusion might be a little lame. I don’t think bigger organizations allow the fundamental flaw you are witnessing – improper specifications. I have been in this project 3 months, already, and we still haven’t begun designing. We are still negotiating and will not budge until we have exactly nailed down the exact requirements.”

Emotionally drained, I slightly digressed, “You may not have the brightest education, you may not be exceptionally smart, and worse you may still have a tendency to slacken in your job. But all it takes to be a salesman is being highly articulate in delivering your sentences and the capacity to quickly flash all your teeth faster than an alligator.”

My friend chuckled, “I wonder what you’ll remark at a used-car salesman.”

“I’d be delighted to find an educated salesman, one who is honest with a good sense of work-ethic, whose consciousness is fixed on the success of a company and not on devising easy money making schemes”

My friend’s lackluster response evinced when he abruptly changed topics, “If you notice, I don’t have a washing machine and a dryer, so we need to go to home-depot the first thing tomorrow morning before we venture into any recreational activity,” he said in a stern tone.

We drove to home-depot the first thing next morning. Right from where you park your cars up to where you enter the Mall we could see constant activity and the place was thronged by all kinds of people. While a young lady in Honda Accord honked at a pedestrian who dropped her purse and stooped down to pick it up, another noisily dragged her cart stuffed with a couple dozen-tissue rolls and sweatshirts precariously dangling from the front end. A huge black guy spanked his daughter right in the middle of the driveway while a Mustang failed to stop at any of the “Stop Signs.”

A middle-aged gentleman was tottering as he tried balancing himself with enormous quantities of groceries in plastic bags, he hand-carried, that would have been charged with excess baggage had he been in the airport while his wife was marching ahead in the lead. It was a deplorable sight indeed. While his eyes were bloodshot, making me guess he had reveled at a late night party leading him to experience a lack of proper sleep, I could see anguish in them as he was being mercilessly tormented on a Saturday morning into doing chores by his wife. Aha! Get married and life becomes smooth, does it? I gloated. Despite the chaos that prevailed in our vision, our eyes eventually focused and we realized that the dense swarm we were seeing was actually pouring in and out of Sam’s Club, and not Home Depot, which seemed relatively desolate.

We marched into the giant doors of the grand Home Depot, which had an expansive interior, more like a warehouse, with aisles flanked by huge purchase items that would make Wal-Mart seem like a 7-eleven. Everywhere, surrounding us, were woodwork, interior decor, home appliances, garden tools, cleaning brushes, hammers, nails, refrigerators and while on the outside the store didn’t quite look crowded, the inside was fairly populated and we could see people everywhere.

“Hey man, step aside,” I heard a voice and I turned to see a trolley containing a couple ice makers that were being single-handedly dragged by a tall blonde man clad in jeans. His biceps were wider than my thighs. Directly in front of me was an Asian key-maker whose primary job was duplicating keys and his back was facing us as the thrust in the customer’s key into a machine, attempting to create a suitable duplicate. Rumbling sounds from hacksaws, high pitched shrieks from a drilling device, different vibrations resounding from mechanical devices, and the surrounding din, presented a cacophony of sounds which weren’t that unpleasant to the ears.

We turned left and walked as we saw lanes of people standing waiting to finish their purchases and get out of the store. A cute Latino whose pretty lips were making funny shapes as she spoke to a customer at the cashier’s counter invited my stares and my glance slowly shifted to her neck when a voice from a throat that seemed like it was treated with sulfuric acid shook my wits. Upon recollection, I recalled that it seemed like that of Dikembe Mutombo’s. Before we could get lost in the seemingly huge maze inside the store, I stopped short beside a customer service personnel and was about to ask, “Excuse me, where are the washers and dryers?” when I decided against, for his countenance displayed such annoyance that any question I asked would have drawn an immediate scowl.

We eventually located the place where they stocked washers and dryers and found a few on the display with price tags on plaques that displayed the manufacturer, model number, and the price. Looking around, we noticed a bald man sitting next to a computer with his back to us entering something on a pad he had on his hands and as we called him, he wheeled around and stood up to shake hands.

“I’ll join you momentarily, sir,” he said to my friend.

In the interim, we looked around for a few minutes and my friend quickly decided a washer and a drier. It was relatively easy – they were the cheapest ones in the store.

From behind the rows of stacked boxes, approached towards us an oriental salesman with spectacles that covered the majority of his face, his eyes seemingly huge through the convex lens. His temples were covered with graying hairs while his fatty cheeks were hairless and patched black in a few places. He had a slight paunch that was well hidden by his loose light blue Denim shirt. Were it not for the fact that he looked Chinese, I would never have guessed his age as somewhere in the sixties.

“Are you being helped?” He asked us in squeaky voice with a drawl but intelligible accent.

“Well, the bald gentleman in shorts was here a few minutes ago but now he has disappeared.”

“I’d be delighted to help you.”

“We just explained to him that we have selected a washer and dryer and would therefore like to complete the formalities and the billing.”

“I can help you,” he said and walked with us to examine our purchase.”

He took with him the plaque displaying the manufacturer, price, and model number of the washer and dryer and walked to his computer where he opened the billing software. Patiently, letter-by-letter he entered the model number and made sure there were no errors. I became a little frustrated and impatient as I was getting hungry and wanted to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible. While the system identified the model number of the washing machine it could not recognize the dryer and as he continued in his attempt to successfully enter the values for the third time I was beginning to get seriously annoyed. What an idiot, I thought, the computer isn’t going to change its mind if you keep retyping the wrong number. If it doesn’t recognize, it doesn’t.

In the meantime, my friend was distracted and was going through the specification of another model and I really hoped he wouldn’t change his mind, especially with the seemingly not so sharp salesman taking hours to complete a simple transaction. I wondered how people at the cashier counter in the grocery store would treat him had he worked there. Soon, he asked me to summon my friend and told him that the dryer wasn’t listed in their system requesting him to consider the other model situated next to the one he had chosen and manufactured by G.E. My friend agreed since they were the same price – 299$. As he was about to enter the new number, he suddenly turned around and said,

“Now that you’ve chosen a G.E drier, why don’t you go for a G.E washer? Maybe buy them as a pair. So that you get better benefits with warranty.”

Although my initial reaction was that of exasperation, I reconciled with the fact that my friend wouldn’t take long to decide and in fact he immediately nodded to the salesman who went back to delete the first transaction and spent the next five minutes entering the second while I impatiently made circles with my foot unwilling to tie my shoe laces.

“Sir,” he meekly said.

“I have entered the purchases into the system and let me go them over with you one by one.”

God! We aren’t buying a Lexus RX-300 with customizations I thought almost throwing up my hands in despair, my stomach growling.

He pointed to the screen and said, “Up here you are currently viewing the model number and the price. Is that acceptable?”

“Yes.”

“Do you find the default one-year warranty desirable or would you take an additional two year warranty for 59.99$?”

I spoke for my friend and said, “no we just need the default warranty,” asking my friend how often he saw them being repaired.

“A power cord to connect your washer and drier to the A.C mains that are 15.00$ each.”

Before I could intervene, my friend said yes.

I thought that was instant robbery, it never costs that much. I had tons of them lying around in my work place and I would have gotten him a couple but before I could advise against my friend accepted and I was too tired to argue or worse, make the salesman reenter the data into his software. They must make it a rule for people to own PCs in their house so that they don’t make a mess of themselves outside and also waste people’s time. Or stores ought to spend some extra time training the salesman before they are on the job, I thought.

Finally, I was glad that he was going to click his mouse on “Calculate,” when he stopped and began reading the terms and regulations. Oh my god! This was worse than Sprint PCS customer service, I wailed. Another minute, I would have told my friend to wait in while I’d rush to the nearest Chinese take-out and order spicy tofu with fried rice and a large coke. At last the papers were being printed in his private printer, which was a totally waste I thought, and he turned back and smilingly addressed us, “Namaste.”

I couldn’t control myself and began laughing. Why would you greet someone at the end of a transaction and worse, he was a salesman, who definitely ought to know that by virtue of his occupation.

I replied, “Nee Howma!”

He laughed, “There you go, I guess we are familiar with our customs.”

At last the transaction was over and knowing we could leave shortly my anger eased when he requested my friend to replace the plaque onto top of the washer and dryer where they were present originally and while he rushed off, I asked him if he were from China – a redundant question.”

“I am from Hong Kong actually, but been here for many years.”

“Why on earth would you be in a small town rather than in a big city like New York where you had better opportunities?

“Well! My children went to school here,” he said.

“Oh Nice, was it Penn?” I asked recalling University of Pennsylvania wasn’t far from there.

“No Penn State, actually.”

“That is great. How many children do you have and did they all go to Penn State?”

“I have three. Yes, all went to Penn State. While my two sons obtained their degrees in Computer Science and Mechanical Engineering, my daughter received her’s in Aerospace.”

“Wow! That must make you proud, especially after emigrating from Hong Kong, if you could provide them with quality education.”

“Yes, they are bright too and studied with scholarships.”

No wonder he was able to afford their fees working in home depot I concluded.

“Actually, similar to your children even I am an Engineer, an Electrical Engineer, and currently work in the telecom industry.”

“Oh that’s good, that’s good, so you work for cellular phone companies, VOIP systems, or what exactly is your job?”

“Not really, I don’t design microelectronic circuits,” and gave a brief account of my job trying to best explain in layman terms, in salesmen language, so that he understood.

What about you? Have you been a salesman all throughout and have been in working in home depot? Or were you working elsewhere, in a different profession?” I asked. He took a minute before answering, probably not sure how to phrase his answer I reasoned and wondered if he was actually shy to explain his occupation.

“Well, I am actually an Electrical Engineer too and a professor in Penn State. I got my PhD in E.E during the year 1970,” he said and smiled.

I swayed for a second and almost fainted feeling as though he dropped an anchor in my mouth and I can’t describe the effect it when it landed in my stomach. I stood speechless and shaken when my friend returned.

“He isn’t just a salesman,” I replied weakly.

“He has a PhD in E.E”

“What?” He echoed but recovered quicker than I did and thought he was wise in discerning that due to a bad market this gentleman was perhaps laid-off.

“Is it due to a bad market, you’re working here?” He asked sympathetically.

He smiled, “Actually, I run my own company,” and he opened his wallet and flashed his business card. Printed in bold pink letters, was the name, “Dr. Woo,” and the name of his company.

That was when I badly felt ashamed. I had been stripped of all pride and felt worthless. The situation I was facing was beyond comprehension.

“I understand it is hard for you to believe as I don’t like discussing my private life while I work here.”

“But why do you work here? Earlier I thought you were a retired professor, but now since you say you have your own job, why would you work here?”

“I am an old man and my wife takes care of our grand kids and baby sits them over the weekend. It is my understanding over the years that happiness doesn’t come from who you are but from what you do. There are three other salesmen who work in the same store who all have their PhDs and there are two more doctors. I was told it enables them to get a good quote on insurance,” he said and chuckled.

I am now glad he taught me, rather warned me to be careful on how I judge people, or better, teaching me not to judge anyone.

“What is the nature of your research,” I asked as his humble testimony had piqued my curiosity.

“Well, my research broadly focuses on power systems – for example, modern day lap tops contain redundant power when you yank the cord and sustain themselves for a while. Why not do the same thing on refrigerators and microwaves?”

“Wow! You mean build some juice so that they last when there is loss of power? I enquired enthusiastically both out of interest and with hopes of disabusing my earlier behavior.

“Yes, in fact, I wrote a proposal recently to NSF to bring in some research grants and underscored the fact that the process will not be more expensive than modern day AC-DC converters and at worst, it’ll be the same cost.”

“Great,” my friend said.

“But, NSF thought otherwise and scuttled the idea. It is during such matters that they get political man. Which flourishing industry would let a new technology supplant theirs?”

I sympathized with him and said, “It is remarkable that you’re continuing research and I have great admiration for scholarly people,” I said.

“Well, when I was of your age, I used to admire professors and researchers who worked with zeal. But over the years, it is sad that the ones who are most admired are the ones who bring in most research grant and fund most students but not the ones who work passionately without expecting rewards.”

He further said how he had been an Assistant professor for many years and how he eventually turned into a professor and all along I couldn’t help praising his humility.

“I think that’s it, you don’t pay here, but at the cashier’s counter.” He said.

“Thank you Dr. Woo, I am glad that there are such humble people around.” I said.

We stumbled out of the store too shaken and didn’t begin a conversation for the next half hour being humbled

The contents of this story are true but slightly decorated, especially emotions, to make it more interesting to read –licensed embellishments, as authors claim.