Turn Out the Lights, The (Pity) Party’s Over

By Patrick Best

Every once in a while I need a swift and hard kick in the butt. I start feeling sorry for myself, and I go from being the Smiling, Joking, Extroverted, Look at Me, Look at Me Patrick to the I Want to Close the Blinds, Eat Ice Cream and Listen to James Taylor’s Greatest Hits Patrick. This doesn’t happen very often, but, unfortunately, it happened this week. Susie has always been good about breaking up my pity parties before I have to get prescribed anything heavier than two beers and some loud rock-n-roll, but this has been one serious woe is me get-down session.

When I got up this morning I didn’t want to go to work. I started coming up with illnesses and car problem stories as soon as I opened my eyes. Nothing felt right. My coffee wasn’t hot enough, my breakfast bar was too soft, and the water coming out of the shower head felt like a million little needles sticking into my body. I had a couple of pretty big meetings scheduled today, so I sucked it up, put on my dress shirt that had too much starch in it, black suit that didn’t seem to fit me right anymore, and drove to my office.

My biggest meeting of the day was in the afternoon. It was a rescheduled presentation to a potentially large client who’d emailed me the day before our meeting last week to tell me he had to go to New York. Strangely, I started getting into “one of my moods”, as Susie calls them, around the time I received this brief email:

“Hey Patrick. I’m going to have to postpone our meeting tomorrow. Going to be in NYC. Next Tuesday at the same time okay with you?”

I took a deep breath, flipped a bird at my computer screen, rearranged some things on my schedule, then responded with “I totally understand.” and “I hope you have a great trip! See you next Tuesday!” I learned long ago that if you’re going to be successful in sales you sometimes have to smile and say “I totally understand”… even when you totally don’t understand. 

He seemed distracted from the moment I started my presentation. I went over some things we’d discussed over the phone a few weeks ago – average spend of each customer, areas of his business he wants to grow, what makes his business different from his competitors – as he sat in his chair with his arms crossed, occasionally sneaking a peek at the very large Rolex watch he wore on his left wrist.

“You told me that you estimate each new customer you acquire will spend about $500 with you in year one,” I said as I pressed the button to move the PowerPoint presentation from page two to three. His cell phone rang - the annoyingly loud sound sent shivers through my whole body.

He quickly stood up and reached into the pocket of his dress slacks, fished the phone out quickly. “You’ll have to excuse me. I need to take this call,” he said as he walked to the door and left the room. “Hey honey,” he said into the phone as his accidentally slammed the door behind him.

‘Great,’ I said to myself. ‘What a freaking waste of time.’ I’ve been in advertising sales for about two decades, so I can usually tell whether a person’s going to buy from me in the first minute after a meeting starts. I knew within 10 seconds that I wasn’t walking out with a contract today.

He had a pained look on his face when he came back into the room. I couldn’t tell whether it was the “I really don’t want to listen to a sales pitch from a guy I’m not going to buy from today” face or the “I just heard something in that phone conversation that really screwed up my day” face.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

"Yes... sorry about that,” he smiled. “Where were we?”

I quickly went back over page two again and he acted as though it was the first time he’d heard any of it. That’s because I’m fairly confident it WAS the first time he’d heard any of it. Since I knew there was no way this guy was going to sign on the dotted line, I moved through some of the pie charts and bar graphs pages like a guy who’s had some bad Mexican food for lunch and wants to get back to the office before the Tijuana fireworks started blasting.

“I’m sorry. Gotta take this…” he stood and stared at the face of his iPhone with wide, hungry eyes.

“I totally understand,” I said with a smile.

“Hello,” he said into the phone, paying no attention to my response. “Yes, this is Craig.”

He left the room again, but this time he didn’t close the door. I tried not to listen to the conversation, but I’m a sales guy… and good sales guys listen. “Yes, yes, Monday and Tuesday are fine,” he said with more than a hint of urgency. “Should I go ahead and book flights for us for Monday morning?... Uh huh… That’s not a problem… We’re prepared to come anytime.”

I was ready to pack up and leave. I didn’t have his attention, so I wasn’t going to make a sale. I wasn’t the priority… the subject of the phone call was the priority. ‘Never be the sales guy who sticks around longer than he’s wanted. That guy doesn’t get invited back.’

When he walked back into the room he looked like a man who’d just witnessed a terrible car accident. I was packing up my computer and preparing some leave behind materials I’d put together for him. His face was whiter than when he’d left the room, his hair a little messy from where he’d run his hand through it. The inside of his right front pocket was peeking out of his pants from when he’d pulled his phone out. The phone was still clutched in his hand.

“I’m really sorry about not being engaged today,” he said. “My son is really sick.”

“Oh no…” I said. My face felt flush and the sympathetic words and thoughts that were in my head and on the tip of my tongue stayed right where they were.

“He’s in pretty bad shape,” he said. He paused and bit his upper lip with bottom teeth. “We took him to New York last week to see a specialist, but nothing seems to be working. I was talking to another doctor about getting him back in early next week.”

“I’m really sorry to hear that.” Five minutes ago I wanted to slam my fists on the conference room table and tell him that he was an inconsiderate jerk. Now I wanted to give him a hug.

“He has diverticulosis. It’s supposed to be treatable… but the doctors can’t figure out why he’s not responding.” He looked up to the ceiling like he was either hoping for divine intervention or trying to keep the water in his eyes from spilling over his eyelids. When he lowered his head and looked at me again, I came to the conclusion that it was probably both.

“I’m sure he’s going to be okay, Craig,” I said weakly. “I’ll keep you and your family in my prayers.”

I thanked him for his time and told him at least three more times before I left his office how “truly sorry” I was to hear about his son’s illness. I drove back to my office with my cell phone and radio off, thanking God out loud for the health of my children and chastising myself for not counting and recognizing my many blessings. If you happened to see my driving down 285 talking to myself today, please don’t be worried about me. I’m not crazy… I was just responding to my most recent kick in the butt.