Origin of the Species

Working now for five years in a sales-based company -- for the third and last time, I might add -- reinforces conclusions that I have made over the years regarding the genetic makeup of salesmen. Had I the patience and incentive to document my findings, I might have been able to cobble together a decent thesis or dissertation on the subject.

 First, they never stop talking. Ever. I'm typing this at work amid the din of continuous, relentless, inane blather from the pen in which we contain these mutants. Combine the chatter with the occasional outburst resulting from a sale and with subsequent hand-slapping, and one wonders how murder or mutilation isn't justifiable in our legal system. Bonus points for talking over people.

Second, they never say no. Ever. They might be asked if it is possible to buy our product with a built-in refrigerator and monthly masseuse service, and somehow the rest of us in the office will have to figure out how to make it work to make the sale. Worse is trying to correct a problem caused by a promise a year prior that was not mention to the administrative staff.

Third, they despise paper. We have managed to reduce to four pages -- four! -- the number of documents required to sell our product and set it up for ongoing service coverage, and yet something will be missing, be it a page or a signature or a price. Some don't even like their communications via e-mail (virtual paper), so they will step right up or dial the phone or stop me in the kitchen, knowing full well (oh, the presumptions!) that I am not able to provide information they need while I'm rooting around a cabinet looking for French Vanilla decaf. The list goes on, and I may amend this later. But I need to go downstairs now and see how the installation of our new trap door is coming along.