The Riddle of the Sale
by Will Bailey
I’m not sold. And I will probably never be, for that matter. That’s because I don’t trust salespeople farther than I can throw them, which is usually only a few inches, depending on how tired I am and/or how heavily armed store security is. I guess I just was not made for high pressure sales situations – I hate negotiating, plus those pre-fab chairs they sink you into are more uncomfortable than boulders. Boulders that are radioactive and covered in spikes. Just in case you couldn’t tell already, I recently sat through two sales pitches. One was for a gym membership, and the other for a printer (why, yes, I do have an exciting life). In both cases, the salesperson did not look me in the eye once, and kept attempting to latch on to some vague commonality that the two of us shared, no doubt in an effort to cover one of the tenants of the sleazy sales pitch: Convince Your Mark That You Are Also Human. “Oh, you drive to work? I too own a lawnmower. Speaking of which, there will be a processing fee of $49.99. Do you like music?” Where’s an agent when I need one? If athletes and celebrities have an agent for every stick of deodorant they sell, why can’t us Normals have an agent that represents our interests in everyday sales situations? I would happily pay an agent 10%, or a box of ice cream sandwiches (whichever comes first) to negotiate my terms on a one year gym membership, or waive the useless store-bought protection plan that is offered to me every time I purchase a stapler. I assure you, I am 100% serious about this. So, any agents out there? I’m thinking of buying a couch.