Wheaton’s Way

There is a knack to selling goods. Some people have it, and some people don’t.

I was reminded of this when I visited a couple of small shops on the weekend in which I had never previously set foot.

I needed some obscure items and hoped they could help. In the 30 minutes I spent in each place, I was lightly cajoled, gently badgered and pleasantly pushed into buying far more than I had planned. It was only as I stepped back outside, arms heavy from shopping bags, that a stiff breeze knocked me out of my daze. I stared down at my purchases. What just happened? Where the hell was I going to put all of this? Best friend and housemate, Lynne, was gonna kill me…

I wouldn’t want to be a salesperson in a million years. It’s a rough trade. You want customers to buy but you also don’t want to be so pushy that they never come back again.

Of course, that doesn’t apply to everyone. Remember the pre-COVID days? Close your eyes and picture walking through a US mall, bookended by Macy’s and Dillard’s, trying to find the Auntie Anne’s Pretzels which marks the entrance to the Food Court.

But between you and your destination is a line of kiosks running up the middle of the hallway, touting everything from hand creams to full-body Spanx knockoffs. You take a deep breath, you keep your eyes down, and you run the gauntlet with a singular purpose: Don’t respond to a single, “Hey! Excuse me!”

That’s usually about as pushy as they get in the US. Sure, you walk into a store and some person with nice dental work greets you at the door, happy to help with anything that you need. And maybe even after you’ve told them you’re “just looking” they’ll still approach you 15 minutes later, but rarely do you have to fend them off with a pool noodle yelling, “Get thee back!”

The same cannot be said for vendors in other countries. The fact is that markets in places like the Middle East and elsewhere operate on a whole ‘nother level. Future salespeople come out of the womb being told to never take “no” for an answer.

Lynne and I took a cruise (can you imagine?) in 2009 around the Mediterranean. It was our first foray into most of the countries we visited and we were wholly unprepared for the onslaught of enthusiastic sellers in some of the ports. How we managed to leave Egypt without a camel is beyond me.

A market in one country was like the mall situation times-a-million. Experienced ‘greeters’ were pretty good at pinpointing browsers’ countries of origin and once they got you talking, it was a simple case of steering you towards their salespeople who were prepped to close the deal.

I got verbally assaulted with “LUVLY JUBBLY!” the moment keen ears picked up my accent, and Lynne’s call-sign was “CANADA DRY!” Their first mistake was not knowing that she prefers a different brand of ginger ale. It gave her the strength to fob them off.

In the end, we got out without buying a thing. Just daring to look at a bag or a shawl was enough to send them into a flurry of rapid, excited chatter. Lynne had a momentary lapse of reason and asked if they had a style of blue bag in a bigger size. In seconds, we were inundated with bags of all colours, shapes, sizes and materials.

I similarly made the fatal error of figuring I’d try on a belly dancing costume; y’know, just in case I decided to launch another career. After all, I already had the belly. Wasn’t that Step 1?

I don’t know what labelling system they were running there, but an XXXXL cut into me like a tourniquet and my bosom was being pushed up into my neck.

“Lovely! Lovely lady! Beautiful! Beautiful!”

Yeah, I don’t think so, mate. (But I nearly bought it for all the blind compliments… nearly.)

I don’t have a problem bartering with people, if the situation warrants it. I’m not going to march into Anne Klein and start haggling over the price of a skirt, but for secondhand items and similar, I’ll see what I can manage within reason.

The only issue with that down here is that 80% of the time, it turns out I know the person selling what I’m looking to buy. Then it ends up being an awkward game of chicken.

Maybe they’ll offer me a better price without asking because I’m an acquaintance. No? Do I broach the subject? Ugh, I don’t want them to think I’m cheap, but I don’t want to pay full price…

Lynne, on the other hand, hates bartering of any kind. She’d almost pay over the odds just to avoid conflict. Retail is her comfort zone.

She’d also be the first to admit that she’s a lousy salesperson.

About five years ago, she decided to sell the boat that she’d owned for at least two years, yet only actually taken out on the water about thrice. A familiar story.

The ad went online and the calls started coming in.

“Lynne, let me be there when you show the boat, I beg you,” I pleaded, fully aware of her training in the Eeyore’s School of Sales.

She conceded, and so we went to meet the first potential buyer. It was a quality vessel and she had listed it at a fair price, so this should be easy.

Well, before I could even open my mouth, she was on a downer.

“It’s worked well for me, but I can’t speak about how it will be in the future,” she said, when asked about its performance.

(“Lynne, Lynne! Short answers; don’t overshare. Pretend you’re in the courtroom witness box!”)

“The mechanic I used is good… I guess he kept it in fairly decent working order,” she continued on her downward trajectory. “And I think there’s some life left in the trailer, but don’t hold me to that.”

Ye gods.

Not only did the guy not buy her boat, but I think he actually left in tears.

As much as I’m mocking Lynne for her complete lack of sales techniques, I suppose I’m no better when it comes to buying.

Sometimes I’ll agree to purchase something I don’t even want because the seller went to a lot of effort to meet me and show me their wares – so I feel guilty. Or other times, I don’t NEED something but I WANT it.

Turning down a Daffy Duck gum dispenser just isn’t in my DNA.

What with Lynne not able to get rid of anything and me bringing unwanted nonsense through the doors, maybe what we need now is for someone to sell us a bigger house.