George and selling

There are not many things I fear more than hordes of insanely excited people trying to sell the Next Greatest Thing Since Sliced Bread, or even worse, recruiting people to sell the Next Greatest Thing Since Sliced Bread.

Thinking it to be the offer of a position, filled out the form and was taken to a webinar promoting a home business selling an exotic fruit drink with medicinal properties called Mandura. By the end of the webinar, that insane part of me that demands obedience for the sake of obedience demanded that I at least take a bottle to see if the product is worth my efforts to sell it. It costs $40.03 including shipping, and it’s not that much compared to the thousands of dollars I’ve spent on other stupidities.

If grandma were alive today, it would be fruitless to explain to her about this Mandura thing because out of all the breath I would waste on her, there are only two words she would hear and understand, and upon which her entire response to me would be based: “George” and “sell”.

Upon hearing and understanding those lone two words, she would immediately peer into the future and see an emaciated homeless bum carrying a dusty, rotting briefcase full of something she knows not what it is, but she’s as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow that nobody can afford to buy it. She would then make it her mission to dissuade me, heart, mind, and soul, from ever selling anything again.

That of course won’t work, because the process of looking for a new job is salesmanship. It involves identifying hot leads (looking through the job boards), writing a sales brochure (the résumé), and giving your sales pitch (the job interview). So much for keeping me from ever being a salesman.

Since I have people like my grandma in my background, it is understandable that I’m going to be at least a little bit paranoid. Quite a handicap from which to work my way up.

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