Work of Humanity

It was just a summer job, thank god, during college. It was probably the most dreadful thing I have done as far as a job goes, but as they say, it beats digging ditches.  I don't recall how long I lasted but it couldn't have been very long.  

In this small office were small partitions.  The room was decorated with white walls and illuminated by white florescent lights.  There may be a poster or two with inspirational quotes, taped on the wall.  But really, what would be the point.  In my partition was a hard-back metal chair one can purchase at a Walmart rollback for $7.98.  Maybe cheaper.  

I was given a beige ITT touch tone phone - one you would still expect to find in a cheap hotel these days.  Pages of local phone numbers with 916 area code, printed on the far left and far right margin of each page; several large paper clips, and a thick manual with convenient tabs that called out a rebuttal to every "no" response known to mankind.  


The "best practice" was to position the paperclip on each phone number, marked it, and moved down the list from top to bottom; first left, then right.  

I was making cold calls to sell the Entertainment Coupon Book.  You know, the Book that has "Buy 1 Get 1 Free" coupons for everything you can imagine; more coupons for meals you can ever eat; more auto shop repairs you wish your car would break down.  It was the king of all coupon books.  I was helping people save money. I was doing the Work of Humanity! 

Some would politely say "no" to me in mid-sentence.  Some would wait until I finish my initial introduction "hello!  My name is..."  Occasionally, a potential customer would actually want to know what I'm selling, and so we would engage in a "meaningful sales conversation." 

It was minimum wage plus commission.  $10 or whatever commission per book was really good then, decades ago, for a self-supporting college student.  It would mean whether dinner for the week was beef-flavored ramen, or real beef.  To motivate us, the pit boss would ring some kind of clanging gong when one of us made a sale, causing the rest of us to temporarily pause our Work of Humanity until the deafening vibration subsided.  

I flipped through the manual and searched for the perfect come back phrase when I sensed the hesitation on the other end.   I remembered vividly, that one old man yelled at me at the peak of my exciting sales pitch, "What the hell are you talking about?  I can't understand a word you're saying!"  "...but...it's only $40 for the king of the coupon books..."  I was deflated. 

I have never been in sales, not before and not after my Work of Humanity in that white-walled office. Making cold calls is one of those humbling experiences that everyone shall take the time to soak in, early in life.  To get hung up on the phone.  To face rejections head-on.  To taste the fact that you cannot always get what you want, and mommy and daddy cannot fix it for you.  To be considered one thin line above politicians and two levels beyond used car salesmen.  To prepare ourselves for thick skin so we can actually survive in the "real" world, maybe even dapple in some real work of humanity.

I still don't have enough thick skin.  The more I become my own, though, the more I am comfortable in my own skin.  I will never return to that Work of Humanity, but I am ever so grateful for the old man who admonished me over the phone.