That “Sales” as a job was an entirely undesirable profession was something I was completely confident in from the time I was very young. My first experience in direct sales told me so.
It was 1984, and I was in first grade at Mitchell Elementary School in Muncie, IN. Small, timid and always skeptical of what the world might have to offer, I was given the dubious task of selling candy bars as a school fundraiser. I was responsible for an entire box of M&Ms, Snickers, and Hershey bars to sell for fifty cents apiece. The very success of my elementary school depended on my being able to rid myself of the contents of this box, or so I was told. I didn’t care very much. I would’ve preferred to have eaten them all myself.
My mother had other ideas. Having lived through this process with my three older siblings, she would make sure I learned how to sell that candy. Partially due to her desire to see me grow and equally as likely that she didn’t want to have to sell the candy herself at work. She loaded me up into the car, the white cardboard box of candy with the little yellow envelope to collect the cash inside clutched in my tiny hands. We drove to the local college campus (GO BSU!) where she determined I would have great success in selling my candy to the starving students who littered the sidewalks and paths. We walked to the corner of the major intersection, I didn’t know the name, only that it was called the “Blinker Light” because of the chirping sound that rang out in the air when the lights were changing to notify pedestrians that it was safe to cross.
There I stood, in my burgundy corduroy pants, dirty Velcro shoes, and Smurf t-shirt, ready for someone to buy my candy. My eyes scanned the street as I searched for my first customer. No one seemed to notice I was there. Terror began to creep into my heart as not a single student approached me. My mother, cautiously eyeing the situation, encouraged me to go out and ask a young man crossing the street.
“No, no, no,” I said.
“Yes, you will, it will be all right.” Her words were holding little comfort to me in my distress. I don’t want to talk to him. I thought. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want him to say no.
With a swift shove and “go do it!” from mom, I was launched into the intersection. I walked up to him quickly, heart pounding in my chest, hands shaking and muttered: “Would you like to buy some candy?” He met my eye, looked at the box and my tiny sweating hands and said…
“No.”
My tender, seven-year-old heart crumbled. I stared back at that student in shock. Then I did what any terrified, shy and awkward kid forced into sales would do. I turned around and began screaming and crying for my mom at the top of my lungs.
That poor guy. Apparently, my distress not only caught him off guard but garnered the attention of many of the other students also making their way to class, began gawking at the scene. Panicked at my distress, the student ran over to me, grabbed a dollar from his pocket and thrust it at me. Wiping my tears quickly, I reached in my box and grabbed the first thing on top, a bright yellow box of peanut M&Ms. He took them and got the heck out of dodge. With the tears drying on my cheeks, mom drove me home; my sales day was over. “Never again,” I said to myself. I would never do “sales.” We bought the remaining candy in the box and returned the envelope to school.
If you were to tell me then, that little, Smurf t-shirt wearing, shy, awkward kid that I would be in a job where I had to make sales, that I would do it and love it, I would’ve called you a liar. And, most likely, have stomped on your foot for good measure.
I’ve come a long way since then. I’ve realized that making sales isn’t a negative thing. Having a product or service to sell that fills another person’s need, want or desire, is not merely a money maker, it’s a meaning maker. The services I’m able to provide to others provide more meaning to my life and in turn, help bring more meaning to others. Being able to make money doing that is icing on the cake.
If, by chance, you are like me and you’ve struggled with selling your services or products. If you’ve battled the thoughts “Is this worth it?” “Will anyone want what I have?”, “I’m not good at sales; I don’t’ want to convince people what they might need.”
I want to tell you something.
You have something important to share with the rest of the world. Being compensated for it isn’t a crime, it isn’t bad, it isn’t negative, it isn’t wrong. It’s necessary. It’s important.
What would be a mistake is to not share your ideas, products, services…or your peanut M&Ms, with the rest of us.
Alexandra Rufatto-Perry is a Speech Language Pathologist and Owner of Practically Speaking, LLC, a communication consulting firm specializing in equipping leaders with the communication skills necessary to succeed in the ever-changing landscape of the business world