Life of a salesman

On a Saturday, about three months after I started selling used cars, I came in early for the morning sales meeting. The sales manager was a gorilla of a man named Justin Drake. When he led these meetings, he almost always had dark circles along the pit creases of his fancy button-down shirts. That day it was a sleek black Armani shirt with shiny cuffs and a bluish tie crossed by thin white stripes. I remember that because it’s the only way I can picture him now. The stains were a bit less noticeable than usual against that particular black shirt.

Sweat stains and all, Justin brought a certain presence to a room that I can’t exactly explain. He just demanded attention. He really made people want to hustle. So did Hitler, so take that for what it’s worth.

“The guy’s magnetic,” another salesman, Geoff Walters, told me on my first day. “You should see him close a customer.” I didn’t know what closing someone was, but I nodded anyway so it wouldn’t be so obvious I had never sold anything before. Over time, I came to understand that Justin was one of those larger-than-life types of people to Geoff. I’m convinced Geoff would have taken any amount of abuse from the man.

I never listened to Justin’s sales speeches. Mostly I’d just sit there all glazed over and I’d nod my head like a robot. I looked up that morning and realized that half of the sales staff had filed out of the conference room while I was still nodding my head. Most of them were already on the salesroom floor trying to get an “up.” An up is what they called a potential customer, the people who, for whatever reason, find themselves on a used car lot.

“Thanks,” I said to Geoff. He had elbowed me in the arm to get my attention.

“Don’t thank me,” he replied. “Get your ass out there and go sell something. Make that money.”

I told him I had it under control, and he told me to “go get it then.” I guess I should mention that the entire staff gets a bonus based on their sales as a team. Smart. Geoff turned and slithered off down the hall towards his office.

I was a terrible salesman from the start. I suppose I still am. Maybe the other guys were greedy, or maybe they were just hungry – a set of kids and a deep mortgage could do either to a man, but I just didn’t have it in me. Maybe that’s my problem. Or maybe it’s theirs.

Most of the other salesmen would have between 15 and 20 cars out by the 22nd of the month, but I was lucky to get five. It was a real problem for Justin, and he let me know about it as often as possible.

I left the meeting room and slogged towards my office in the back hallway. I was particularly good at not selling in the mornings, mostly because I drink too much and the mornings are often reserved for recovery. I’d usually just wait around until I saw the taco lady pull up behind the building to sell tacos out of the back of her white minivan. Her chorizo tacos were the best part of my day.

By noon that day, the sun had risen high and set the air on fire. I leaned against a pole on the corner of the dealership’s porch and scanned the lot for customers. All along the front line facing the interstate were brightly colored balloons tied to the windshield wipers of the cars, and as I stood there daydreaming, one suddenly slipped loose, escaping upward. I wiped my brow with the back of my hand as a stream of sweat slipped down the side of my head.

Out on the lot, Jimmy Hernandez was giving an enthusiastic walk-around on a used minivan. His customers were a couple who looked to be in their early 30s. They were smiling and squinting in the sun. The woman held a blond-headed toddler in her right arm, his legs wrapped around her waist. When Jimmy used the keyless remote to open the automatic hatch on the back of the van, the husband grunted with surprise.

I knew Jimmy would sell them a car. There was an energy he created in customers visible from across the lot. He really looked the part with his slicked-back hair and wire glasses, those acne-scarred cheeks. He was the only salesman at the lot who wore a suit and tie even in the Texas summer. He’d been selling cars for 15 years and knew every aspect of the game.

“You gotta get ’em excited to get the big commissions,” he told me once. “People love a good show.” Jimmy always put on a hell of a show, but it wasn’t difficult: He had a serious cocaine habit. When his wife finally left him, he stepped it up a notch – he’d become noticeably worse in the time I’d worked there. Sometimes he’d twitch when he came into the meetings, and it didn’t take the rumors that circulated among the staff to know that he’d progressed from the straw to the pipe. Justin knew it as well, but he tolerated it because Jimmy sold plenty of cars.

When you swim with the sharks, you watch your own back, I guess.

A rusted Oldsmobile rolled onto the lot and began to circle slowly through the aisles. The driver parked it when he came to the area that was intentionally blocked off with cars. I frowned. There was an unspoken hierarchy within the sales staff that meant I would have to take this particular customer. A man who drove a rusted old car probably didn’t have the credit or job or income to buy a better one. Experienced salesmen didn’t waste their time on long shots. These were saved for the new guys to practice on. I was the only relatively new salesman on the staff, and even if I hadn’t been, nobody respected me, so it wouldn’t have mattered.

The car creaked to a stop. A Hispanic man climbed out and wandered over to a black Trans Am on the front line, facing the interstate. With my hands in my pockets, I walked over to greet him, pulling a yellow card and a pen out of my shirt pocket as I approached.

“How you doing today, sir?” I called out. I extended my hand to the man and he shook it reluctantly.

“My name’s Mike. I’m a sales associate here. You interested in this Trans Am?” The man stared at me like my prick was hanging out. I almost reached down to check.

“I… no… speak… English. Somebody speak Spanish?” he finally managed to get out.

“Un momento, por favor.”

I turned away and walked back across the lot into the building. I scanned the room, but it appeared that every other salesperson had a customer. I saw Geoff easing away from a bad customer, so I approached him.

“Does Jimmy still have a customer?” I asked.

“Yup. Just talked to him at the sales tower. He’s gonna rip those people’s heads off on that van.”

“I got a customer on the lot that doesn’t speak English. What should I do with him?”

“How does he look?” Geoff asked, slightly interested.

“He probably can’t buy.”

Geoff frowned. “Go tell Justin. Always tell Justin before you let anyone leave. You know that.”

I did know that. I didn’t want to tell Justin, because he rode me whenever he got a good chance. He’d probably make me go out there and try to sell the guy a car using hand gestures and a note pad.

That was the moment I realized that this wasn’t my kind of party. I went to my office instead and dialed my neighbor, James.

“Hello?” James answered.

“What’s up?” I said.

“Hey Mike. Not much. Looking for work. You selling some cars or what?”

“Not exactly.”

“Gotta get by, I guess.”

“Something like that. You guys going drinking tonight?”

“Yeah. There’s a band playing down the street at Charlie’s. You want to come?”

“Definitely. I can’t get outta here until nine. I may not get there until some time after 10.”

“Sucks. Well, come find us in the back by the pool tables when you get there.”

“Will do. See ya,” I said, and started to hang up. I saw Justin coming from the showroom and I snatched the receiver back, pretending to follow up with a previous customer.

“Goddamn it, Mike – what the hell are you doing back here?” he screamed when he was just outside the door. “The entire lot’s fucking full right now. Don’t ever let me catch you jerkin’ around in your office – you got that? Saturday’s the biggest goddamn day of the week.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Jesus Christ, boy, get busy. There’s no way you could be satisfied with what you’ve made this month. You ain’t gonna sell shit sitting back here.”

I stood up and headed to the showroom with Justin still screaming behind me. I spotted a man in a black ball cap out on the lot and moved out to greet him.

“Sell him a car, Mike,” Justin called after me. “Jesus Christ.”

We both knew that probably wouldn’t happen.

By 4pm, I had taken three more customers but failed to sell to any of them. One man told me to “get fucked” and sped off in his old clunker. The other two customers had approached me, and I honestly couldn’t tell you what they said because I wasn’t really listening. A couple of the other salesmen took to making snide remarks about me when they thought I was just out of earshot, like it was some kind of game whether I’d hear them. So I got the keys to a car parked in the back corner lot, climbed in, cranked the air conditioning up to high, and took a nap.

Around seven, things had really tapered off, and Justin paged the staff to the sales tower. I stood up and went with the others.

“Where’s Lee?” he asked as he slammed the door.

“He’s on a test drive with a customer,” someone replied.

“All right then, forget him. So here’s the deal. We had a big day today – several of you guys got hat tricks. Hell, Jimmy got four.”

Some of the guys whooped at that. Someone made a comment about Jimmy buying drinks after work. That probably wouldn’t happen. Justin went on.

“We’re slow, so I’m gonna let a few of you leave early to go chase women or go do whatever it is you bunch of sleazy bastards do at night. Here’s what I’m gonna do: Anybody who sold a car today can leave. By my count, Geoff and Mike are the only ones who don’t match up. They stay. The rest of you get the hell outta here. See you on Monday.”

The rest of the sales staff bum-rushed the door and broke out for the employee parking lot in the back. Geoff and I just stood there. After a moment, I went out to the showroom and glanced out the front windows, but the lot was empty. So I sat down at a table to keep watch. Geoff came out from the back and took a seat next to me.

“Didn’t sell shit either, huh, Mike?” he said.

“Not today.”

“Hell, not on most days.”

“Okay. Not on most days, but also not today.”

Geoff bounced off to his office like he enjoyed the punishment. Lee pulled back onto the lot with his customers in a black sedan. A man with grey hair was driving with a pleased look on his face. He had no idea what was coming next. Lee motioned him to pull the car up to the sold line, which was actually anywhere a salesman chose just so long as they dropped the word “sold” on the customer. Justin said it made them take mental ownership of the vehicle. That was always the hardest part for me: all the insinuation. It was such an assuming line to put on someone. Most of the guys on the staff would have done anything for a dollar, but I didn’t care. It just wasn’t in me.

Before I realized it, the customers were seated at another of the tables on the showroom floor. Lee went into the sales office to talk with Justin, then he returned with a smile raked across his face.

“Great news, Mr. Jefferson,” he said. “Here’s what I’ve got. With $5,000 down and a 48-month finance term at a low seven percent interest rate, I can get you payments of $400 a month. Sign right here and I’ll get it cleaned up and ready to go.”

He indicated a dotted line at the bottom of the worksheet with his eyes and set a pen next to it before he settled into a less aggressive posture. The salesman never speaks at this point in the sale – and he won’t until the customer speaks first. This insures that they will do one of two things. One: reveal any problems they have with the numbers. Two: bolt for the door. The Jeffersons took the first option.

“We told you we wanted to pay $350 a month, Lee,” the old man said. “This says four. We can’t do four. Maybe we’re on too much car.”

Lee didn’t even blink, the scoundrel. “So what you’re telling me, Mr. Jefferson, is that at $350 a month you’d buy this car right now?”

“Wait a minute now – just slow down,” Mr. Jefferson said. “We may not buy today, Lee.”

“I understand that, Mr. Jefferson. Not a problem. What I’m trying to do is go in there and get my boss to work with me. What I need to know is, what numbers do I need to get to for you to buy this car today?”

“Today?” Mr. Jefferson repeated.

“Yes, sir. Today. You see that big rough man in there?” Lee gestured toward the sales tower at Justin. Mr. Jefferson nodded. “He’s tired, he’s been here since seven this morning. He’s ready to go home. If I go in there and tell him that you guys just want to see some numbers on this beautiful car, he’s gonna tell me that you should come back when you’re serious, and we’ll negotiate then. I’ll do my best for you, but we’ve got to be straight with each other to make it happen the right way.”

Mrs. Jefferson spoke for the first time. “Lee, we’re not trying to cause you trouble, it’s just that we didn’t come down here expecting to buy today. We don’t want to waste your time.”

Lee licked his lips. The couple both sat back a bit.

“That’s okay, Trudy, y’all aren’t wasting my time,” he said. “But tell me this: If I could get you a deal better than you ever expected to see today, better than you thought possible, you wouldn’t pass a thing like that up, would you?”

“Well, no – I suppose not,” Mr. Jefferson grumbled.

“Great. So what I need to know is, what numbers would make this become that deal for you?”

The Jeffersons eyed each other. Mrs. Jefferson muttered something about interest rates. They came to a consensus in a moment.

“Well, Lee, I can tell you right off that we don’t have $5,000 to put down. And seven percent interest seems a bit higher than we’re accustomed to,” Mr. Jefferson said.

“Understood. So how much do you have to put down?”

“We thought before hand that we could come up with $2,000.”

“Great, so what I’m getting is,” Lee flipped over the worksheet and began to write, “with $2,000 down, and – what interest rate were you hoping for?”

“Five. Five percent would do.”

“With $2,000 down at a five percent interest rate, $350 per month payment, I will buy this vehicle now.” He pulled the pen from the paper. “Does this work for you, Mr. Jefferson?”

Mr. Jefferson and his wife studied Lee’s handwriting. After a second, he nodded his head: Yes. Lee drew an X at the bottom of the statement and then drew a horizontal line out from it.

“If I could just get you to initial here, I’ll take it to my boss,” he directed.

Mr. Jefferson complied. Lee hurried off to the sales tower. I shook my head and moved off towards my car in the employee lot. In the entire first round of negotiations Lee had managed to keep the subject of price completely on the back burner. It hadn’t come up at all. As I walked past the sales tower I saw Justin practically salivating as he spoke to Lee. He shut the door as I passed so that they pantomimed through the glass wall as they spoke. I looked back and the Jeffersons seemed pleased with the negotiations. They had no idea what was really going down.

Any time you feel like your car salesman is doing you a favor, I’d recommend you run away. The Jeffersons would never get five percent interest on a used car. Finance would force them into the original seven percent and the dealership would make $4,000 if they paid the list price. The Jeffersons would walk out the door thinking Lee was their friend, their “car guy,” certain this was the best deal they had ever gotten. But that’s all bullshit.

I slipped out the side door to my car, opened a cooler in the back seat, and took out two hot beers. I wrapped them in a T-shirt and shut the door, then I walked to the far corner of the back lot and ducked behind the dumpsters. I opened the first beer and chugged half of it before I lit a cigarette. Grey smoke stenciled the humid air. I finished the beer and popped open the second. The beers were unpleasant because they were hot, but I swallowed huge sips anyway. There was a hole in the clouds just in front of the moon. I felt lonely and tired of things. I puffed on the cigarette again. Sweat began to bead on my forehead, and I knew that before long I should get back inside, but it wasn’t any use because I understood then that I was finished with it. I was done.

Lee’s customers were just coming out of finance. He pulled around the building in their freshly washed car. The Jeffersons looked pleased. I went straight into my office and snagged my car keys. It was only 8:30, but I ducked back out the door to my car and started the engine. I didn’t give a damn if I got fired. Not one damn. I wasn’t planning on coming back. So I threw it in drive and turned out onto the service road. My taillights gleamed red in the rearview mirror as I drove north toward downtown Austin.