The National Sales Meeting

(continued)

By John Joyce

There was a time before Power Point presentations when speakers prepared transparencies for weeks and strived to keep them in order when laying them on some noisy projector. The product manager took the Power Point template and stuck in his information, which is about all I would do. Nick S. (on the other hand) had animation and sound. It was fun and completely unintelligible.

This afternoon there is going to be a review of our sales figures by the vice president of sales — lots of pie charts, graphs, and clichés such as: "We can do better in most areas. We missed some of our goals."

I've done well this year because of two large orders from a new company that got some environmental handout. Not sure that company will be around next year, but I can always find some new companies to do business with. Some of the sales people like to complain about product delivery times, lack of sales leads and the decrease in commissions. I would be the top salesman except for Karen from Montreal. But that is all right because I don't want too much attention. It is not healthy. I have seen star sales people rise and get shot down when their territory is split or their key accounts are taken away or they're made regional sales managers. Life expectancy of a good regional sales manager? Nine months. Of a poor regional sales manager? Eighteen months. A company zealously zeros in on a star salesman to reduce his or her income and is always successful.

The room is cold with no windows. Last year in Las Vegas I caught a cold because I wore summer business, casual clothes, and the hotel's air conditioning was set too high.

The e-mail annunciation stated "dress business casual," which means no jeans or designer clothing. Over lunch it is all right to mention you have lululemon shares and adulterous intentions with Amelia who sold you some red, reversible all-sport shorts and three sweat bands (red, white and grey). But wearing lululemon athletic attire at a sales meeting is not the thing to do. Most people are wearing our company golf shirts, except Matt Dunway. I think that's rather like wearing a school uniform,
so I resist. I have on a freshly laundered (on expenses) long sleeve, striped shirt with pressed, matching, wrinkle-free German pants. Mr. H. Ti from Singapore wears a blue suit and a red, striped tie with a gold tie pin. He sits next to Mr. C. Ti (no relation) from Hong Kong, who also wears a blue suit and a dark grey tie but with no tie pin. I suspect Heinz (whenever he appears) will be immaculately attired — those Europeans like style.

The end of the meeting, or "wrap up," is tomorrow at about 4 p.m. It will be just like closing night at the opera, with all the managers and contributors congratulating each other while we sales people clap madly. Often, J. Paul Spaford singles out an unknown manager standing at the back of the room for having done a great job. Of course, none of us are clear what that job was, but we clap anyway.

Before leaving the room tomorrow, it would be wise to shake hands with J. Paul Spaford and Matt Dunway. While the former might confuse you with the hotel staff, the latter will probably size you up with an eye toward changing your territory. Perhaps for the last day I should wear the company golf shirt.

I hear noises outside and the delightful sound of tinkling cups.

"Well, that's it. Go bring orders. Any questions?"

As I move towards the coffee table a tall man enters, wheeling a suitcase. He is wearing a sports jacket and a blue tie. He gives me his business card.

"Please, my name is Heinz."