Chairman of the Board

Chairman of the Board

It was the spring of 1976, not long after our marriage, and we were both out of school and out of work. My wife was looking for a job in sales and I was just looking to find something, anything, that I could believe in and perhaps leverage into a career. We saw an advertisement in the Sunday paper for a firm seeking account executives to sell and distribute an exciting product that would generate a wide appeal in the regional area; after some sort of placement test, they would conduct interviews the following week. Early Monday morning Loretta and I called the number in the ad and arranged to take the placement test together the following day.

We drove into mid-Connecticut from our home in Coventry to the firm's regional office. I wore a tie and a sport coat, Loretta wore a bright dress. We found the offices in a building that housed several other small businesses. Upon entering, a receptionist welcomed us warmly. The rooms were bright and the furniture new. We sat at a long table and the receptionist gave each of us a folder that contained some pieces of paper and a preprinted form. The form had twenty questions printed on it and the pieces of paper were for those who needed more room for their answers. Loretta and I finished the placement test and sat down to wait while minds and people unknown went through the results somewhere off in a different room. A man and a woman came back to the reception area with the results; they were interested in interviewing me for a position but not Loretta. I scheduled a follow-up interview for the next day and then we left. Later I would find out the details of my selection; the product was a glorified vacuum cleaner, and the reason I ”passed” the placement test was an answer I supplied to one of the placement questions. When asked what I felt was a suitable position to strive for within the company, I had written ‘Chairman of the Board’.
 
So began the Account Executive phase of my life. I quickly learned there would be no account servicing or distributing, only door-to-door selling. This vacuum product had no vacuum bags but a bowl in the bottom of the housing that contained water in it, this was supposed to eliminate dust and save on bags as the vacuum pulled the air through the water and dust particles were trapped in the liquid; one just poured out the dirty water after vacuuming. However, the price for this convenience was five hundred to one thousand dollars depending on accessories, a steep amount to get out of the homeowners of the time, most of whom were elderly women.

I spent a week, unpaid, learning the company and its product. First, I heard the spiel about the vacuum’s construction, benefits, and selling points. I attended lectures on how to sell products to homeowners in their own home (just close the deal: close, close, and close). I also learned about the company and its annual sales convention where top sellers earned high rewards and desirable gifts.

We practiced a sales drill routine where we demonstrated the product. In our drill, we learned how to show the quality of construction and durability of the vacuum. Moreover, we learned two demonstration techniques to use in the prospective buyer’s home. First, we would vacuum an area with the homeowner’s vacuum. Then, using a spotlight with a conical tin cover and a wooden handle, we would scrape the area of the carpet just cleaned with the metal cone of the light and then hold the lit spotlight a few feet above the floor; particles of dust filled the air illuminated by the bright beam of light. Secondly, we learned to remove foam cushions from inside the seat covers of sofas or recliners and place them into plastic bags. Then we would insert the vacuum tube and suck the air out of the bag; this reduced the cushions into a flat hard square about one-tenth the normal size, thus showing the strength of the vacuum and ostensibly cleaning the foam as well.

Just as in the movie Glengarry Glen Ross, management had a collection of ‘leads’ that were perceived to be of some value to the selling force. The leads were names and addresses of people that filled out information cards at town fairs or super markets that promised some new gift to a homeowner if they were willing to watch a demonstration of the product in their home. The sales force, unfortunately, never had the gifts that the customers expected. We would concoct a story about the gifts being on back order, or on the way, and that delivery would occur at some future date. If they bought a vacuum cleaner, we would buy a gift for them after the deal closed.

Loretta and I had one car and this created some stress. One day I had a promising sales call but she was off on an interview. I waited patiently and she picked me up after the interview was over, and then we went on to the sales call together. Arriving at the house, I introduced Loretta and myself to the man and his wife. He was a bear of a man who had worked 30 years in the post office, and he was very proud of his home and everything he had accomplished. After introductions, I unloaded the equipment from the car.

As I set up inside he asked me two questions. The first was, “Where’s the gift?” I gave him the dodge and told him that we should have them in soon and that someone at the office would deliver one to their house. The second question was, “This isn’t a vacuum cleaner, is it?”

I was so embarrassed and went straight into the reply I learned in training, I told him it was much more that that and he should be patient until the entire demonstration was over. I set up my gear and asked his wife to clean a small patch of carpet in front of me with her own vacuum cleaner. I did the dust in the spotlight routine and it was perfect and impressive. Next, I reached for a seat cushion from the couch.

“Hold on, son,” he said. “That couch is brand new.”

“And I’m going to show you how to keep it that way,” I replied with practiced precision as I deftly took the foam cushion out of its cover and slid it into a large plastic bag. Soon I had it shrunk down to a solid small mass. “By doing this regularly, you can keep your furniture fresh from the inside out,” I said.

Then, somehow, it all went awry. I must have hit the wrong switch and dirty water began pouring into the bag with the cushion, cascading down the plastic and quickly filling it and staining the foam. Loretta shrieked with laughter and rocked back and forth in her chair. The man was yelling and his wife stared at me open-mouthed. I stopped the machinery from pumping out any more water, and I handed him the plastic bag full of dirty water with his now re-expanded cushion soaking it up like a sponge.

In a blur, I packed up the gear and Loretta and I were on our way out of the house. Loretta was still laughing as we got in the car, and I was mortified. Her laughter was contagious, however, and I was soon roaring along with her as we headed home for the evening.
 
My Account Executive career was over two days later. I turned in my demo gear and called an end to my career as a vacuum cleaner account executive. I would no longer be out there with just a shoeshine and a handshake, but I would not be out there with a plastic bag full of dirty water either.

I came up a little short of Chairman of the Board, but my sense of humor was intact and I had rescued what integrity and resolve as I could from the seamy situation. All this hustle and flow directed at getting elderly homeowners to sign on the line, and I had bought into this scheme because I needed the money. I was ashamed. From that experience, I brought my own litmus test to future interviews and job endeavors, the litmus test of living with myself at the end of the day.

Yet I look back on the experience with a smile and a laugh. Oh, the things we do to get by.