More Evil Salesmen Stories

Early 70’s found us living in Utah where I worked for a housing manufacturer turning out wood component homes and code compliant modular homes. My territory overlapped one of our competitors. Their rep, Max, and I were good friends and often had a few adult beverages at the end of the day when we encountered each other in the territory. He was a funny man and a great story teller.

Max started in sales as a door to door coffin salesman. There was, and remains, a tradition in the Intermountain West of families handling their own funerals. Prudent people bought their coffins ahead of time. Max offered kits to make them useful as storage cabinets, coffee tables and other applications. He had a covered truck he could load with six to eight coffins. He would drive around to farms and ranches trying to sell them.

One story had him in a hospital room, under an oxygen tent, showing a gentlemen his catalog. His very hot prospect was too weak to hold the catalog so Max held it and flipped the pages. The extended family were holding vigil in the room while this was going on.

Whenever I felt like a pity party for my tough path, I would think of Max’s early challenges and decide the pity party wasn’t needed.

Early on I learned there were some people you didn’t want to sell anything. One such individual was a purchasing agent for a coal mine. His interest was a manufactured home for him, not his employer. He had access to a toll free outbound 800 number (think early internet) and lots of free time on his job. Lets call him Mr. Blivet. His conversation with me started with the statement he expected “his” home to be built within a 1/8” tolerance. Huh?
Gosh, we lost that sale to our competitor, Max’s employer.

Fast forward two months. Max and I were having lunch at the Trails End Restaurant in Kanab, UT. Waiting until he had taken a bite, I asked, “So Max, how are you getting along with Mr. Blivet”? After he finished choking and cleared his throat, he had some choice remarks to the effect I wasn’t a good Christian lad and his desire that I not have a comfortable eternity. Tsk, tsk. Seems Mr. Blivet was using his 800 access to call everyone in Max’s company about every little grievance Mr. Blivet could manufacture.

Did I mention Max and I were competitors? While friends, we were throat ripping killers when business was on the table. The time, and sales, he lost while dealing with Mr. Blivet made it into our order book. Max never had a chance to even the score as we moved to the Seattle area not long after Mr. Blivet’s purchase. Oh well. Max a pro, and should have recognized Mr. Blivet for what he was.

BLIVET: def. One pound of bullshit in a half pound sack.