I'm Not a Saleswoman Either

If I had a job in sales I would starve to death. I suck at selling things, even my own products. I enjoy going to the first farmer's markets' of the season then I don't want to go anymore. I hate standing behind my table and having to smile at everyone that walks by even on days I don't feel happy. I really don't like small talk either. I have made some great friends since I've been at market the last two years. My favorite vendor is tomato man.

Tomato man is an older hippy that only sells his greenhouse tomatoes and cucumbers. That's it- tomatoes and cucumbers. You should see the lines he has at his table every market! He has been doing this for 20 years and has a loyal customer base. I think he told me he sold over 600 pounds of tomatoes in the three hour span of market. Tomato man kinda took me under his wing when I first started selling. He'll save me a spot so I can park next to him at market. I think he does this so he can sell my products for me. He knows I suck at sales. He would try to give me advice at the beginning such as- smile at people and say "hi", offer people soap samples or say something nice about their kids. I think he's figured out I'm a lost cause because now he just sells my shit for me when he isn't busy with his own customers. I think tomato man could sell a flea ridden dog if you asked him. He'll say "You've got to try her eggs, they are the best eggs in the world. The yolks are the color of oranges and stand high." or "We only use her shampoo bars, they last over 50 washes and my wife has color treated hair." He probably sells 20% of my income, I'm afraid one day he will ask for commission.

I tried to think about why I hate sales so much. I think it's because I hate bullshit. I saw this little girl at market yesterday dressed up in a Cinderella costume. She was running around(tiara and all) thinking she was a princess and her costume was getting filthy. One of the vendors said "Oh my what a lovely dress, could I borrow it?" Number one, the dress wasn't so lovely. Number two, there is no way this vendor could fit into this 4 year olds dress. Number three, I don't think the Mom should let the kid be Cinderella when it's not Halloween. Halloween won't be special if you can be Cinderella every day. I can't just say things just to make a sale, I don't want it that much.

I also need to go to a smart ass/quick comeback school. I am not good at thinking of witty things to say when people are rude. For example, I sell bath bombs in big glass jars. People can choose which ones they want and I wrap them up. Some guy comes up to my table and says he wants to buy a "couple" of bath bombs. I say, "So you want like three of the "rise and shine" ones?" He responds "Three? I said a couple. You must be kinky." Okay, this is when I about lose it. I want to hurl a bathbomb at his dome piece and yell "You perverted shithead. Just give me a number!" But oh no, I've got to smile and wrap his bathbomb while he's having some sick fantasy in his mind. I come home and tell my husband about bathbomb manage-a-trios man. My husband rattles off ten stinging comebacks in a matter of seconds. I'm slow in the witty department.

Because I was rushing to get to market yesterday, I left my bike in the van. A male customer started talking to me about his younger days and bike riding. He happened to come right when we were closing and I am so ready to leave. I'm packing up my stuff and half listening because I don't really like small talk. He says "Did you hear me? What's the PSI on your tires?" I start laughing because it's the funniest question anyone has asked me all day. Maybe he thought I was a dipshit and didn't know. Who really would care about my tires and PSI? Once again, I was racking my brain for a witty response but "120 psi" was all that came out.

People really wear me out. When I get home from market on Thursday nights, it's difficult for me to talk. I'm tired of talking. I make my husband answer the phone and take messages. He understands about my people problems. He'll always have a meal prepared for me on Thursday nights and a bottle of red wine opened. I usually drink a lot too on Thursday nights, then I start talking again.

Just so it's clear: Mary Kay would never hire me.