Sales Tales

Anyone that has attended one of my sales seminars has heard this wonderful true story about my all-time favorite
salesperson. It happened in 1978 when I accepted my first sales training job at Waters Associates in Milford, Massachusetts.
At that time I was living in Vernon Connecticut, eighty-five miles from Milford. As a field sales rep for Waters for the previous
eight years, I had always driven a company car, so it was time to actually buy my own; a first for me.

At first, I was excited about the idea of having a new car of my very own. Having seen those flashy ads for sports cars in
magazines and TV, I could imagine myself zooming down the Mass Turnpike every day, enjoying the feel of the road and the
looks of admiration from my fellow drivers. I couldn’t wait to get out and buy one. However, once I started visiting the
dealerships, my enthusiasm began to wane. I checked out Triumph, MG, Fiat and a few other showrooms. It was the same
sales pitch everywhere. The sales people talked about cams and valves, gear ratios and compression ratios, struts and
pinions and lots of other engineering specifications. I became totally confused and frustrated by all that autotechnese.

Shortly thereafter, while driving along a secondary road in a nearby town, I noticed a small sign at the foot of the driveway. It
simply read, DATSUN SALES & REPAIRS. Having seen the ads for the “AWESOME” 280Z on TV, I figured it was worth a
stop. At the end of the driveway was a barn-like structure surrounded by old tires, tailpipes, and odds and ends that were the
remains of dismembered old Datsuns. A sign over the door of the building read, D TSUN ALES & EP IRS, in large faded red
letters. There seemed to be no signs of life but for a few starlings and sparrows pecking around the rubble.

As I cautiously entered through the side door, I noticed more tires, fan belts hanging from the ceiling beams and a rack of
wrenches loosely hung on the wall to my right. Most noticeable, however, was a single automobile directly before me. It was
without doubt, the ugliest car I’d ever seen. It was the infamous Datsun F-10 Miniwagon. It was school bus yellow with stick-
on plastic on the door panels to make it look like a station wagon with wooden sides. Wow, was it ugly!

At random locations on the car were tent-like folded cardboard signs, hand written with a black marker. One placard stated,
LOWEST PRICED IMPORT. Another claimed, BEST FUEL ECONOMY, while one on the hood announced, FRONT WHEEL
DRIVE. One sign was even inside the car to inform buyers about the EXTRA SPACE by folding down the rear seats as one
might do with larger wagons.

After a few moments of being nauseated by the color of the vehicle, and, seeing no sign of anything that resembled the 280Z,
it was time to depart from the premises. Back to the world of slick salesman (most automobile salespeople were men in 1978)
to hear about titanium alloy wheels, and quatraplus glide transmissions.

As I turned the greasy door handle to exit, I heard a voice calling from the rear of the shop.

“How can I help you, my friend?”

Slowly a man appeared from behind a partition wall where he had been working on a disabled Datsun. He was about sixty
years old, dressed in a blue, grease stained shirt and old, well worn jeans. As he wiped his hands with a clean rag, he
approached me and said,

"Hi there, what can I do for you today?”

I explained that I had seen the Datsun sign out front and thought I might get a look at a 280Z.

“Nope, I don’t have a 280Z here,” he explained. “I could order you one if you want, but you’d get a better deal at a larger
dealership,” he advised. “I’m really in the service business, but I do keep a vehicle on hand if I can get one for a good price.”
Like this one over here, for example,” pointing to the F-10.

I shook my head smugly and told the guy that I was only interested in a sports car.

“Nope this sure ain’t no sports car,” he replied.

I thanked the man for his time and turned the door handle to leave.

“By the way, do you live around here?”

I answered that I lived in a neighboring town and just happened to be driving by.

“I’m Joe Sullivan, nice to have met you,” he chirped as he extended
his degreased right hand.

I introduced myself shaking his hand cautiously. Again I turned the door handle when Joe asked,

“So Lew, do you work nearby?”

I went on to tell Joe about changing jobs from field sales to an inside position.

“Milford, Massachusetts? Where in the world is Milford Massachusetts?” asked Joe.

I explained that it was about eighty some odd miles away, and that I’d be commuting every day.

“I’ve always wanted a sports car, and now I can really enjoy my ride to work,” I said.

“Sorry I can’t help you with that sports car,” Joe apologized. “All I’ve
got is this here F-10.”

“So I see,” I grunted.

“By the way, Lew, do you have a family?”

Now I was starting to get suspicious. I answered that I have a wife and three kids, and that if Joe had any thoughts about
selling me the F-10, he’d better forget them right now.

“Why would I sell you the F-10? You told me that you want a sports
car. The F-10 is the furthest thing from a sports car.”

Joe went on to tell me about how much he had enjoyed his sports car, a 1978 Triumph.

“There’s nothing like getting out on those curvy back roads and
feeling like you’re in full control,” he exclaimed with enthusiasm.
“Not so great on the highway, though. Especially those long drives.
Too cramped and tough on the ol’ lumbar.”

I hadn’t driven a sports car very far, but I did know about a sore back from many miles of driving as a salesman.

“So Lew, do you have a pet that you take along on weekends or vacations?”

I was almost afraid to tell Joe about Brandy and Rubin, our two, full grown Golden Retrievers. I knew he would ask how we
transport them on our drives to the seashore and mountains. Of course the dogs occupied the rear section of the company
issued Impala station wagon whenever we took them on family outings. I remembered the sign inside the F-10 describing
EXTRA SPACE.

“I know all about the extra space in that car,” I barked at Joe.

He calmly agreed that if I was interested in a sports car, there was no reason to consider the grotesque
F-10.

“Are you planning to drive to work during the winter?” Joe pursued
knowingly.

“Of course I am,” I answered impatiently.

Why did I have a strange feeling that FRONT WHEEL DRIVE was next on Joe’s agenda?

“Have you thought about getting through the snow with the kind of steering control you
get with front wheel drive?”

Knowing that was coming I glanced at the corresponding tent sign on the hood of the yellow monster.

“O.K., Joe, I see your point, but I don’t know of any sports car with
front wheel drive, so I’ll just have to live without it,” I acquiesced.

“Right,” Joe snapped back. “Sometimes you have to make sacrifices to get what you want.
After all, no car can provide you with everything.”

“That’s for sure,” I agreed.

"By the way, Lew, have you been concerned about the rising cost of
fuel?” Joe pressed.

In 1978, gasoline was up to $1.40 per gallon, and there was fear that it would steadily rise. Joe reminded me that 170 miles
per day would consume mucho fuel, especially in a powerful sports car.

“Did you realize that you would be adding at least forty thousand
miles to a new car in one year?” Joe queried. “Besides fuel costs,
think of the maintenance and trade-in value.”

Joe was making sense, but my heart was still set on my sleek, sexy sports car.

It was time to make my escape before I actually started coming to my senses. I didn’t want to hear any more of Joe’s fatherly
words of wisdom. As I thanked Joe for his time, and once again turned the door knob, he wished me good luck finding the
right car.

“Just one more question, Lew,” he begged as I was halfway out the
door.

I couldn’t wait to hear this one!

“Aside from the fact that the F-10 is ugly, what else don’t you like
about it?”

I didn’t know how to answer. Ugly was enough for this car. It didn’t need anything else to prevent it from being sold to me.

Joe started moving closer to the eyesore and replayed our conversation as follows:

“Lew you told me that you wanted a sportier car than you had been
driving, but you also said that you will be driving about 170 miles a
day. You don’t want to aggravate your back, and you need space for the family and
the two Goldens. You will be driving in snow so front wheel drive may give you more
steering control on those blustery New England days. You have nothing to trade in,
so you might be interested in a low down payment with affordable financing. Of course there
is the rising cost of fuel, maintenance, and depreciation. Am I right?”

I couldn’t believe it, but Joe was right. I sheepishly nodded in agreement.

Joe continued:

“So if the only thing that bothers you about the F-10 is its appearance, doesn’t everything
else make up for it? It will give you space and comfort, front wheel control, great fuel economy,
a low purchase price, and best of all; I will keep it running perfectly for you.”

I was totally stunned. I had to come up with a reason for not buying the car.

“I wouldn’t be caught dead in such a monstrosity,” I blasted.

Again Joe agreed.

“You’re right, Lew, it’s plenty ugly and so are school buses. Ever wonder why school buses are painted
that hideous yellow color? Now, who do you
share the road with early in the morning and on your way home from work?”

After a moment of recollection, I answered,

“The trucks.”

“That’s right Lew. Now imagine yourself early in the morning in the winter when
it’s dark and icy, traveling to work on the turnpike at say, sixty miles an hour
with eighteen wheelers surrounding you. Wouldn't you want to feel absolutely
sure that they see you. The F-10 may be ugly, but it will get you to work
and home safely every day. It’s quite unlikely that you’d be caught dead in this car!”

I’ll always remember my beautiful Golden Chariot!
_____________________________________________________________________

Joe Sullivan demonstrated many selling skills during our interaction. Instead of trying to sell me a car, Joe helped me to
understand my own situation and guided me to an acceptance of my real needs.

To learn more about this approach to selling, inquire about the GRA workshop, F SS, Fundamental Selling Skills.

FSS is a two day classroom based workshop, customized according to your product or services.

To inquire about FSS or other GRA workshops, call:

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Sales Tales

The Yellow Buggy

by

Lew Kurtzman

910.617.1717

or e-mail

info@grasolutions.com

Growth Resources Associates

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