Salesmen are Human Too

Or so they say. I’m not convinced though…

Moving seems to involve buying an awful lot of stuff of the kind where you can’t just look at it and pay for it and then take it away but where someone has to stand there and convince you to buy it. Like a washing machine. We have a septic tank here and septic tanks are sensitive things, prone to block and overflow and generally misbehave with consequences too dire to contemplate, so we were looking for a washing machine that didn’t have a drink problem as well as a good energy efficiency rating. There are two big electrical retailers near us and one of them the salesmen aren’t paid commission, and one of them they are. We tried the first one first, but they didn’t have the machine we wanted in stock and as it’s costing us 10 QUID to get a service wash at the laundrette (who said living in the country was cheaper? Oh yeah, me), we thought we’d brave the other one. After a few minutes of being stalked by a spotty young man in a bright yellow shirt, we finally succumbed to the dreaded ‘do you need any help there?’. ‘This washing machine,’ the other half said. This model says it uses 60 litres of water for a wash and the very same model with the faster spin speed uses 160 litres. Is that just a typo?’ ‘Oh no,’ said the salesman. ‘60 litres all right.’ ‘So why the difference? A hundred litres?’ ‘Oh well, it’s the faster spin speed, it allows it to get through a lot more water,’ he said, improvising desperately. Four raised eyebrows greeted this. ‘Oh yes, it’s accurate all right. 60 litres, no problem.’ We went back and checked the brochure. 160 litres it was.

We decided for the two week wait. But even over in no-commission land, the salesmen weren’t finished with us. They have to try and sell the extended warranty, you see, it’s in their job contracts. He knew we weren’t going to buy it, and we knew we weren’t going to buy it but the formalities have to be observed so he gabbled through the pitch, his voice rising faster and faster until he paused for breath long enough for us to say no. I wish there was an equivalent of the Telephone Preference Service that we could sign up to – maybe there could be a badge? – so that we wouldn’t have to go through this. It would save us all a lot of time.

But there is something to be said for some degree of salesmanship, considering the alternative. Down at our local not-quite-so-big town, we headed into the deli to see if there were some local cheeses we could buy. The guy was on the phone. We waited, he talked. We waited some more. He talked some more. And then, still talking, he stepped out from behind the counter and walked right out into the street abandoning us with his stock. We thought about walking off with a lifetime’s supply of oatcakes, but then thought better of it. And drove down to Tescos and bought our cheese there.

Cars next. Not looking forward to that one…