Caveat emptor

I got a call back today from what seemed to be my most promising bakery. He needs sales oriented people, he says, people who can work from 3 AM to noon and possibly more hours some days, people who can find new accounts and expand the bakery's clientele. I have never held a sales job; in fact, it's pretty much the one type of employment that I categorically rule out when job-searching.

Still, this appeals to me more than the average sales position, mostly because it involves selling delicious baked goods. It's hard to deny the appeal of a danish; you might regret buying it, but chances are you'll still eat it. The thing I find unpleasant about trying to convince people to buy most things is that the products in question, whether knives or life insurance, are just a bunch more shit to clutter up their days. (Not so with a danish: it's there, then it's gone.) That isn't a moral judgment as much as it is a matter of ability: I don't think I could construct a convincing argument to people that they actually need this or that meat cleaver or annuity and so I would probably do a lot of muttering and frantic head-nodding. I think (and maybe people who have worked sales can shed some light on this) working in sales maybe requires a greater separation of work and person than other jobs, since it seems like you have to slip into a certain role to adequately perform it. The persona you create, The Salesman, must be wholeheartedly invested in whatever it is you're pitching -- regardless of whatever value judgments you as a person may or may not assign to the object pitched.

I also believe that it is my failure to do just that that contributed to my failure as a teacher. A teacher is selling a product (on many levels -- the lesson of the day, the grade in the class, the school in general, the belief that investing in the track established by the system as a whole will bear worthwhile fruit), and although I sincerely thought and felt that the overall act of learning math was a product of substantial quality, I was also plagued with constant doubts about whether or not I was doing it right. If a kid were to question my lesson by blurting out, "I don't get this!", or "this is boring!", I would waver. Visibly. Maybe it is boring? Maybe it's not relevant enough? Maybe I'm not explaining it slowly enough? Or maybe I'm getting bogged down in the details? Or I'm not allowing for enough participation? Or I'm allowing for too much? Or, or or?

Such internal evaluation is actually a good quality in a salesman or a teacher or any other worker dealing with the incredibly delicate task of opinion-manipulation and person-handling. But self-critique in retrospect is one thing. Self-critique in the moment of the pitch is another. This hesitation, this lack of total resolve, this sliver of doubt driven between thought and comportment, is fatal. If a customer asks Willy Loman why his loafers should triumph over the competition, he has an answer on hand. He does not -- does not -- turn the shoe over and over in his hands and consider aloud while avoiding eye contact, "I mean, I personally think the stitching is pretty good on these ones, but I guess in the end it's really a matter of taste."

I'll pass on the bakery.