A man called Adam, or Andrew, or Antony – Dave wasn’t sure which – stood at the front, slapped his thighs, and began to speak.
‘Quarter-end. Cock on the block time. We don’t want ifs, cos I’ll have your butts–’ he paused for a moment to appreciate his wordplay, before continuing ‘–I want to see your bridges squeaky clean, and commits firmer than Dino’s glutes, yeah? Grab a coffee, grab a croissant. And settle the fuck in. We’ll start in five!’
Dave was about to shit himself. It was either nerves or last night’s fish pie. Add to that, his new shirt itched something fierce, and today was a nightmare. Everyone had told him to ‘fake it till you make it!’ He wondered if that extended to defecation.
The conference room, which he fidgeted in, smelt ever so slightly of stale sweat. He sat, almost elbow to elbow, with the other new additions to the sales team. A firm divide of new meat and old mutton, as the vets primped and preened across from them. Quarter zips and tight chinos, a sure sign of sales excellence, as fine leather satchels flopped down on the table. Laptop lids were open, shields against intrusion. Furious typing and the occasional chortle filled the air. Dave just sat and watched, trying to quell the nerves, until a balding man with glasses spoke at speed.
‘Steve, you’ll never guess what, they came back with 50k!’
‘I’d tell them to fuck off, Gary. If you got the bottle, that is.’
‘Yeah, not worth getting out of bed for, is it?’ the first man mumbled back, already knuckle-deep in his keyboard, hammering out a reply.
Starting a new job is tough enough. But missing out on the on-boarding and being thrown in the deep end was proving somewhat unpleasant for young Dave. Twenty-one, fresh out of university and thrust straight into the bear pit of B2B Corporate Sales. He’d be fine, just as soon as he figured out what that actually meant.
The meeting started, and the jargon continued. A flurry of PowerPoint, pebble-dashed with caustic chat of numbers, revenue, and something called ABC, which Dave was certain continued DEF, but something told him that in this room everything he thought he knew was different. A reality warped by high-octane sales fuckery, that consisted of repeated demands of how many K you were going to ‘do.’ Another letter, by the way. It seemed that everyone needed to do about 100k a month. If you said this number, then the Adam/Antony/Andrew man at the front was happy. If you said less, then he would sit for a second, silent and stony, before saying something like ‘and what are we going to do to cover it?’ The answers were vague but confident, strong but silent. They said everything and yet nothing at all.
The feeling of needing to take a dump eventually subsided. It was replaced with a burgeoning curiosity. It had taken ten minutes, maybe a little less, before Dave had noticed it. The other new hires were engaged. They were involved. A sort of euphoric satisfaction pervaded their every facial expression. Positive sales figures were met with grunts of delight and nods of knowing. They’d been on the on-boarding, Dave hadn’t. He’d missed the train, missed the bus, and as a result very much missed the point of today. As he struggled to keep up with the sales meeting, he grew angrier, more confused; the new hires were show-offs, brown-nosers. No, fuck. They were faking it – and they were making it.
Resolving to get involved, Dave saw an opportunity when the bossman – Adam in the end – stood up again, inquiring if any of the newbies wanted to ask anything.
‘In ten years you’ll be up here asking the next generation. We give back here. We look after the little people. Ask away!’
Dave’s hand rocketed skyward. First impressions were crucial, and here he was, about to shoot his shot. Be clear, be concise, be direct, he told himself. Dave was going to be business, no matter the cost.
‘Hey, sorry, hi. I’m Dave. I’m new. Fantastic to be here. I unfortunately missed on-boarding. Would you be able to run me through, you know, what it is…the specific service or product range we provide…no…supply to our clients, please?’
The human brain has a fantastic way of letting you know something’s wrong. No sooner had the words left Dave’s mouth than a front-loaded sense of regret, the size of a small elephant, plonked itself into view. There had been music playing – Dave hadn’t realised – but it was gone now. You could hear a pin drop, as Adam’s face turned to… well, nothing. The happy-go-lucky sales-wanky mood of before gave way to something akin to a funeral. But not a funeral of someone nice. Everyone who’s ever died has been heralded as a hero. No, this was like Hitler’s funeral. And everyone was staring at Dave as if he was heiling him, himself. Sure, the question was garbled, the words confused, but it was a simple, honest-to-god ask.
What does this company actually do?
Nothing happened. Everyone stared – some at Dave, others into space or into the screen with the graphs that all moved indiscriminately up and to the right. Adam seemed to calibrate. Dave noticed his fist clench, as his other hand grabbed at a document on his desk. He watched as Adam’s finger moved down it, before stabbing its bulbous end almost through it, as if it had been directed with some force.
‘Mr Clarke – Dave Clarke – you missed on-boarding, yes, I can see that now. Well, that won’t do. No man left behind. Come with me, we’ll run a crash-course session now. Ad hoc, belt and braces, pump you full of the good stuff so you can take part in this afternoon’s activities. After all, how can you build a sales cadence when you don’t know what we do.’ Toward the end of him speaking, the colour seemed to come back in his face, the snappy blokey energy returned, and with it, the room came to life again. Even the music came back.
Dave, not wanting to cause any more of a scene, nodded, got up, and followed Adam out of the room and into a smaller one just down the hall.
Ten years later.
Dave – now David – stood up, slapped his thighs, and began to speak.
‘Our divisional P&L leads the way. Our north star metrics outshine the other teams. We have carved out a lovely niche. This cell is so high-performing, I’ve been given permission to take you all on a trip away if we deliver our hockey-sticked sales quota. 200k per head! I’m so confident, I think even our newbies can contribute. Welcome, by the way – I was once where you were. Grab yourself a Danish, an espresso, and we’ll start in a few minutes, yeah?’
David turned to fiddle with the animation of his deck.
‘Excuse me, David, can I ask a quick question?’
Without looking up from the glow of his screen, David shot a gun-like finger back at him. ‘Shoot!’
‘Hi, I’m Rob, thanks. So, erm, my car broke down and I couldn’t actually make it to on-boarding last week–’
David looked up at this point. His attention turned to Rob, who was a plump young man, fidgeting slightly in his seat. His hands clenched in a sweaty ball as he spoke. Either side of him sat the other new hires, themselves calm, postures strong. A sense of professional curiosity washed across their faces.
Rob continued, ‘–and before we get into it, could I ask – sorry, could I clarify – what actually is it that we sell… the recruiter never really made it clear.’
The music died. The pretence ended. David was Dave again in mere moments. A flashback of epic proportions. Although ‘flashback’ wasn’t quite the right word. It suggests you remember – but Dave had been made to forget. No, this was a realisation. A shattering of sorts. The veil dropped, and the truth swam free in his mind, as it had done ten years ago sitting in that small meeting room with Adam.
The jargon is there on purpose. It’s meant to sound like bollocks, to switch you off, to distract your mind. Sophisticated neuro-linguistic programming, blended with state-of-the-art technology crammed into the laptop screens. Disguising the truth in plain sight.
ABC, the three letters that sounded nonsensical at first. Adam had smiled, as he explained. Asset-Based Children.
The squeaky clean bridges – making sure the paper trail was untraceable.
And 100k? Well, 100 kids ensured that the company could hit their commits. Enough product to provide enough organs to enough highest bidders.
The world had changed, and in some ways it was exactly the same. A shake of the hand, and a simple ‘let’s get cracking’ from Adam – all that was needed to on-board Dave after that. Part of the team. A brand-new collaborator in the gross world of Body 2 Billionaire Sales.
David shook it off, forcing a smile, as he finally replied to Rob.
‘Ah, yes, fair enough. Well, we leave no man – sorry, no person – here behind. Follow me, Rob. I’ll run an exclusive special on-boarding session for you right now, before the sales meeting starts. Just this way, please!’
Business was business, after all. And nothing could prevent them hitting their quota.
By Louis Urbanowski – Inspired by the prompt ‘Hidden Secrets’
Stories by Louis Urbanowski 