The Salesman Has Two Faces

There are just certain things that should be retired. I count olive loaf, pimento cheese, and the Mr. Peanut advertising logo among them. And Norman.

I suppose I should afford Norman a modicum of respect, since he is my elder four or five times over. But since he’s advised me on several occasions not to get my panties in a twist and I’ve overheard him using the expression “open kimono” to describe a transparent pricing model, I’m going to give myself a pass. The man is a relic.

And yet, Norman is a tenacious relic. Since I’ve started, this company has been reduced and realigned so many times that I’m not honestly sure who’s had more work done — Jenny McCarthy or my place of employment. Yeah, I went there.

All of the decent human beings that I used to enjoy working with are long gone, forced into severance packages and put out to pasture, until only the truly strategic, cunning, and devious remain. Essentially, I now work with a bunch of people who would sell their own mothers for parts. And honestly, I’d be more morally conflicted about that if they all didn’t suck so bad at selling.

Because of their high salaries and suspect work contributions, Sales VPs are always the first to go when the cullings come and how Norman, a mealy-mouthed geezer prone to bouts of windbag grandstanding, has remained while his faster, flashier, and frankly, more driven counterparts have been flushed out, I have no idea. Maybe he’s got dirt on someone. Or maybe like most relics, time and company have forgot them.

Or so I thought.

Anyway, Norman and I had been slogging through a particularly brutal deal, one of those slow-burn morasses that drag on and on despite the fact that both companies really need the deal to sign.

I blamed Norman for the delay. His negotiation style could best be summed up as Janus the two-faced Greek god of duality (or if you like movies, the Sean Bean character in Golden Eye). Prior to getting on a call with the vendor, Norman would rant and rave to the team about this provision or that, pounding the table with his fist and declaring that we might as well quit before giving an inch. Then we’d get on the call and the larger-than-life Norman would shrink to the size of a domesticated house cat, becoming malleable, purring putty in the hands of the vendor. Once the call had ended, Norman the Terrible would return to pound the table. Only to get back on the call with the vendor and be swayed to their way of thinking once more. Rinse, lather, repeat. For six months.

With no end or sign of Norman’s spine in sight, I was sick of the deal. I was sick of everyone on the team. I was sick of telling my boss it hasn’t closed. And above all, I was so sick of Norman and his behind-closed-doors firebrand self-righteousness and adorable mewling kitten routine with the vendor.

At long last, the vendor’s CEO asked for a go-no call and I could finally taste the entirely welcome death of this going-nowhere deal. Except that Norman suspiciously marked himself as out of the office on vacation when call times were proposed. Instead, I was the recipient of the increasingly angry calls from the vendor’s general counsel demanding to know why I haven’t made my people available. And I was thisclose to asking the GC if I could come work for him if he had that kind of sway over his people.

Instead, I scheduled the call for the day Norman got back from his suspiciously timed vacation. He was practically whistling a happy tune as he shuffled into my office. I braced myself for another “tuck tail and run conversation,” and yet another verbal scolding from their counsel as to our indecisiveness and stalling techniques.

For his part, Norman cracked his knuckles theatrically and waggled his comically bushy eyebrows at me. And then he did something completely out of character — his smile turned crafty and sharp. And I felt like I was finally seeing the real Norman.

Without any polite banalities or insincere salesperson foreplay, Norman launched into a soliloquy worthy of a Tennessee Williams play. He straight up told Teddy the CEO (whose name was actually William and I was quite certain that no one had ever called this decidedly less-than-cuddly man “Teddy”) that he saw in the papers (because yes, Norman still read actual papers) that his deal fell through. That everybody and their aunt read about his deal falling through and he must be in a real tough spot right now with his board. And just in case anyone missed the ham-handed drubbing, Norman informed Teddy & Co. that they had until close of business today to sign the deal or they could lose this one too. Sign it or don’t. Norman claimed it no longer makes any difference to him. And to prove it, he got to his feet and walked out of my office, leaving me to deal with the stunned silence of a dozen or so people.

“And that’s how you get a deal done, kiddo,” Norman told me later as he came by to drop off the executed version (completely unnecessary because we have this magic copy machine that captures the images on documents and sends them as a PDF to other people within the company).

“Norman,” I said, deciding that ignoring the kiddo jab was my good deed for the week, “Was it me? Or did you just spend months running out the clock on them?”

He shrugged. “Their mouths had been writing checks their asses couldn’t cash for months.” Norman plucked a Werther’s Original from my candy dish, and just as he strolled out of my office, he said over his shoulder, “Sometimes you just have to grind it out.”

I blinked. Norman wasn’t a relic. Norman had played the negotiation pitch perfect, lulling the vendor into a false sense of security with one face and only showing his true face when it mattered most. And that, friends, was why Norman was still around.

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Kay Thrace (not her real name) is a harried in-house counsel at a well-known company that everyone loves to hate. When not scuffing dirt on the sacrosanct line between business and the law, Kay enjoys pub trivia domination and eradicating incorrect usage of the Oxford comma. You can contact her by email at [email protected] or follow her on Twitter @KayThrace.