April 13, 2011 ☞ Personal inventory
I had a job Cutco knife salesperson. We probably sat in your living room wearing a necktie and a holding bag of ultra-sharp knives. It wasn’t my favourite job, but having just completed a stint for a scam artist, this gig seemed more-than-reasonable. Each appointment promised a cool $18. I was sold.
First, I had to sit through a week of “paid” training. Everything at Cutco was “paid” in quotes. We were paid for training but had to commit to working a certain number of hours thereafter. We were paid $18 per appointment, but we had to sell a certain volume per month to keep our jobs. But it was fine, and I needed work. We had scripted pitches, that I read word for word in the homes of my parents’ friends, friends’ parents and relatives.
I wish I had known what I was doing. The provided pitch was pretty airtight:
I never sold a “Homemaker” (our most expensive offering), but I did collect a few pity sales (like for an $80 spatula spreader) here and there.
I ended up quitting for a job in construction; a move that dramatically affected the trajectory of my life. Imagine if I had been good at selling knives?
Postscript: Cutco knives are quite reliable. I bought their training set of knives (at a “good price”) and they really do slice through anything and stay sharp for ages. But don’t take my word for it: my skeptical mom originally yelled at me for spending any money on the Cutco knives I gave her. Now I can’t get them away from her. Q.E.D.