I often think about my sales style and where I picked up some of my lessons. My Dad is one of the first sales people I ever knew. Now, that seems funny to say, especially since most of his career was spent as a coal miner. He was a miner as were most of those in our family and community. But he was also just a little unique. He was often an entrepreneur looking for other ways to make a living outside coal mining.
I don’t even know if he has ever considered himself a sales person. But he was and was pretty good at it. He knew his customer and he knew that was very important if he wanted to sell them anything. He had a car lot for a short amount of time while I was growing up. It was a very small lot, just three or four cars, the maximum the space and budget for inventory would allow.
I remember like it was yesterday a couple of the first cars purchased to begin the adventure. One was a Volkswagen Beetle, the other an AMC Gremlin. I always picked out my favorites. I loved the Volkswagen and couldn’t understand why anyone, including Daddy, would buy the Gremlin. In my mind things, you offered for sale should be pretty. I was only nine years old. What did I know?
Almost every week a car would be sold and a new one entered the lot. The cars were usually about ten years old. I sometimes spent the day with Daddy going to pick one up or making a trip back and forth to town to get this part or that part to get it going. Mommy stayed at home for the short trips, and just he and I would go. Daddy worked long hours during the week in the mines. I didn’t get to see him much, and that was his answer to work-life balance. He would take me along on trips others might have thought were harder to take a child. I think he was onto something. I never felt he didn’t make time for me.
Saturday night was auction night. Mommy came along on those nights, tended to me, and was available to do some driving if needed. The auction was a couple of hours from home. We would leave early on Saturday afternoon. Usually, my aunt and uncle and little cousin would go, and we’d have a big time. Sometimes we would all leave in three or four cars because we had cars to sell, and sometimes we would come home all in one car. Other times we would leave in one car and come home with three.
When we arrived at the auction we would see cars lined up, rows and rows. The parking lot was full of people kicking tires and asking questions. The cars’ open hoods and doors filled the open outdoor space. A building in the middle housed the auction. In the center of the building was an open path where cars would enter on one end and exit the other.
I can still see the rows and rows of cars, smell the hot oil in the air and hear the sound of missing mufflers. A man would be auctioneering, and the owner of the car would stand by him when it was his car’s turn to be up for action. The auctioneer would start talking loudly but slow and speed up in the middle, trying to get the price up as high as he could. I loved the way he would end, “Are you all done, all through? SOLD! to bidder #_,” repeating the final price.
Sometimes Daddy bought cars other places than at the auction. I would walk beside Daddy as he looked at the car he was interested in purchasing. He circled the cars, looking at them with his hands behind his back as he considered the purchase. He often bought a car with someone in mind who needed a car. Daddy knew the customer and what they wanted, and he was there to make a deal.
I loved to watch him negotiate the price. Daddy was always kind and friendly. He would negotiate first when he wanted to pay for the cars, and again when he sold the cars. Daddy was usually willing to take offers on what he had for sale. He would at least listen, then come back with a counter or terms to extend the time to pay in full. I loved this part. In fact, I still love this process of meeting in the middle. I was always listening. On occasion, I was lucky enough to be along both when he purchased a particular car and when he sold that car. I got to see a deal from start to finish. This is was a good opportunity to learn about profit and sometimes, loss.
Every week we got a magazine with vehicles for sale in the area. I’d always take it to my room when Daddy was finished. One of my favorite past times was to pretend and pick out the cars I’d buy when I grew up. I loved the European cars, the Volvos and Mercedes. I never saw this type of car in our community. They seemed rich and refined. I imagined the lives the owners of those cars being very different than ours. The cars Daddy bought were practical and didn’t have many bells and whistles. He knew the customer and what they needs. I imagined the seats in the cars I picked out were big and cushy. I imagined the interior being worn leather. The seats and interior in the cars Daddy purchased were usually plain vinyl that felt cold and hard in comparison.
Daddy was not interested in those luxury cars that caught my eye. They didn’t suit the customers in his market. Those who bought Daddy’s car were not interested in luxury or comfort. They were interested in reliable and affordable cars and brands they knew. He knew his customers’ wants and needs.
Daddy did those things I do today. He took cars to his market that they needed, cars maybe customers didn’t even know they wanted until they saw them. Daddy would collect a few so the people in the community had access to them. He knew his customer in his market didn’t have time or the desire to travel and find cars. He also only offered a few models, cars that met the market’s needs.
The people Daddy served didn’t want expensive, brand-new cars. These were often second cars. Many men had to drive bad roads to work in the mines. They came home every day with another layer of gray dust and clumps of gray mud that left chalky mud marks on their clothes each time they got in and out of the car. He knew his customer had specific concerns. Daddy solved a problem— the family was able to keep their good car clean and available after they purchased the second family car from his lot.
A sale isn’t about pushing things people don’t need or are not interested in purchasing. Even if you’re a used car salesman, you can meet a need or solve a problem. Over the years I’ve had people make remarks to me like, “Sales makes me feel like a used car salesman.” I just smile, and sometimes when appropriate I say, “I always wanted to sell cars, but the hours are bad.” There’s nothing wrong with selling anything, even a used car if you are serving a need and providing a solution to your customer.
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