This forced me to write 400 sales tips. I’m pretty sure I missed Christmas and New Years. I typed until I wore through these silly mittens they make me wear. I actually thought about announcing my retirement and heading for Key West.
My business partner, Gabe Nagy, announced his retirement this past December. That’s Gabe Nagy, Esquire of Princeton, Cum Laude 1959 and Harvard Law School 1964. Fortunately, Gabe’s retirement isn’t a total loss. He is remaining in a consulting capacity and will work about half time from his new home office on Dataw Island, South Carolina. With all of our electronic communications, it will be almost as good as having him in our office.
Gabe has been the best of all partners. His brain, his experience, his valuation expertise and his legal knowledge have been a huge asset to our firm. I’m happy that he will continue to share his talents with Compass Capital Partners while investing the other half of his time in his golf game. Gabe already has a handicap of seven. If he plays once a day in the South Carolina coastal sunshine, he’s apt to become a scratch golfer and make it on the Seniors Tour.
Gabe’s retirement has given me pause to ponder my own retirement. Gabe, after all, at 62 is only a year older than me.
Maybe I should retire?
I know. I’ll just phase out.
First, I will announce my retirement from all assembly projects. Throughout my life I have found myself on Step 37 of a child’s outdoor swing set assembly and discovered that I’d made an irrevocable mistake on Step 6. If this has never happened to you, it requires disassembling 31 steps to fix Step 6.
Next, I’m retiring from anything that involves painting or resurfacing. I have a bald spot on both legs where my wife ultimately used steel wool and turpentine to remove large splashes of asphalt sealer in 1988. It seems you’re not supposed to resurface the driveway wearing shorts and tassel loafers.
All of my close calls with divorce originated during various painting projects. My wife, Attila the Nun, complained about the paint I spilled on the carpet and a few small strokes on the baseboards, the kids heard our shouting and called the cops who thankfully were married and severely lectured my wife on the evils of verbal abuse.
This final painting project occurred in 1978 and I’ve been semi-happily married ever since (any man who tells you that he is “totally” happily married is either braggin’ drunk or outright lying. We are all whipped puppies).
I am officially retiring from golf. I haven’t played since a horrendous day in 1981 at some course on Kiawah Island, South Carolina. First the pro said I couldn’t play his course in my sneakers, so I bought a pair of $129 black and white golf shoes that were worn once. Then, I lost all of my balls and about 15 more from the bags of the other three people in my foursome.
I’m told you have to play regularly and practice often to be respectable and I don’t think my practice/play history over the past thirty years is going to serve me well if I try a comeback.
No Time for Games
Don’t invite me to play bridge. I’m retired. Actually, I never learned to play bridge or chess, so I guess I can’t retire. But, I’m telling you now; I’m not taking up these games at a time when I’m retiring from hard stuff.
Finally, I am officially retiring from the World Iron Man Tour competition and the National Surfing Association. What’s more there will be no more water skiing in my future.
This leaves me with selling, which is about all I seem to be good at. I guess I’m what you’d call a mediocre natural born salesman. I’m not sure anyone ever said this before so I’ll say it now, “Old natural born salespeople never retire. They can’t stop selling. They just walk into the darkness like Jimmy Durante would close his shows, turning every few steps to tip their hats to their customers.”
If you’re too young to have seen The Jimmy Durante Show (it was in black and white), then scare up an old salesperson and ask them about the old “Schnozzola.” He would wish the audience, “good night” and then add, “And, good night Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are.” Jimmy met the mysterious “Mrs. Calabash” in a restaurant in Calabash, North Carolina. He was smitten by the attractive and personable young waitress and, as he was leaving, told her, “I’m going to make you famous. Good night Mrs. Calabash.”
Old natural born salespeople can’t retire. In the first place, they are selfless people who are interested in others. Jimmy Durante was already a big time entertainer and met a waitress only long enough for a meal.
Wait a minute! Wait one minute!
Everybody knows there are too many print salespeople. Maybe some of you should retire. Here’s a little test to help you make the big decision to turn in your loupe and take it easy down in the Keys.
If any of these statements fit you, retire:
If you have ever attended a party also attended by your major account and she doesn’t recognize you, you probably ought to retire.
If you have ever bumped into your major account at the mall and she recognizes you but can’t remember your name, you probably ought to retire.
If your sales manager accompanied your major account at the mall and he can’t remember your name, you probably should retire.
If you have forgotten the driving directions to your major account, you probably ought to retire.
If you have ever lost your prospect list and can’t reconstruct it from memory, you are probably a candidate for retirement.
You probably ought to retire if you spend more time on your personal grooming and clothing than you spend selling? You are more concerned with looking good than selling good.
If the pressmen regularly deflate your tires in the parking lot so you can’t make sales calls, you probably ought to retire.
If you arrive at work and the boss has given your phone to the new guy and you don’t miss it, you probably should retire.
If your draw account has been overdrawn for more than a year, you probably should pack your bags and retire.
If your company’s receptionist can’t remember your phone extension, you probably should retire.
If the accounting department is writing malicious anonymous remarks on your paycheck envelope, you definitely should retire.
If you throw up at the thought of making a prospect call, you should retire."
Jeff Foxworthy may sue me if I don't admit that I stole his redneck jokes concept for this column. Jeff, if you're out there, thanks for the help. You’ve heard his jokes: “If you’ve ever worn a tube top to a funeral, you may be a redneck.”
If one or more of these situations fit you, I’m pretty sure you can get a job in airport security, toll taking or panhandling. But, you should retire from print sales. You’re just cluttering up a market where there are already too many cylinders, too many companies and not enough customers.
I’m going to retire to my sofa for now while the rest of you get out there and sell something.
