How Full of Briars is this Working-Day World...

After having graduated from University, I took a moment to wonder what doors a degree in Drama and Theatre Arts opens for you.  Unfortunately, I discovered that the answer was pretty much none.  After spending some time trying out the idea of becoming a professional skateboarder, political party leader or a Smurf (all genuine - if tongue in cheek - suggestions that I made at the time - however only one of them they allowed me to list as a field I was looking for work in when I signed on for a while), the fallback of drama graduates the world over beckoned to me - a Job In Sales.

You see to be a salesperson you need an over the top personality, no shame, and the drinking power of several rugby teams, which coincidentally is the entry requirements for eighty percent of the UK's drama courses.  So when fresh faced young actors finish uni, only to be told that yes, you can be an actor if you want, but no, we aren't going to give you any money for it, it will all be mindlessly dull parts until you have paid your dues, and you will be expected to wear that giant dog outfit whether you like it or not, many of them chose the sensible option and get a Job In Sales.

My particular Job In Sales was 'media sales' (selling adverts) for a 'portfolio of leading legal magazines' (glossy mags for people earning more money in a year than I will in twenty) offering 'display, classified and sponsorship opportunities' (if you want to give us some of your money, then we will literally tattoo your logo to our faces), and involved being on the telephone for several hours a day pitching as hard as we could to fill up the bits of the magazine that nobody reads.

I enjoyed my time in my Job In Sales (oh, except when it ate my soul, remind me to tell you about that sometime) and could tell you a thousand stories from my three years there (each of which would probably feel three years long to you), but the thing that I was thinking about on my way into non-soul-eating work this morning, was the language that you heard on a salesfloor.

If you are like most normal people, when you are on the telephone, you probably like it to be a bit quiet around you.  It helps with little things like you hearing what the other person is saying, and the other person hearing what you are saying.  So basically, everything that is involved in a phone call.  This is not the case on a salesfloor - or at least the salesfloor I worked on.



Photo probably taken on a dress down Friday.

 The atmosphere can only be likened to that of a football dressing room at half time when you are three-nil up (I should imagine.  I am not good enough at football to have ever been on a team, and if I were, then they would definitely not be three-nil up at half time.)  The phrases 'Go on my son' and 'Get In' were repeated without irony throughout the day.  If a sale was made, then there would be rapturous applause and cheering (probably easy to tell that salesfloors are staffed by former drama students).  Those who made the sales were encouraged to shout out how much money they had made in order to receive the cheers.  It was within these walls that I learnt my unusual trait of making random noises whenever applause is called for, because noise and energy were the driving forces of the hour.  Despite the fact that when we spoke to each other outside the office in the most normal tones there were, what with all being relatively bright young professionals, when in the office, a carnival atmosphere always prevailed whereby praise would be yelled at every little positive move.

It does beg the question as to where else language such as this would be appropriate in the workplace.  Were I to start praising the children in school with a hearty slap on the back and the words 'Nailed it guv'na!', I cannot help but feel that complaints would start to trickle in as slowly as the Niagara Falls in a typhoon.  Were a librarian to holler out the name of a new, highly anticipated book when it arrives, instead of having the patrons whoop and cheer, they would far likelier be given a morning off due to stress.  Were a barmaid to climb on the bar and dance every time they made a sale, they would at least be asked to get down, if not fired on the spot.  Except for in some drinking establishments, whereby girls dancing on the bar are a sales point because they like to laugh in the face of existing health and safety laws.

The thought that brought all of this together, was when I was standing in line at a McDonald's the other day.  I only wanted a drink, and ordered a milkshake.  As the server walked off, I heard him shout once he had thought I was probably out of earshot 'Come on!   Who is the milkshake master!  Third vanilla in fifteen minutes!  Get in!'.  Leaving aside the fact that he had revealed to an entire McDonald's franchise that I am a secret vanilla drinker who cannot understand these modern, newfangled chocolate and strawberry flavours, I suddenly had a lot of respect for this man.  He had ignored the stuffy laws that govern those teaching assistants, librarians and barmaids in health and safety conscious pubs, and was declaring himself proud of a job well done.  Because that is all we as salespeople were doing.  Roaring, to show that we had achieved.  And that is something we should all be proud of in our jobs.  It is something that I was proud of then, and shall strive to be proud of in my current job.  Although with maybe less random shouting.



Oh, and in case you are wondering, it was the professional skateboarder that went on my list of jobs I was seeking.  That's right, despite the fact that my only qualification was being pretty darn good at Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 4, the government allowed me to collect job seekers allowance under the premise that I was attempting to forge a career in the competitive world of professional skateboarding.  Needless to say, the job opportunities were scarce in that particular field.