The Sales Lesson That Didn’t Fit

It was 1975.

Jaws was filling movie theaters and making people think twice about stepping into the ocean.

I was 15 years old, and I had just landed my first corporate sales job—meaning it wasn’t my own deal, like when I traded coins at eight years old. (Sales Story #1)

I’d had several ventures between those two ages, and I learned a lot from every one of them.

I went into our local shoe store, Kinney Shoes, which was part of a national chain catering to the entire family with all different types of footwear.

I noticed a sign saying they were hiring salesmen.

I applied.

I got the job.

The manager and assistant manager were both in their late 20s, and both had handlebar mustaches. At 15, I had some facial hair, but I certainly couldn’t grow anything as thick as they could.

Then came the training.

Everything was covered—from sales techniques and which shoes to bring out to how to unbox the inventory and arrange it on the stockroom wall so everything could be easily retrieved by size, style, color, and so on.

I loved it.

I knew I would earn an hourly wage, plus a commission of around 10% whenever I made a sale.

Even better, if I sold add-ons such as water repellent or extra shoelaces, I would earn around 30%.

Of course, those products carried extremely high profit margins for the company, so Kinney Shoes still made plenty of money on every add-on I sold.

The training on selling accessories was spot on.

Water repellent and extra shoelaces were natural additions to the purchase, and offering them made sense for both the customer and the company.

That part of the system worked.

The multiple-shoe approach was another matter.

The prevailing sales technique at the time—probably unloaded on the company by some consultant—was that we were supposed to bring out not only the shoe the prospect requested, but also the same size in a tennis shoe, a hiking boot, a sandal, and as many as six or seven other types of footwear.

I had a feeling that it was excessive, but I went along with the program.

During those first few weeks, I noticed the manager and assistant manager watching me like hawks watching their prey—ready to pounce with unsolicited advice about how I could sell better.

In turn, I watched both of these guys sell and silently critiqued them in my mind.

They were pretty good, and I guess they had okay personalities.

But I thought I could do much better.

I was only 15, and these two guys were the managers, so I didn’t want to go against their advice—at least not while they were around.

The fact was, if a person came in asking for a dress shoe and I also brought out a casual shoe, a tennis shoe, and every other type of shoe we carried in that same size, 90% of the time the customer bought only the original shoe.

Not the second pair.

Certainly not the third.

Shame on the consultant—who had probably never sold anything himself—for selling Kinney Shoes a bill of goods about how its salespeople should sell.

“If it works better than what you were taught, definitely keep it.”

I watched the manager and assistant manager use the company’s technique, and they didn’t sell many second or third pairs either.

But they were stuck in their ways.

They followed the company directive without being brave enough—or smart enough—to recognize that the system wasn’t working.

Eventually, I decided to stop following it.

I caught a lot of heat. There were even threats that I would be fired.

I was making pretty decent money, but I wanted to make more. So I adopted the attitude that I was going to do what I thought worked, regardless of what those guys thought.

If they fired me, they fired me.

Then came the week when I outsold both of them combined.

The logic behind my approach was incredibly simple.

The time I spent trying to sell all those additional shoes—and then putting every unwanted pair back on the wall—was time I couldn’t spend on the sales floor greeting new prospects as they walked through the door.

Every minute spent pushing shoes that customers didn’t want was a minute taken away from finding customers who were ready to buy.

It was such a simple concept.

They began to hate me.

Then Christmas arrived.

In my culture, Christmas Eve was the most important part of the holiday—the night when the entire family gathered together.

I called in sick to the shoe store.

The day after Christmas, I was fired.

But I didn’t care.

I was the one in control.

I was the one with the sales skills.

I was the one who had beaten them at their own game by using logic, observing what actually worked, and trusting my own conclusions.

I didn’t need those guys anymore.

I didn’t need Kinney Shoes.

I ended up going to another shoe store, where I sold extremely high-end shoes to runway models.

But that will be the subject of another Sales Story.

What did I learn from all of this?

The real lesson wasn’t that all company training was useless. Some of it was excellent.

The lesson was to keep the good that results had proven worked and discard the bad that results had proven did not.

The accessory training worked.

The multiple-shoe approach didn’t.

If you have an aptitude for sales and you try something new—whether it involves a script, a retail situation like the one I described, or anything else—and it works, keep it.

If it works consistently, keep it.

If it works better than what you were taught, definitely keep it.

Don’t care even a tiny bit about what management thinks when the numbers prove that you’re right.

You’re the true powerhouse.

You’re the one putting up the numbers.

You’re the one they need to cater to.

You’re the one in control.