Middle of a holiday weekend, time to take a rest from "serious" stuff and reminisce some more.
Early on in my career I was afforded the opportunity to join an organization that was the world leader in it's specialty, leasing and financing IBM computer equipment. Now, as for me, I was employed by a separate division of theirs that financed all sorts of things from all types of suppliers, other than IBM, and that's where my expertise was.
When I came on board, I had a very successful working past and that's why I was hired in the first place. I was also quite independent in attitude because I truly believed people did business with individuals, not necessarily because of their employers.
Furthermore, my real underlying product was money and that all came from the same source, the Federal Reserve. Dollars also all folded the same way, and were only available in one color -green. Thus, everyone else in the chain beyond the Feds was simply a "packager" of one sort or another, but not really the manufacturer.
Well, since all I was doing was peddling repackaged greenbacks, and there were alternative suppliers all over the place, and I was really good at what I did, I picked where I wanted to apply my talents in most cases. And, if for any reason, a packager I joined was displeased with me in any way, I simply moved on, no problem.
Nonetheless, I naturally wanted to associate with the best I could, because it made my life much simpler in the long run. Because, if the packager had a recognizable name and good reputation, I didn't have to waste valuable time and energy establishing my own credentials. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying customers dealt with me because of whom I represented, because they didn't, I still had to win deals on their merit. But still, name recognition moved everything along faster.
So, that brings me to the employer I started writing about. Since their main thrust was leasing IBM mainframes and peripheral gear, they preferred hiring folks having backgrounds in that arena -Ex-IBMers', similar manufacturers, such as NCR or Burroughs and people like that. When I joined the organization I was put in a group covering the Metropolitan Region and headed by a guy named Tom C. who ran both sales groups, IBM and Financial Leasing. My territory was Northern New Jersey.
In almost no time at all it became quite clear to me that Tom C., while perhaps an IBM expert in its equipment, uses and applications, and having come from that erstwhile organization to boot, knew absolutely zip about any kind of financing, much less how to sell it, and even less than that about New Jersey.
Tom C's ignorance of my profession turned out wonderfully for me, however, because he certainly wasn't stupid. So, when he saw my sales numbers climbing like some some kind of rocket, without any input or interference from him, he stepped back, pleasurably accepted the managerial accolades (and commission override on my production) and stayed well out of my way. A perfect match of our objectives and talents.
Well, without Tom C. in the middle, my life became easier still, because now I didn't have to explain my pending business twice, first to him and then the Credit Department. I could go straight to the credit folks myself and get much clearer, faster and simpler responses. The process couldn't have run better if I'd planned it myself.
Things were running along smoothly as silk as far as I was concerned. I was doing deals all over the place, blowing my quota away and into some heavy duty production numbers that I only hoped would go on for the rest of my life. I wasn't merely a duck that took to the water sales-wise with this organization, I was the whole flying flock.
And then one fine day Tom C. called me into his office and closed the door. In our place, that was a very bad sign. He looked somberly at me, shook his head and said he'd gotten some very bad news. I didn't know what to expect. I couldn't imagine where or how I'd fouled up. Then Tom went on. He sadly said it had come to him from upstairs that my attire was out of place, because my jacket and slacks didn't match.
I replied that there was a reason for that. Because, I told Tom C., I was wearing a sports jacket, not a suit. He woefully replied that he understood that, and he himself in fact didn't mind. But, the word had come from "upstairs" and that was the crux of the problem. Look around at all the others, he said, Brooks Brothers dark blue pin-striped or olive drab suits, polished wing-tip shoes, button-down white shirts and silk rep ties. He didn't even want to broach the subject of my Gucci loafers with the brass buckles, they were so far out of dress-code he didn't have the appropriate words to discuss it.
Well, I told Tom I understood his dilemma and could identify with the predicament, but, as for me, the folks I call on in New Jersey don't really care what I wear, their only interest is an appropriate deal. He said he understood that, but hoped I'd gotten his message because, after all, he'd received what he'd told me about my attire from upstairs.
When our meeting was over and I went back to work, I quickly forgot about Tom's message and thus, did nothing about changing my attire. And then, a while later, Tom C. took me aside and repeated the same clothing mantra he'd given me before, again telling me it wasn't him that was upset, but the message had come from upstairs. As for me, I went on as usual, except this time I gave the matter even less thought because by then my sales star had risen even further.
After a bit more time elapsed, Tom C. wearily approached me once more to say that things were more serious now, after all I'd been warned twice before, and he wasn't sure what he could do about this pressure about my clothing that kept coming from upstairs. And thus, I was likely heading for serious trouble if I didn't change my sartorial style.
At that point I decided the time had come to face the duds issue head-on. When Tom finished his admonition about my threads, I asked him a serious question. I inquired politely, "Tom, have you ever been upstairs?" A blankish look crossed his face as he asked me what I meant, to which I answered, "Exactly what I asked before. Have you ever been upstairs, Tom?" And then I went on.
"Because I have been "upstairs" myself, Tom, and thought you might like to know that we're on the top floor of a four-story building. And the only thing above us is a roof. And on that roof is an elevator tower, a water-shed, and some old broken TV antennas. The only live things up there in fact, is a bunch of birds. So, here's what I suggest, Tom. If you get off my back and stop harassing me about my clothing, I won't tell Senior Management that you've been been getting your directional input from a flock of pigeons." Case closed.
That's it for today folks.
Adios
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