You Balled Me on the Flies

It was one of those beautiful hot summer days when the light is so bright that every detail stands out in both the mind and the eye as if painted by a master draftsman. The car that pulled into the dealership was so long that it couldn't be moved from its usual parking spot when it wasn't being driven. Local pilots who used it as a landmark might get lost. It was a huge vehicle from the late 1970’s. 

There were the usual occupants of the car, a family in this case. But I also noticed there was a fly in the car visible from the showroom window. That was a fairly ordinary presence on these very hot summer days. The family got out of the car and came into the showroom to negotiate for a new vehicle. We worked out most of the details of the sale quickly, and everything was ready to go except for the value of the trade-in.

I was trained to deal with the hopes and expectations of the car buying public. There was the hope that the trade-in possessed some great power, the power to lift people out of poverty like the coach in the Cinderella story. Often, unfortunately, the trade had already turned back from an elegant coach into a damaged pumpkin. Or maybe there was the expectation that the trade-in would be a down payment on a new car, and not just a new car, but a new and more beautiful way of navigating through life. It was a tricky business. The car was somehow an extension of the person. Hopes, egos, and self-worth were on the line. I learned that one must tread carefully and gently when dealing with the trade-in.

There always seemed to be a sticking point in every car buying transaction, a “fly in the ointment," so to speak. In this case, it became shockingly obvious that there was more than just one fly in the customer’s car. A quick estimate from a safe distance put the number of trapped and circling flies at about twelve. And we’re not just talking about flies here, we’re talking about FLIES! These flies from hell were the size of juvenile pterodactyls!

    I did like my sales manager. When he was still a salesman, he explained to me some of his selling techniques and philosophy. He purposely dressed in very drab colors and thrift store clothing. He stooped and rolled his shoulders forward. He didn’t smile until a potential buyer smiled. He spoke slowly using simple language. He showed no emotion. For his fashion, he mixed dull plaids with duller solids, and he wore ties the color of dirt. All this to make people feel welcome and comfortable. I understood what he was trying to do. I also knew it was important not to react to things that seemed out of the ordinary when dealing with the public, like the presence of a nest of enormous flies whose dimensions rivaled those of the car they travelled in.

I did my best to take the presence of the flies in stride. I never mentioned them to the customer, but the fact was my sales manager eventually had to evaluate this enormous fly trap, and that meant he had to drive it. In the midst of my intense personal reactions to the idea of getting into the car with the flies, I felt it my duty to prepare him for the ordeal. I pointedly told him there were about a dozen flies in the car, and that they were large. He took this news in his usual bland and unfazed manor.

I watched in a state of apprehension as he approached the trade-in. Very, very slowly he walked around the car, not even looking at it, but opening all four doors  as he went. Brilliant! But it wasn’t working. No flies left the car. We waited. He waited outside in the heat beside the car, the usual bland expression on his face. I waited inside the showroom. Nothing changed. We waited.

While we are waiting for the flies to leave the car, I better give some background for this 40 year old incident from my car selling days, a career that came to and end in the 1980's. Commission selling is highly competitive. There are so many other dealerships and salespeople selling the same exact products. Some salespeople used questionable tactics. One of these was the "low-ball," a proposed selling price lower that what something could actually be sold for. To my mind, this technique prevented sales by generating ill will and bad tempers. The term "low ball" was often used as a verb in the industry. To "ball" someone was to give a number that was lower than reality. A salesperson who "balled" someone expected the customer to come back again to see if the car could actually be sold at that price. You can imagine what would happen.

But now back to the flies. Having waited for some time, my sales manager got into the car and drove away with all the flies as his companions. When he returned, he went directly to the sales office down the hall, speaking to no one. I pulled myself together enough to find my feet and followed him. In the sales office I discovered a changed man. He was red-faced, sweating, his bland expression gone. He was peering at the  write-up sheet for the sale as if he was looking for redemption there on its page. He looked up at me when I walked in.  “You balled me on the flies,” he said. I was shocked! He thought I low-balled him on the number and size of the flies. Was he going to be sick, have a stroke, drop dead on the spot? He got redder, rose from his chair behind the desk, stuck his head in a nearby closet, and made a loud retching noise. He then returned to his desk, resumed his “drab” routine, and looked as if nothing ever happened. This broke the tension and I doubled over laughing until it hurt. Fortunately, he did the same. The other sales manager came running into the office, saw us in that state, lost it himself, and fled from the office.

We closed the sale.  A closed commission sale is always a kind of rebirth for the sales person. The trade-in was sold to a used car shop. They did all their own mechanical work. They had their own tools, their own fly swatter, hopefully a pneumatic one. 

The sales manager fully recovered and returned to his usual drab colors and his aw-shucks shuffle. The customer drove off in a new car, their ego intact. Their amazing ability to live with giant flying insects went unrecognized until now. Their life was renewed with new transportation, and they left behind about a dozen gigantic flies, or was it more?

I wouldn't want to "ball you on the flies."