I once heard someone describe his job, which he hated, this way: “It’s a terrible job and a terrible company, and I hate going to work every single day, but on the other hand, at least I’m not in sales.”
He was wrong, of course. He was in sales. We’re all in sales.
Selling is pretty much what we all do, at work and at home. We try to present the best possible version of things. We try to convince the person across the conference table or next to us at breakfast or even on the other side of an email exchange that everything is going to be fine, that we’ve got it under control, and that all we need is another chance and we promise this is going to work.
In that way, we’re all versions of Willy Loman, the sad and broken main character in Arthur Miller’s brilliant play, Death of a Salesman, with a little less or a little more tragedy thrown in, depending on how grasping and desperate your line of work is. If you’re in something useful and socially beneficial, such as auto repair or veterinary medicine, you’re probably a six on the Willy Loman Scale of Miserable Hucksterism. If you’re in media or politics, you’re probably an 11.
“At least I’m not in sales” is a dangerously delusional thing to believe. Chances are that the person on the other side of the table or bed knows that this is all one big sales pitch, and at the very moment you’re chuckling smugly to yourself that “at least I’m not in sales,” he or she is successfully selling you a load of something.
There’s only one surefire way to make sure you’re on the winning side of life’s marathon PowerPoint deck, and it’s this: Know when to stop talking.
In any sales pitch situation — in other words, in every single moment of our waking lives — the sequence is always the same. First, you lay out what it is that the product does, whether it’s an actual product such as a vacuum cleaner, an intangible product such as your ability to be a warm and loving lifelong partner, a mythical product such as the ability to write and produce a hit television show, or something as simple as why you deserve a raise. The goal is to create a sense of need in the buyer.
And then, you do what pretty much everyone else fails to do, which is shut up.
The logic is that you’ve done your part. You’ve hit the key points. You’ve covered everything. Now, just fall silent and let the buyer stew silently in the magic of your pitch and the awkwardness of the silence.
After a thorough and confident sales pitch, the hapless buyer will squirm in the resulting quiet and replay the key points in his mind, selling himself on the product.
Any successful salesperson will tell you: The best way to close a deal is to have the buyer close it for you.
I’ve heard stories of opposing lawyers, deep into contract wrangling, sitting in silence for hours, each waiting for the other to crack.
In situations such as these, the next person who talks is the loser. If the salesman starts up his pitch again, asks if there are “any questions I can answer,” goes back to the first slide of the deck, or shifts uncomfortably on his knee and moves the open velvet box in his hand around to make the diamond ring sparkle alluringly — if he does any of these things, he’s lost the sale.
It’s currently popular in the workplace to use the phrase “say more” when a colleague makes a comment in a meeting or brainstorming session. “Say more about that,” is what you’ll hear, often accompanied by a gentle head tilt and an encouraging smile.
“Say more,” says the diabolical corporate infighter to the hapless colleague, who will then, foolishly, say more and more and more, until everyone in the room is sick of the sound of that person’s voice and the meeting ends with everyone agreeing on one thing: We’re not going to let that person say a word during the next meeting.
At home or at the office, you never want to be the person talking. You want to be the person listening. Because the opposite of talking isn’t listening. The opposite of talking is winning.
Rob Long is a television writer and producer and the co-founder of Ricochet.com.
