I sold nearly sixteen thousand moneydollars worth of furniture and furniture-related services and accessories at work today. The boy is at his grandparents’ so that he can do an egg hunt in the morning, because I’ll be damned if I’m going to allow any pagan bunny nonsense in my house. I am watching Into the Badlands with my wife and sipping on a very small bottle of moscato.
Yes, I am drinking the alcohols. Not many of them! But I never drink the alcohols so this is a bit of an event.
Happy Easter, if that’s your thing. I don’t have to work tomorrow, so … thanks, Jesus, I guess?
Today was a blasted nightmare hellscape of a day, and when I got home my wife still managed to one-up me within less than a minute of me walking in the door. I had an eighteen thousand dollar order finally deliver today after two and a half months of sitting in the warehouse, and while ultimately I’m pretty sure everything ended up working out more or less to the good I spent the entire day on the phone dealing with customer service issues and intermittently talking people who had spent an enormous amount of money off of ledges. Today started with a customer who bought a leather power sectional a few months ago coming in and wanting a refund. Like, literally, I walked in the door, and they were already in the store. I managed to trade those people to another set and actually made some money on the deal, but still. This is me, the entire fucking day:
And, like, okay, there are no bullet holes in me, and that’s probably a whole lot of good thing, but I still spent damn near my every fucking waking second dodging, or looking for furniture in a giant warehouse, furniture that was not where it was supposed to be, or walking up to co-workers and saying things like “I need you to save my life right now, and here’s how you’re going to do it,” and various and sundry other things, and as it turns out that all of that shit is stressful as fuck. I am actually walking into the last day of my week at negative sales, too, which brings its own special brand of exhaustion with it.
I, no shit, suggested to my boss around 5:30 tonight that we start a fight club, and I’m not sure I was kidding.
(Here’s the kind of day I had, in microcosm: y’all know Panera Bread, right? They’re tasty and shit. Today we had an employee from Panera walk into the store and drop off a menu, announcing that they were actually delivering now. Cool! At around 1:30, in the early stages of the shakes from hunger, I decided I didn’t have time to leave the store and needed to get a lunch delivery of some sort, and– at the menu’s suggestion– downloaded the Panera app. Which could not be convinced that the address of my place of business, which is a real place that is actually there, since I was at that address at the time, existed, and so would not let me proceed to the part of the app where I actually order food. So I called them, at which point the recording informed me that the restaurant was closed for renovations despite the fact that their employee had brought me a menu today. Extend that exact kind of bullshit to every single interaction I had with any human at any time today and you have my day.)
This is more a proof-of-life post than anything else; my wife is out of town for the next few days so I’m on solo Daddy duty, and today was a long and ridiculous day at work featuring virtually no sales of furniture in exchange for money but well more than a nine-hour allocation of nonsense.
And then I got home and had to clean up dog poop, which always improves one’s day, as you can no doubt well imagine.
The goal for tomorrow is to get through it without smacking anyone. We’ll see how I do.
So last weekend sometime I sold a sectional. I am absolutely religious about checking ETA dates whenever I order furniture, as you are probably aware if you’ve ever read any of my posts about my job before. I absolutely despise dealing with pissed-off people, which makes me the most honest salesperson on the planet, because I’ll lose a sale in a second before I’ll misrepresent when something is gonna come into the store. Because you’re gonna notice, and I’m not gonna want to deal with you when you do.
So. A bit of background: our company has two main warehouses. Our upholstered product is all supposed to come to us from one of them, but if that warehouse is out of a particular piece and the other warehouse has it, we can send an email and switch which warehouse it comes from and it still shows up on the same timeline. I do this a lot, as you can probably imagine. However, the person who responds to those emails works banker’s hours. So I was rather dismayed on Monday to discover that a particular piece had sold out from the secondary warehouse over the weekend and that I now couldn’t get it until– wait for it– June, when I told my customers to expect it in the store in 7 to 10 days.
June is farther away than 7 to 10 days.
No problem! I found one at our Lafayette store, and decided that rather than wait for a truck to come through from their store to ours and hope that they remembered to put the piece on that truck, I’d just go get it myself today. It’s like a two hour drive. I have a former student who I’m still in touch with and quite fond of who is a sophomore at Purdue, so I’ve got somebody to grab lunch with, too! I’ll go get the piece and have lunch and come back and drop it off at the store and nobody’s the wiser and I’ll lose a chunk of my commission on gas money but whatever. I like the occasional car trip.
Go ahead, check the weather report for today for northern Indiana. Because holy Christ, why did I do that stupid thing I did. I have never seen fog in my life like the Lovecraftean, Ravenloft-esque insanity that I had to drive through today. We’re talking maybe three seconds of visibility in front of the car, less on the heavy spots, for the first two thirds of the trip. I thought about turning back repeatedly, consistently falling prey to the sunk cost fallacy and reasoning that surely I was damn near out of the fog by now and that it would be, would have to be, gone by the time I was on my way home.
Also, once I got to campus, my GPS utterly shit the bed, trying at one point to send me the wrong way down a one-way street, then redirecting me to another street that it could have just left me on the entire time rather than taking me out of its way to nearly die, and then directing me into an alley between two buildings that abruptly turned into a bike path that just-as-abruptly turned into nothing, at which point I called my former student and described where I was as best I could, informing her that I wasn’t moving my car again and she needed to come find me.
(Also: I’m not a complete idiot. The other problem with Purdue’s campus is that there are damn near no signs anywhere. Signs that say things like “No Exit,” which one might put before a point-of-no-return road of some sort.)
Also, Logansport, Indiana is the worst place in the world and I don’t want to hear any different from any of you. I got directed through “town” for some reason and half of the place was utterly deserted and everyone in the rest of it had the Innsmouth look. I deliberately took a different route back to avoid the town.
We lingered over lunch, at any rate. I was the oldest person in the restaurant by at least 18 years and we were both vastly entertained by the literal hush that fell over the room when we walked in, as everyone tried to figure out if I was a sugar daddy or not. When the hell did college students get so Goddamned young?
I was planning on being home by 2:00 and didn’t bother leaving West Lafayette until after 1:00, figuring that the fog would have to have burned off by then.
Nope. Just as bad on the way home as on the way down there, except without the opportunity to turn back. Also, west central Indiana smells terrible. That sounds like I’m just being mean because of IU vs. Purdue regionalisms and I swear I’m not. It smells awful.
I have made $2500 in commission on my sales this year. This year. Six weeks. I did the math; I’m selling furniture for less than $11 an hour. The company is currently earning interest on sixty thousand dollars of undelivered product. I don’t get paid until shit ends up in people’s homes and everything I’ve sold is either still backordered or waiting for someone’s house to be ready. Right now I expect to make minimum wage this week. If I wasn’t married to someone who makes a lot more money than me, I’d be staring down homelessness right now.
I had a $12,000 ticket last weekend that didn’t earn me a single dime and won’t pay off until May. That big $18,000 sale at the very end of December? Scheduled to deliver on March 20th, still five weeks away; I don’t see a cent until then.
I was at work for nine hours today and sold $13 worth of product. A co-worker came in on his day off and made $3300 in sales in less than half an hour.
Fuck this. I could literally be making more money flipping burgers.