Sales

I have felt like a new episode has commenced in my life. Losing my job at the opera house was perhaps the best thing that could have happened to me to realize that I need to change for the better, to change for the next decade. I’m planning on going to Vietnam at the beginning of November to do a TEFL – Teaching English as a foreign Language Course – and I need to accrue to the funds to survive, right now I’m severely financially damaged.

In a deep economic recession, it was natural to question my chances of finding employment straight away, let alone in 2009. I started by firing off my CV to every job agency in the town and even set up an interview telephone fundraising – ironically the same place that I first tried my luck at when I moved to Brighton last October. The process began by having to read a script during a mock call, trying to persuade a potential donor to subscribe to helping the homeless. The next round was a rigorous one-to-one interview but on both occasions I didn’t even get the pleasure.

I wasn’t too displeasured at being rejected there. Instead I hustled into the only type of work that seems instantly available nowadays, no – not even labouring, that seems full-up, I would have quite happily busted a gut for the summer and got into shape – no, call-centre work. No matter how hard I try, I don’t feel I could make it sound appealing to anyone. You’re plugged into a headset, set a target and if you don’t start selling well after a few weeks: you’re history.

Products I’ve sold before: subscriptions to the Economist magazine, car insurance, life insurance, unsecured loans, wine, opera. I’m not bragging. I’m just listing. It doesn’t especially make me feel good: either making a sale or talking about it. I may be able to sell, but I certainly wouldn’t class myself a ‘salesman’.

I managed to score some work recently, selling a service that enters someone into 500 prize draw competitions a month for thirty pounds. Why anyone in their right mind would want to buy this product is way beyond me, but nevertheless I managed to sell the crap out of it and nearly got agent of the week in my first week if I hadn’t decided to bunk off on the Friday in favour of going and swimming in the hot, blue sea so my hair would get even blonder and my skin browner.

I quit the crapshow after just a week and started up at Inkfish, calling out on behalf of Barclays, at least a well-renowned bank to sell health insurance, which isn’t really that bad. In the vast call-centre space, there are plastic balls being thrown all around, a guy strumming his guitar ALL the time, drum & bass from ghetto blasters and games of scrabble being played. It’s young. It’s noisy. It’s vibrant. And ultimately it’s not for me. It is right now. But not next decade!