'Kevin from Sales'. A Ballad.
Before any B3tans who happen to share the name start sharpening the scythes, this isn't specific to any Kevin. In fact, before the ladies start organising howling lynch mobs it also applies to 'Sandra from Sales' but I work in what is still a male dominated industry. Sorry.

The basic ingredients required by what I am convinced is a super-secret bio-engineering lab in a bunker under the Pyrenees are as follows:

Personality, lack of. Check.
Pale/skinny or pale/obese. Check.
Complexion resembling a cross between an extra pepperoni deep dish/explosion in abbatoir. Check.
If female, makeup so thick that it would act as rudimentary body armour if a shotgun was fired at close range. Check.
Inability to use basic English. Check.
Umbilical cord connecting them to mobile. Check.
'Business Attire' comprising a suit with such a high percentage of artificial fibres that small sparks are spontaneously generated and may in fact be hazardous in times of drought. Check.

The assembled herd of Sales Trainees are then shoved into an overheated chicken shed, and given their 'training'.They are not allowed natural sunlight or fresh air as they may explode spontaneously.

They then meet the 'Training Team'. This usually comprises of an orange faced Kilroy-Silk clone suffering the after-effects of 20 years of cocaine abuse, usually on at least his sixth marriage, second heart, and third liver. Likes to talk about his kids but is in fact not allowed to see them by law unless monitored by security staff. His sidekick (used to do the OHP acetates until Powerpoint came along and now stares vacantly until either brainless clapping or brainless repeating of the 'buzzword' is required): she is single, primarily as she resembles Jabba the Hutt on a bad hair day, is slavishly loyal to her boss, and would gladly cut off a major body part to get his perma-tanned floppy bits into her rancid Travel Hell room. And to be fair, that's probably the only weight loss that is even a faint possibility.

The terrible two, usually 'consultants' from ABC Brainwashing & Incitement to Bollocks plc, will then warp and twist the precious little (and I do mean little) brains of Kevin and Sandra until they can only communicate in Sales Scripts. They actually believe, people, with the fervency of the congregation at a Southern Baptist Church. Think of the church scene in the Blues Brothers. That's how much they believe in 'the message'. They've role-played until in their minds they are actually a 41 year old sales prospect from Solihull called Agnes. They know in their teenage hearts that they are only 80% warranty penetration away from the Ferrari and the Villa.

And then they let them loose. Tremble and Despair, Joe Public because they are out there....

To be fair, I've managed to avoid employing too many of these. However, you try and buy a big electrical thing, or a car from a 'supermarket'...

Firstly, you need to get within 50 yards of the thingy that you may at some stage consider purchasing without Kevin polyester-ing up to you in a cloud of static. Instead of saying "hello, can I help" and then bogging off when told that you are just having a fly shufti and will give him a yodel when his pustulent presence is required, he'll go into the dreaded 'features and benefits' presentation.

Now you're buggered. There is no way that you can escape now that the Script of Sales Doom has started, short of physical assault, pouring petrol over yourself and fingering your lighter with a manic smile, or pretending to be Greek.

Any attempt at communication that does not come from the script will naturally be met with a slack-jawed "I dunno, I'll have to ask".

If you are male and looking at a car, even if it is for your female companion, and even if she is asking the questions, Kevin will direct his replies to you. Unless she is well equipped by the Almightly (or Dr Feelgood) with impressive Norkage, in which case will mumble at the male while fixing his basilisk-like gaze on the mammary goodness.

If you do manage to get rid of Kevin for 5 minutes, often by the threat or use of insane amounts of red-mist drooling rage and/or violence, don't breathe easily, folks. Because the Sales Manager, Darren lets call him, has been on a course. On how to manage the 'structured 8 point selling plan for success or some such'. And Darren (call me Daz) will send Kevin/Sandra (call me legitimate target) straight back out. If you fail in that instant to agree to buy, then you may get Daz striding over, pretending that you are ever-so-important by being allowed to inhale his stench of stale Lambert& Butler and Lynx.

He will then go for the 'hard close'.

When you've finished laughing at the smartly suited buffoon, you can leave, happy in the knowledge that he'll sink an extra pint of rancid Stella that night, worrying if his 100% sales-godness has been dented a bit. And if we're lucky, he'll pile the company car over a cliff on the way home, to die slowly of bloodloss while being slowly eaten by assorted rodents.

But never fear, that means there is a vacancy for Kevin to become..........a Manager.

All is lost.
(osok Rebel without a clue, Mon 28 Jan 2008, 14:48, 11 replies)

Hahahaha!
I *love* this, it's all so very true!

It's when "Nigel" from a mobile phone company calls up offering me stuff in a very think indian accent - and refuses to let me ask any questions until he's recited his opening spiel - that I get utterly infuriated with all sales people in general, and their inability to deviate from their sales pitch.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Mon 28 Jan 2008, 15:11, closed)

Sales Cunts
My favourite was some bint from a now defunct broadband company.

I answered the phone to get a garbled attempt at a sales pitch. Spotting a blessed and holy opening, I uttered "Not interested thanks" and went to hang up.

There was an outraged screech from the other end and a toddler-to-the naughty-step-with you haughty "How dare you hang up on me before I've finished speaking!"

This made me laugh - a lot. She got more upset and told me that I was a very rude person.

This made me laugh even harder and point out that, unlike her, I didn't have any end of month sales targets to meet and didn't give a shit if the payments on her New Mini were overdue and the rent on that flat in the 'executive' appartment complex was owing.

She then hung up on me.
(Fanta Menace Is tall enough to see over the fence, Mon 28 Jan 2008, 16:59, closed)

I wish I could click twice.
There are only two things taht really really boil my p!ss. Traffic jams, and Salesfolk.

I once got a bollocking off the missus for telling the 'warranty chaser' in PC world (I know!, I know!) that he could stick his extended benefits package up his arse, and could he please ring my laptop through the till as I asked, like a good little shop-monkey.
She thought it rude, I thought it necessary.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Mon 28 Jan 2008, 17:21, closed)

Spot on.
You've hit the nail right on the head there.

My own personal favourite stumping of a sales pitch:
Twat on phone: "Good evening, Mr Crow, I'm James from Kitchens Direct."
Me: "Um...we've already got a kitchen, thanks..."
(LongJohnBaldry, Mon 28 Jan 2008, 17:21, closed)

Nahhh....
the best fun is leading them on... all the way until they can see the sell looming on the horizon, right until just before the moment you buy whatever they're selling...

then change your mind. And laugh. And it is good.
( rydonabike I'm not unthinking everyone of nothing...., Mon 28 Jan 2008, 17:41, closed)

hehheh
i've had dozens of calls from "roger" "peter" "trevor" "derek" and "diane". all of them working for the same mobile phone company, all of them (apparently) from bombay. i usually hang up on them but, one day, i was feeling in a polite mood and decided to tell the guy that i didn't(and still don't) have a mobile phone. i thought this would be the end of it, but no. he harangued me for 5 minutes, saying "why? why haven't you got a mobile phone? everyone else has got one" to the point where i yelled "FUCK OFF!"
i don't talk to them anymore, i just hang up.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Mon 28 Jan 2008, 19:25, closed)

Cold Callers
If I have the time (and inclination) I will often ask them what the weather is like with them...I had a rather surreal conversation with someone in Delhi once about the rain...
And I will stop them when they say, "Hello my name is Peter" or another Anglo-Saxon name and I say, "It's not really, is it? Go on, what's your real name?" That irritates them.

Or tell them you've just found God and you'd like to tell them about it.

Or tell them you don't have a mobile phone because they fry your brain. Then when they tell you this isn't the case disagree wildly. Then I add that all phones fry the brain, that's why I refuse to own one or even use them. At that point you can hear them backing away from the telephone....

Great fun when you work from home and get bored.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Mon 28 Jan 2008, 20:35, closed)

If you ask very nicely
I'll move on to Daz the Sales Manager, 'Call me Jon' the soul-less corporate glob of phlegm, assorted directors and the new salesman who attempted to pull the temp by claiming to be Chas Pounder the Porn Star.

And I'll even throw in the son of the MD who karate kicked his immediate boss in the gents at the Xmas do, setting off smoke alarms and attempting suicide with plumbing.

And the 'cunt of the month board', the 'tie of shame', and how to deniably fire a crossbow bolt through an ex-collegues's scrotum.



(Note to the awforities, the last bit may be a lie)
(osok Rebel without a clue, Mon 28 Jan 2008, 21:14, closed)

Sales
My granddad loves talking to double glazing salesmen on the phone. He gleefully informs them that he would love a conservatory as hes getting on and cant get round the garden like he used to. Of course the sales monkey goes to all the trouble of booking an appointment and arranging for the sales team etc. What my beloved grandfather fails to mention is he lives on the fifth floor of a high rise block of flats. I love him...
(andythepieman Is surfing the waves of indifference on, Mon 28 Jan 2008, 23:07, closed)

Chickenlady
Those all sound fantastic. I've always wanted to do something that was in a Calvin & Hobbes strip: answer the phone with "Yes, I'd like a pepperoni pizza with extra garlic please" and then put the phone down. But until I have a caller ID on my phone that says 'Sales Monkey', it's just a pipe dream.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Tue 29 Jan 2008, 10:26, closed)

"Council House, mate"
Three little words that will usually stop most phone-sales monkeys in their tracks.
(Big D, Tue 29 Jan 2008, 10:28, closed)