Yes indeed here we are. We've reached the end of another Summer and the beginning of the selling season. Time now races to the Holidays, so make hay while you can. Sales meetings also start to take on a more serious tone. It's time to get down to business. And to light a fire under everyone's asses, it's also time for the sales contest.
Many salespeople revel in the competition and the opportunity to receive recognition and perhaps an award for being Top Gun. A natural food source to feed the competitive personalities and egos that are required to be successful in sales.
Me however, I've never been particularly motivated by these contests, although I've won my share. There's something about receiving a plaque or certificate that just doesn't do it for me. I'd prefer to win something tangible like cash (cash is good), lunch for two, a preferred parking space, or even a ham sandwich in the building's cafeteria. Anything that I can actually use.
I've also been around long enough to know that these awards have a double edge. The winner gets the glory and the company gets to apply continual subtle pressure as the plaque hangs on the winner's wall for all to see. The alpha dogs lick their chops waiting for a chance to win the next contest and the winner thinks; Like hell you are. You're not going to create a gap in my collection. Hanging a ham sandwich on the wall just doesn't convey the same message.
None of this has any affect on the walking-dead whatsoever.
At one huge residential and commercial company I worked at, we would have a Broker-of-the-Month award. The winner would receive a mass produced plastic plaque to prominently display above his or her desk. I received several of them. When the meeting was over I would discreetly discard them into the trash upon my exit. My Wife and Partner for over twenty five years would scold me saying: "Can't you wait until you get home before you throw it (plastic plaque) away!" I have to admit, the first time I did it was for me. Subsequent disposals were to watch my Wife's reaction. She's so cute when she's glaring at me.
This company also had an annual grand prize. If you hit a certain income level you won a trip to some island in the Caribbean. The problem was that all of the salespeople in the organization who qualified went there too. In the five years that I was at this company I won the trip three times. I never went. It blew Management's mind. I've witnessed too much during the 70s and 80s broker reception era. (For more on the ridiculous excesses of this period see my post Thick as a Brick) The thought of being on an island with a hundred and fifty or so half crocked real estate brokers and watching them charge the buffet table is more than I could stand.
The top producer in the commercial division once complained to me about how he had himself all set up on the beach with chairs and an umbrella that the hotel provided, and two women residential brokers came along and took it from him when his back was turned. Judging by the violated look on his face I think they may have also kicked sand in his face.
The real kicker was that at the end of the year you would receive an additional three to five thousand dollars added to your taxable income for the cost of the trip. That's just what I need. Pushed into another tax bracket. Thanks, but no thanks. If I'm going to go through all of the anxiety and stress that it takes to go away on vacation, I'm heading 180 degrees in the opposite direction.
I know I sound cynical. Perhaps part of my attitude stems from what old Sam use to say to me at the first company I worked at, during my formative in-training years, when my brain could still be molded like Silly Putty. Every once in a while old Sam would grab me, look me in the eye and say; "Kid, you're nothing but a commodity".
And I'm sure the major contributor to my lack of enthusiasm for these games is that while I was at my first company, I competed in the "ultra" sales contests, where everyone was a winner, or else.
Every Monday evening the entire sales organization, usually 50-60 salespeople strong would file into a stadium size conference room. Mounted on one wall was a blackboard around six feet high and thirty feet long. Upon it was written every salesperson's name and their entire production for the week, month and year. This included exclusive listings, open listings, leads, signs, pending deals, closed deals, and income. Everyone was fully exposed, naked for all to see. Literally the handwriting on the wall.
The first thing that became evident to me was that you don't have to be good looking to make a lot of money in this business. Some of the homeliest individuals on the Planet were consistently earning a fortune in commissions.
The procedure was that everyone had to take their turn, stand before the President and Senior Vice Presidents and report on their weekly production or lack thereof. If things were good you got an applause. If your production was off you were torn a new you know what by the President.
A good friend and I use to pass the time at these meetings playing a little memory game of trying to recall the names of all of the salespeople that passed through the perpetual revolving door.
We all knew that a "contest" was imminent when the overall production was down for that week. Take signs for example. If the count was down the President would announce that we were going to have a "sign contest". Whomever didn't get a sign by the next meeting was fined $250.00. That's right! FINED! It was credited against your next commission.
I called it "motivation through intimidation", or "fear" if you prefer.
I'm sure by today's standards this would be considered cruel and unusual punishment. But the company got fifty signs erected that week. Who cared if no one worked on anything else. The leads generated off of the fifty signs for the company would more than make up for it.
At the end of every meeting the President would bellow out; "And stay out of the office!".
To add insult to injury we were each charged $45.00 to erect the sign. We were also charged $35.00 a month for phone charges for the desk phone that we weren't allowed to come in and use.
Maybe old Sam was right after all.
