I don’t like salespeople. They’re perfectly fine when they’re manning the cash register or straightening the towel displays. But when they call my office, follow me around a store or worst of all, stop by my cubby to “see if I need anything,” I practically break out into hives. I feel an irrational need to get rid of these people and not hurt their feelings at the same time.
On the phone, I can usually skirt the issue, “I just haven’t had a chance to talk to my supervisor yet, I should get some time later with him next week regarding your product/service. I’ll give you a call* and let you know what he has to say.” But when they stop by the office, they can see the lies written plainly on my face. Why can’t I just tell them that we don’t need any promotional pens?
Let me describe my office to you. I am the only person in the office without an actual office and a door. My cubby is situated so that visitors approach me from behind and can block off the only way out. I am at the mercy of all who turn the corner and pin me in. I can’t escape without being seen, I can’t shut my door and if I pretend to be on the phone, the person waiting for me simply pulls up a chair and waits.
Today, one of the other ladies in the office received her order of carbon copy forms from a local printer who is notorious for getting his feelings hurt and taking it personally when you don’t order from him. He also loves to chat at great length about his personal life. Just yesterday, I received a shipment from a larger printer in town and had 8 giant boxes of shiny, new brochures on display in my cubby’s entrance. I was trapped. If Mr. Talksalot looked through my plexiglass window, he’d see me and my 8 boxes and he’d be sure to turn the corner and interrogate me. So I did what any other rational, 25-year-old professional would do: I hid behind the filing cabinet until I heard him leave.
My hiding place
With my back to the filing cabinet and knees to my chest, I waited like Anne Frank until I heard him wrap up his story about his mother’s gout and finally leave. The entire time I was under there, (my best guess is 4 hours although it was realistically more like 4 minutes) I kept thinking, “This is ridiculous! What if somebody comes back here to leave a note on your desk and sees you?! You are too old to be behaving this way! What is the matter with you?”
When I heard the front door of the office finally click shut, I crawled out of my hiding place, shoes in hand, and took my seat in front of my computer once more. Unbelievable. Surely other rational, 25-year-0ld professionals don’t hide under their desks. Maybe one day I’ll grow up.
*That’s a phone call I never make.
Flooding Susie's Inbox 
