Am I being served?

The topic of today's blog entry, is indeed my career, work, and ability (or lack of) to be a good salesperson. It all started in a village pub when I was thirteen years old. Driven by the sheer frustration of watching my family struggle financially, I decided it was about time I pitched in. I waddled off down the village to the Carpenter's Arms to have a go at getting myself employed. Obviously I wasn't going to pay the mortgage but I figured if I could by my own stuff it would take some pressure off my parents.

It was surprisingly easy to obtain my first ever paid position at the pub, realising now of course that I was the only girl in the village and as such would be a novelty for customers who had so far, been served their steak and chips by boys who looked like they were making their own mayo in little volcanoes on their faces for the last three years.

I started my little pub job and initially the work was daunting, but because I knew most of the villagers who frequented the Carpenter's, it wasn't as bad as it could have been. After a few Saturday nights I'd pretty much got the measure of the job. The thing I liked most was that I didn't have to sell anything. My job was based on 'would you like', 'would you like a dessert, would you like to see the wine list'? I could do that, if a customer said no, I couldn't then go on to say 'are you sure, I don't care if you are full, eat this bloody Viennetta or we won't hit our targets and then then Landlord and his family will miss out on his fortnight all inclusive in Lanzarote and I will get the sack'. People told you what they wanted, you didn't tell them what they wanted.

I stayed at the Carpenter's until I was sixteen, throughout my school days, but I wanted to move on when I got to college. Somehow keeping the job I'd had since thirteen was just not convenient any more. I needed a job in town, to help finance my education but that I didn't have to drive to. A job with a better wage. I looked in the window of the Job Centre and there was a position as a Shoe Fitter available in the Co-op department store. I went for an interview and got the job. The wages seemed huge to me after my terribly paid pub job, and I have to say, the work was not as hard. That's not to say it wasn't hard work, but it wasn't in a hot, greasy, smoky pub. I felt I was the height of sophistication!

I had a uniform, a horrendous spotty navy blouse with a long navy pleated skirt. We had to wear a pair of shoes from the shop, which we had to buy, but at staff discount. I was trained by Hush Puppies, Start-Rite and Clarks to measure and correctly fit shoes, on children and adults. No amount of training however can prepare you for a pensioner's post-grocery shop bunions, or a toddler with a full nappy which is just at the same height as your nose.

Three of the other ladies were middle aged, and a lot of fun. There was camaraderie. As ever though, there was a fly in the ointment. This particular fly went by the name of Helen. Helen was my age, but clearly resented the fact that I was at university and had a bigger plan. She however, was going to be a shoe fitter for life. Now I have never been one for job snobbery, I think if you want to be a shoe fitter all your life and it makes you happy, then bloody good on you. But she was clearly trying to second guess me and had given herself a massive inferiority complex, which then grew into a superiority complex.

Anyway, in the midst of all these complexes (complexii?) she had one skill that I did not. She could sell extras. She could make single mother's and old aged pensioners buy all the polish or suede care or insoles that I didn't want to push on them, because they'd already saved up their money for some decent shoes in the first place. She ruthlessly hit her extras target like a woman possessed. Not one of her customers left without these goods added onto their bill, and why? Because she made them feel too awkward to say no. I hated this. I still hate this.

When people try to sell me extras, an extended warranty for example, I ask them if they'd like me to leave without buying anything at all, and if they would, then they should continue with their patter. Otherwise, they should just take my money, give me my goods and let me be on my way.

As life unfolded for me, I ended up full time as a graphic designer. My chosen path. The subject of my degree. You'd think I'd be happy. No. There is nothing more soul destroying than coming up with beautiful creative ideas, when their only purpose is to make the rich richer. I loath it. And unless you work for free, it's all you can do in graphic design. I decided to change career path whilst I was still young enough (cough).

A position as a teacher in a further education college came up. I'd always fancied teaching, the chance to make a difference to someone's life appealed to me. The trouble though was that I was teaching graphics, a subject that I no longer had faith in. How could I give others passion for something I no longer felt a passion for? I managed to teach for two years and it was the most exhausting two years of my life. I would never make it as a teacher, because I'm honest about life, and colleges don't want you to be honest. If a student wants to leave, let them, what's the point if they don't want to learn? The trouble is, the student is worth money to the college, therefore you have to make every effort to persuade them to stay, even though they really don't want it. That can't be right surely?

I don't regret my years as a teacher. I found that despite the subject being a little empty for me, I actually formed some great friendships and instilled enough confidence into some of the least confident young people I'd ever met.

In between all this I thought if I couldn't get the subject right, I'd try working at a beautiful place instead. So, I chose Doddington Hall in Lincolnshire. It was not short of beauty, and I would end up getting married there. I still love the place. Again though, all emphasis was on money and how to make more of it. To make the wealthy wealthier. For a crap salary I was expected to work very hard to put more money in the pockets of people who had so much already. This didn't really sit well, although the owners of the hall are actually lovely people, they are business people, and I am not.

I'm not remotely business minded. I'm soft, pliable, sympathetic and considerate. I wanted to make a difference, I wanted to have a job I was proud of. I count myself extremely lucky because I have found that job. I saw an ad in the local paper, for a digital imaging expert, for the police. My degree and my previous experience as a teacher meant that I ticked all the essential, and some of the desirable elements of the job description, so I went for it. I never dreamt I would get it, but I did!

Now, I spend my days helping people. Perhaps an elderly lady who has been burgled, I can make her feel safer. A teenager who has had their bike stolen, people who have suffered terrible and more serious crimes are all made safer by the work I and my colleagues do every day. We go the extra mile, we stay the extra few hours, because we are genuine people, who just want to help others. No selling, no extras, no pushy pitch.

The conclusion to my ramblings I suppose is that some people are born to sell, and others are honest! My salary is reasonable, not massive, but I consider myself rich in other ways, ways that are more important to me by far. I haven't dreaded a Monday morning since being in this job and I will remain doing it for as long as I am able. I'm one of the lucky ones who love what they do.