It was a week later and I still couldn't believe it. One day I was a sales manager on the "fast-track" for my corporation and the next, I was "pursuing opportunities outside the corporation", corporate-speak to explain why I wasn't in my office anymore without having to say they'd fired me.
The whole problem started when Division promoted a senior accountant to the job of Director of Sales and Marketing. He didn't quite understand that a sales department can only sell what customers want to buy, and if the company's products weren't that, selling was pretty difficult.
He kept harping about the amount of money we spent on travel every month without having anything to show for the cost. He couldn't believe customers would rather pay half our price for the same product made in some third world country just because it was cheaper. I tried to explain the concept of product differentiation and its impact on sales, and I tried showing him the customer feedback reports that said our product wasn't any better than our foreign competition. I pointed out that customers buy for price if everything else is equal, and only pay more if they believe they're getting more. His answer was, "It's thinking like that that's killing American industry", whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.
I admit the mistake was mine. I'd had enough one day, and walked into his office, closed the door, and tried to explain the realities of sales to him. Somewhere along the way, it's possible I did say he wouldn't see the truth if it bit him on the ass. It's also possible I said I didn't know how he managed to wipe his ass since he couldn't see that either. I really don't remember.
Anyway, the next morning, my email said I had an appointment with Human Resources at nine. It didn't take long. At nine-fifteen, I walked out of the building without my badge. I had their assurance they'd clean out my desk and send the contents to me as long as they didn't deem said contents to be company property.
So, after a day of asking my scotch bottle why there were so many assholes in the world, and another of asking myself how I could be stupid enough to drink a half a bottle of scotch at one sitting, I started to think about my new-found freedom.
I was thirty and single, had no debt other than the payment on the house I'd bought a couple of years earlier, and had six months severance pay in the bank.
It was also pretty certain that it would take those six months to find a job equivalent to the one I'd just left, so I had some time on my hands. I couldn't very well go flip burgers, because interviews have a way of happening at any hour of the day, but I couldn't sit at home without going nuts. Then, one day while thumbing through the local newspaper I saw the answer.
LIKE PEOPLE? WANT TO BE YOUR OWN BOSS?
LEARN MASSAGE THERAPY AT NATSA COMMUNITY COLLEGE
There was some small print at the bottom of the ad that said credits would probably not transfer to another college and that there was no guarantee, express or implied, of employment after graduation, but that didn't matter to me. I was envisioning how many women I could get in bed by offering them a massage. I figured I might also make some money in the process, so I called the number and scheduled an appointment to enroll.
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It was pretty great and not all that hard, really. I've always been pretty good with my hands, so the mechanics of massage were easy to learn. The study of bones and muscles was harder, but I managed a decent grade. Only one thing was a disappointment. To learn massage, one must practice under the watchful eye of the instructor. My practice sessions seemed to always involve a hairy guy instead of a sensuous woman. At least they kept their clothes on.
The day we received our certifications, a dozen vendors were present with a nice lunch, free samples of massage oil, and displays of all the things I'd ever need to massage anybody. I bought a portable massage table, a massage chair, a few types of oil, some nice fluffy towels big enough to cover a person from head to toe, and a couple pads of standard release forms. I was in business.
Now, all I needed was some customers, preferably of the svelt, sexy, feminine variety. The Business Practices course I took as part of the certification requirements had some suggestions. They seemed not to work as well in real life as in the class. My newspaper ad generated nothing except a couple hundred dollars to the paper's advertising profits. I had business cards printed and distributed them to every health food and herbal remedy shop in the city. The print shop was happy. I was not.
I started to think about how I used to sell products to customers. After all, my newfound skill was a product, wasn't it?
The hardest part about selling anything is getting your product in front of consumers so they can learn about it and decide to try it. While walking through the mall one day when I had nothing better to do, I found my customers.
It wasn't hard to talk Janey, the salon owner, into letting me set up a massage chair in the waiting area. I explained that I was just starting out, and would give her customers a short massage after they'd finished their appointment. There would be no cost to her other than the space I used, and we'd both benefit. I'd get my name and skills out in the world, and she'd have something she could advertise to bring in more customers. The short massage I gave her clinched the deal.
The second part of my plan was the gift cards I had printed up. Every customer likes the idea of a free sample, and my arrangement with the salon was for them to let each customer dig into a covered box and pull out a card. Most of the cards were my business cards, but there were also several gift cards for a free, at-home massage in the box.
It all went well from the first day. Most people like being touched, so even a poorly done back rub feels great. To get a massage on that one spot that's been tense lately, and to have that massage done in the correct manner feels incredibly nice. I'd just ask a couple of questions like, "Has your neck felt tense lately?" or "I'll bet carrying all those bags has your shoulders aching, doesn't it?" They'd either say yes, or tell me their legs were stiff or some other complaint, and I'd spend five minutes making that go away. The women who came to get their hair done left feeling relaxed and smiling with one of my business cards tucked into their purses.
The first woman who won a free massage was Trudy, a little woman about fifty who looked like anybody's grandmother. She was prim and proper all the way from her short, open toed heels to her medium length, freshly colored and styled auburn hair. I'd massaged her neck and shoulders after she told me she spent a lot of time carrying her grandson around. Trudy drew one of my free massage cards when she paid her bill.
Trudy seemed excited in a prim and proper way. She asked a lot of questions about how I'd do the massage, what she'd need to do, and where in her house would be the best place. She also asked if her husband could be there at the same time.
"It's not that I don't trust you, young man, but I'd just feel better if my husband was there too."
I told her it was fine with me if her husband was there, and explained what I'd do. Trudy seemed satisfied and asked when I could come to her house.
A rule of selling I'd learned early in my career is to always give your customer the impression you're selling your stuff faster than you can get it. If a customer thinks your product is that good, he or she will want to buy it now before you run out.
I looked at my appointment book, the appointment book I'd carefully filled with fake appointments.
"Well, the soonest I have an opening in my schedule is Friday. Let's see...what time can your husband be there?"
She said five, so I wrote her name, address and phone number in at five that Friday.
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At five that Friday, I knocked on the door of Trudy's two story house in the northern suburbs of the city. She let me in and introduced me to Fred once she pried him away from his fishing magazine. He didn't seem too impressed by the whole thing.
"So...Trudy says you're gonna give her a free massage, and I'm supposed to watch?"
"That's the plan. She wanted you to be there."
"You gonna have her take off her clothes? She doesn't like bein' naked much."
Trudy was blushing.
"Fred. You don't have to tell everything you know, do you?"
Fred grinned.
"You get her naked, you call me. I'll be right here readin' my magazine 'til then."
Trudy showed me into their spare bedroom.
"I hope this bedroom is all right."
"It'll be fine. I'll just set up my table and we can get started."
She was blushing again.
"Do I really have to take off my clothes?"
"No. I can do this either way. It won't be quite as nice, but you'll still enjoy it. Oh, I'll need you to fill out this form. It's nothing really, just a statement that you aren't pregnant or have had surgery recently, things like that. After you're done, we'll start."
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Now, a masseuse is sort of like your barber or hair stylist. To keep you from getting bored or nervous, we'll talk to you while we're working. It helps establish a relationship and takes away the fear of being touched in places you normally don't let a stranger touch.
"Just lay down on the table on your stomach and put your face in the little ring there. I'll do your back first."
Trudy hopped up on the table and stretched out. She flinched when I put my hand on the small of her back.
"So, Trudy, ever had a massage before?"
