The secret to salesmanship is simple. You have to be their friend.
A buyer wants their decision validated. They need to be told it’s the right thing to do, and in no business is this more true than mine.
Where a lot of salesman go wrong is thinking it’s their job to decide what the customer wants. They try to lead the customer. They try to create a desire where none exists. This is not how you would treat a friend. You treat a friend with trust. Trust that they know what they’re looking for. Because they do. Before they even come into the store, they know. They know something is missing in their lives. They know precisely the shape of the hole in their heart. They know that something somewhere out there, possibly in this very store, will fill that hole. They just don’t know what it looks like.
This is why you shouldn’t pay too much attention to what they say. You watch their eyes. See what they glance at, what their gaze lingers on. Look for that sudden stop of recognition when their eyes spot what their heart’s been searching for.
For example, take this man browsing our firearms display. Those other salesman would look at his hasty demeanor. How quickly, how dismissively, he’s looking over the merchandise, and they would tell you that this is a man who doesn’t know what he wants. A perfect candidate to be sweet talked into something more expensive. After all, firearms are our second cheapest option, second only to our selection of hand smithed knives. But, those other salesman have it wrong. I’ve been watching this man for a while now, never a good idea to approach too quickly, and I can tell you that he’s been in the firearms section for some time. He looks disappointed, anxious even, but he hasn’t left. This tells me that somewhere in that section is what he wants. He just can’t find it. Now is the time to approach.
Never open with something like ‘can I help you?’ Never use a line. That’s not how a friend makes his presence known. A friend says hello, so that’s what I say.
He looks surprised. Most of our customers don’t expect there to be a salesman. It’s one of the advantages to this line of work. When a customer expects a salesman they come in already on the defensive, already prepared to dismiss offers of help. When they don’t expect a salesman they don’t think to treat you like one and, with a little help, they can come to see you as the friend you are.
Now that you’ve said hello you’ll want to start the conversation about the merchandise, but don’t ask the customer if he likes something. That question makes them feel rushed. Which makes them feel defensive, which makes them want to leave. Instead, just comment on what they’re looking at. Make an observation. To this man in the firearms section I say, “those triple barrel models are surprisingly light.”
His answer is quick. “They seem silly,” he says, “I mean, three barrels? Why not just one big one?”
His voice bristles with impatience. This, even more than his words, tells me what he’s looking for. Certainty and speed is what this man is after. That’s good news. These are the traits of a customer who won’t be leaving empty handed. The customers who want something romantic, our plane jump program for example, they’re the ones who duck out before you can close a sale. As soon as you see that wistful look in their eye, the one that says ‘maybe tomorrow,’ you know you’ll never get them to the register. This man does not have that look. He has the look of a man who’s already seen too many tomorrows.
The next step is tricky. With the next step you have to establish yourself as the expert. You have to give yourself the power in the newly minted relationship. It can be hard to do this and still have them look at you as a friend. Back when I sold luxury jets it was the hardest part of the sale. It’s easier here. Most of our customers have pretty low expectations of their friends.
“What they’re trying to avoid with that,” I say to him, “is penetration. For one bullet to do the work of three it would need a lot more force behind it. Could pass through a wall and, say, hurt a neighbour.”
“Well,” he responds, “it still looks silly.”
“Yes, you are not alone in that feeling. Some of our customers like the elaborateness of the design. I do not. I believe it gives them an overwrought feel. The decorative etching on the barrels, in particular, I feel is a bit much. I get the impression you are looking for something more direct. Let’s see how you like the feel of our scattergun.” I say and bring him the SR-444.
Its design is simple, its execution beautiful. A short tube of jet black steel. The oversized hammering pin at the bottom would look comical if it hadn’t been crafted with such elegance. The inside contains a single shell of small, high density shot. The only mark along the length is the small firing switch. It’s less than three feet in length but weighs nearly twenty pounds. It’s by design. The heft inspires confidence.
His eyes widen, letting me know I’m on the right track, but they quickly soften into reluctance. “It would do the job, that’s for sure. I doubt it would leave much of a head.”
So, this is a man not entirely divorced from the world. He still cares about appearances. Most likely there is someone, possibly even someones, that he still cares for.
Before he can raise more objections to the scattergun I put it back on the shelf. “No,” I say to him, “I think we can find something more right for you. The scattergun is direct, but also crude. For you I see something more elegant. I think I have just the thing.”
I remove the Rx-570 from its glass cabinet and hand it to him. An aluminum tube, about the size of a flute, with a small glass bulb on one end.
“What is it?” He asks.
“A laser.” I pause to let that sink in before continuing, “The bulb goes in your mouth, you hit this button, and in less than a millisecond the beam sweeps through all the key areas of the the brain. The beam is no thicker than a fingernail, with a head of hair like yours there won’t be a single visible exit wound. And there’s no risk of hurting someone else. By the time the beam exits the skull it couldn’t go through drywall. The most it could do is singe the paint.”
His eyebrows arch in admiration. I’ve almost got him, but I’m not quite there. You can always tell when you’re really done. You’ll see their whole face relax and they don’t express surprise, or amazement, or even pleasure, but rather recognition. Relief. They’ve found it at last.
So the question is, what can I tell him about the laser to make him see that it’s what he’s been missing? There are several features I could mention, but I decide to take a gamble.
“Now the interesting thing about this piece,” I say to him, “is the custom path option. By default the beam moves in a sort of spiral, but, if you so choose, you can override that pattern and set it to something more personal. The bottom of the device here has a camera. Just take a picture of any drawing or text that’s been written down on a plain white sheet of paper and the beam will trace out that image exactly. Selecting this option also strengthens the beam. The result is that whatever text you scanned into the device will be precisely burned into the wall behind you, so long as you have a wall behind you. Perfectly legibly, I assure you.”
I have him. He’s looking at the laser like a long lost pet. It was a risk. Most customers find that feature disquieting or even downright ghastly. The only ones who love it are the ones who have someone they want to punish along with themselves. That’s why he objected to the scattergun. Such total self destruction while this other person stays whole would have felt like admitting defeat. This, on the other hand, turns his last act into a last attack. His demise made the medium for one final condemnation.
At least, that is what he believes, and as I swipe his card I mold my expression into a conspiratorial grin that reflects his conviction. In this last stage of the sale you find out exactly what type of friend you are to the customer. For this man I am his brother in arms in the last campaign of a protracted and bloody war.
After a customer has made their purchase I always shake their hand and give them a simple, softly spoken ‘Goodbye.’ The tone of the goodbye is crucial. Normally I try to give this goodbye not an impression of sympathy but rather one of understanding. A goodbye that tells the customer that I know their story has been a sad one and they’ve picked the right way to end it. But that’s not the goodbye this customer wants, so it’s not the one he gets. When I give him his goodbye, along with his final handshake, it is with a tone of admiration. The goodbye one gives a soldier headed into battle.
Of course, he will not win his silly, and almost assuredly one sided, war. I doubt he will inspire the guilt he so obviously aims to inflict. No, I suspect whoever it was that drove him to this store will look upon his final act with astonishment and pity. Astonishment over the dramatic nature of his reaction and pity at his fragility. They will not mourn their actions toward him. But, in his mind he leaves my shop the victor and I would never dream of telling him otherwise. The truth would cause him considerable pain and while he shops here I am his friend. And I would never hurt a friend.