(Zinger Sample)





For years my business uniform was a three piece suit built out of the finest English worsted, tailored to measure and properly conservative in color and pattern. The company car, which I normally used on business, was a Lincoln Town Car late model, but my car for pleasure was a 1970 Mercury Marquis convertible. The paint on the convertible was a tad faded and the engine used a bit of oil after 149,000 miles, when this enlightening experience unfolded.

The yellow convertible was rear-ended and suffered a bent rear bumper. When my schedule opened up a week or so later I decided it was time to get out of uniform, get a repair estimate and enjoy the ride with the top down. I donned a golf outfit that my wife informed me was purchased eight years previously and run through the automatic washer 150 times. It was a forty-minute drive to the first body shop and I thoroughly enjoyed the wind blowing my hair in six directions.

The first stop was the Lincoln-Mercury dealer from whom I had purchased automobiles for fifteen years. The body shop manager greeted me with a friendly smile, looked at the bumper, made out his estimate and said, “To save you time, you can get a second estimate by just going down the street a block and pulling in at the Cadillac dealership. They do outstanding work and will be happy to take care of you, but we’d like to do the work for you, after you get things settled with the insurance company.” I thanked him and he thanked me. I headed down the road.

The Cadillac dealership was the oldest and most prestigious in our fair city. The entire operation covered two-thirds of a city block. I drove to the front of the imposing show room and parked in full view of everyone within. I had decided that since I needed directions on how to reach the body shop, in this large establishment, I might just as well ask directions in the show room and stop and look at those shiny new Cadillacs.

I walked in and saw, at the far end of the show room, four salespeople looking at me. They were not your typical stereotype automobile salesmen: i.e., they wore long-sleeve white shirts, ties, and jackets with pants that matched. They made absolutely no effort to come toward me or greet me. One of them, after obviously looking me over from head to toe, turned and walked into a back area where he wouldn’t have to deal with me. I had that instant sense that I wasn’t dressed right for this occasion.

I had to walk the full length of that show room to get close enough to the three remaining salespeople to ask them how to get to the body shop. No one greeted me or asked me what I wanted before I asked the question. I got a very courteous and detailed answer about how to wend my way through the establishment. No one offered to show me a Cadillac; no one said, “Thanks for coming in.” I turned and decided not to stop and look at the shiny new Cadillacs.

When I got to the body shop office, the first thing I did was look in a mirror and comb my hair. The lady behind the counter took care of the data gathering in a very business-like manner. The man I’d been told to ask for admired the car and gave me a bumper repair estimate in a friendly and competent manner. He wanted to know the details about that old yellow convertible and what my future plans for it might be. When I told him that I intended to restore it sometime in the next twelve months, I received a complete sales pitch for a $2,000 seven-coat hand-rubbed paint job. He thanked me for coming.

I left feeling that when the time came I might come back for quotation on replacing the paint on the old convertible, but I never again darkened the door of that Cadillac store and I even considered specifying, in my burial instructions, that a Cadillac hearse not be used to carry my body to the graveyard.

What I really wanted to do was go to my barber, then shower and shave, put on my finest fresh-pressed, navy-blue three-piece suit, drive up to the Cadillac show room in the freshly washed and polished Lincoln Town Car, walk in and as all of those salesmen gathered around me, kick them each hard, in the shins.

But I never went back.

To this day, I am absolutely convinced that had I arrived in the Lincoln Town Car, wearing my business uniform, with gray hair neatly combed, I would have had to fight my way out of that show room instead of being humiliated by being looked upon as a cheap skid-row derelict with an old car.

* * * * *

Would the people in your store treat me the way the Cadillac salespeople did?

What have you done to prevent it?

In today’s language the salespeople were “profiling”. The prospect also does profiling, but it is all accomplished in those first few seconds without conscious effort. Do you think a prospect has the right to judge a salesperson in this manner?

Do you think a salesperson has the right to judge a prospect in this manner?

Does the kind of business the salesperson is involved in or the product he/she is selling make a difference?

A good salesperson learns early on that the first five minutes in the presence of a prospect are critical. The prospect judges a salesperson in that period of time based on appearance, manner, courtesy, language used, and sixth sense communication. A perception forms in the prospect’s mind in the first few seconds and hardens into reality in the following five minutes. No one likes to deal with someone who is not successful. I wore those fine suits and still do, because I want the perception in my prospect’s mind to be that I’m successful.

When ever I’ve learned I lost a sale because of premature judging, I tried real hard not to do it again, not always successfully, but I keep trying.

.
Nuff said!!!

Copyright 2005-2007 - All Rights Reserved
WZA, Inc. - The Business Enhancement Team
Wesley W. Zimmerman

Zinger sample, "Judge Ye Not Prematurely" is provided as a courtesy to prospective Zinger Newsletter subscribers only.

Contact the author directly for reprint rights: WesZimmerman AT PerceptionofDifference.com

Labels: first impressions, judging, perception, sales, zingers

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