I had been retired for a number of years when I saw a want ad for a car salesman. My wife working full time, and its accompanying guilt, as well as visions of being able to afford exotic vacations, motivated me to answer the ad.
There turned out to be three candidates for the position. The dealership put us through a vigorous screening process that included both group and personal interviews. Although I had no direct sales experience, I emphasized that I had been a teacher and a school administrator for almost 30 years and both positions required one to be a skillful persuader. I got the job.
My first, and as it turned out only, day selling cars did not begin well. The manager who was to break me in met me at the door and explained that a serious situation had come up that needed his attention, but he would be with me as soon as possible. I learned later what the problem was: A salesman had forged a buyer's signature on an important document and the manager was investigating the situation (the salesman was fired at the end of the day).
In any case, the manager led me to a desk with a computer and encouraged me to explore the information available about the cars I would be selling. I started studying the various models. Before taking the job I had checked out some consumer information about the cars this company made, and while not terrible, the frequencies of repair ratings for their vehicles were not the greatest. Being the product of 16 years of religious education, I started to mentally wrestle with the concept of selling cars that I wouldn't buy myself.
After awhile, I noticed a smell that seemed to be from a car exhaust. I turned around and saw a large, sliding metal door behind my desk that connected the showroom to the repair area. The new guy on the block gets the worst desk.
Potential buyers walked into the showroom, but I was not allowed to help them. I looked at my watch a number of times and the second hand seemed to be moving slower than usual.
Around lunch time the manager appeared and apologized for not being able to give me any of his time, but he encouraged me to take one of the new models for a test drive to get used to the vehicle and the test route potential buyers would take. He went through the process of obtaining the keys and explained the test route. He then led me to a large SUV and told me he would see me shortly, which turned out to be four hours later.
As I drove the gas-guzzling SUV along the test route, I felt like I was steering a tank and my super ego started yelling at me, "You're actually going to encourage someone to buy this thing!"
Sitting back at my desk and munching on a sandwich as exhaust fumes filled my nostrils, doubts about my future in car sales began to invade my brain. Listening to two of my colleagues discuss how they were going to close a deal on a questionable used car sealed the "this is not something I want to do" deal for me.
The next morning I told the sales manager I had changed my mind about working full time. He wanted more details, but I just told him I realized that working full time was not something I wanted to do because of other commitments in my life.
What I learned from my one-day career as a car salesman: After a number of years of retirement it is very difficult mentally and emotionally to start a full-time job; taking accurate stock of all the factors impacting one's life by working full time is critical before applying for such a position; and exhaust fumes do not enhance the taste of a bologna sandwich.
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