Selling the Dream

 I remember as a kid getting a seasonal job at a sporting goods store during Christmas. It convinced me retail was not for me. It was just over Christmas break and I knew nothing. I didn’t know how to count back change, run a cash register, or even fold shirts. Let alone how to size and fit skis or string a tennis racket. It was continually like those dreams where you are standing in front of your high school locker naked forgetting the combo. 

Daily humiliation.

My boss seemed to be a very chill dude. He’d go in the back to wax skis and maybe smoke, ahem, a very fat cigarette. The smell disguised by the odor of burning wax. I always had the impression he’d rather be on the slopes rather than selling equipment.

People say to me it must be nice to work at a bike shop—except it’s hard to get time off to do the thing you love. Ride bikes.

Nevertheless, maybe I am cut out for retail. Of the several sales clerks, I am at the bottom of the ladder as far as knowledge. One lady can sell Garmins and knows all about the technology and individual bundles. One kid I always go to to help customers with shoes. Another clerk, the one that has worked for the shop the longest, right out of high school, can sell ANYTHING. We laugh and say, he can sell a bike to a one-legged person. He knows all about the bike carriers, the ebike app and displays. He’s memorized all the spec sheets on every bike.

Me? Nada.

But, one thing I can do is sell the dream. I’ll stand with a customer in front of a row of floor models and paint word pictures of what they will be able to do with this or that one. With this bicycle you can have an adventure—and then go into a few details, With this bike you can go fast. Wind in the hair, ease getting uphill, etc.

I was surprised to discover from my boss that I was last month’s biggest seller. Still not sure if I’m happy or weirded out by that. But, maybe, there’s something to my unconventional style of telling a story.