I don’t know what I’ll be doing next in my career, but I’ll tell you what I won’t be doing, handling objections. I will never be in a room again talking to someone who doesn’t want to talk to me.
Who will take my free lunch then hide in the bathroom until I’m gone. Someone who only refers to me as “vendor.” Why would I want to do that?
Why would I want to talk to someone who can’t wait to get away from me, and doesn’t want to listen to anything I have to say? It’s like walking a drunk home.
I remember that puny little cardiologist looking over the top of his glasses at me like someone left the back door open. That little shit tried to get me to pay for a new wing of the hospital.
Every time I had to come in and discuss the contract, I had to wade through all the new construction. This guy had more objections than Clarence Darrow.
You guys can give out your valor badges and purple hearts for weathering the storm of rejection, while banging your head on the steering wheel all the way home. No thank you.
I’m not some old whore. (I don’t think.)
I’m going with what the Marvellettes put out in 1962, “I don’t want nobody that don’t want me, there’s too many fish in the sea.”
Oh, look, there’s another objection over there, someone wanna handle that?