Mothers who sell

A hungry telemarketer discovers a jones for making the sale.

By Michelle Kennedy

Oct 1, 2002 | "Hello?" A tentative voice answers the phone. "Good morning, Ma'am," I say. "This is Michelle from M--- and I'm calling to find out why you decided to give up your executive credit card."

"Well, uh," the voice stammers, "you charged me late fees when I was only late once in 10 years and you were rude to me on the phone."

"Did we do that?" my voice sounds shocked, although I am not in the slightest. Taking on a hint of Southern belle, I proceed to clean up the damage. "Oh my goodness. The computer says we did do that and I am just so sorry. Let me fix it for you. Tell you what, between you and me, I'll drop your interest rate 2.9 percent. Would that help you decide to take the card back?"

"Really? You can do that?"

Got her. Signed her up. You bet I could do that. I could do just about anything if it meant the person on the other end of the phone would take back her credit card.

I stretched my legs in my cubicle and waited for the computer to dial up another victim. All day long I talked to people who had given up their credit cards in a noble effort to whittle down their debt. These were people with medical bills and house payments and college tuition, and none of that mattered to me because I had one goal in mind: to sign them back up. That was my sole duty, for I was a customer retentionist.

Unfortunately for debt-ridden America, I was also quite good at it. I discovered I had a hidden talent for it. And I loved every minute I was ripping off a sucker -- right up to the end. I was a sales junkie. Sweet-talking my marks, nailing a sale, was one of the most delicious highs I'd ever had, leaving me hungry for another conquest.

I didn't start out life wanting to sell people back things they had already given up. Since college, I had more or less subscribed to the "if it's not fun, don't do it" school of job placement.

I've held many jobs: nursing assistant, Ben and Jerry's tour guide, weed puller, baby sitter, bartender, restaurant owner -- the list is almost endless. Through every single job, one thought stood out in my mind: How can I do this every day for the next 30 years of my life?

"Work is just work, Shell," my father said one evening over dinner. "If it were fun, they'd call it fun -- but it's not, it's work."

But I was at a time in my life when I needed some security -- steady hours, steady paychecks. I had just come off months of being homeless with my three children, earning $2.12 an hour plus tips as a waitress with no benefits except a free meal and half-price beer.

The credit card company ad sought "friendly and outgoing people" for a local company. It offered "full benefits, child care, tuition reimbursement and competitive wages." I was hooked.

I prepared for the interview with a $10 shopping spree at the local thrift store. I found a nice skirt and blouse and a pair of girly shoes (heels) and purchased my first pair of pantyhose since my high school prom. Getting dressed in my new apartment, completely bereft of furniture, I was surrounded by my three small children as I attempted to transform myself from haggard single mom into stunning corporate maven. I settled for neat and clean, dropped the kids off at their baby sitter's and nervously pulled my noisy, rusted Subaru into the parking lot next to the largest black SUV I had ever seen.

It turned out my first sales job was selling myself. I was awestruck by the company headquarters when I arrived for the interview. The stories-high atrium was filled with the sound of a piano and illuminated by skylights and floor-to-ceiling windows. I was convinced this was the perfect company. But so were hundreds of other job applicants who responded that day to the ad. Somehow I traded a line of bullshit for my first $12-an-hour (plus benefits) job. I was elated. I knew I could walk down the street and when people asked me, "What do you do?" I could say, 'I work for M---.'" In my head, I was thinking: See. I am a normal person, too.

I was a quick study. I easily learned the computer system and was the star student in the sales classes. I effortlessly established myself as the "one to watch" and was enlisted by my instructor to help some of the older ladies in my class learn how to work the computer.

Next Page: Selling became my life, my religion

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