How to lose a sale in one easy move

Back in the 1970s, our feminist aunties promised sexism would be eradicated from the business world once a certain generation of men retired.

Well, maybe they didn’t explicitly promise that piece of perfection, but the notion was implicit in their vocal crusades for equal employment rights and overall basic decency.

I sincerely hope our elderly feminist aunties are now too deaf and blind to notice their efforts have failed miserably.

Case in point: Our roof being brand spanking new, now is a perfect time to install solar panels on our house. Consequently, when a representative of a solar company turned up on our doorstep last week, I made him uncommonly welcome.

He and I engaged in a reasonably detailed discussion about the potential for PV panels on our roof. I asked lots of technical questions—well beyond what a typical salesperson could answer. (I was certainly not a passive prospect.) He took my contact information, and he promised to work up preliminary details and to get back to me.

A day or two later, he returned. I invited him into my home, summoned the hubby, and all three of us sat down and discussed a contract in detail. Of the two homeowners, I was the one taking notes, doing back-of-the-envelope calculations (okay, back of a notepad calculations), and asking the most questions.

The sales rep requested the hubby’s contact details­—presumably to include him in any communications. He seemed perturbed to hear the hubby was going on a business trip. However, he was clearly told I was available to sign the contract when it arrived the following day. (I bet you can see where this is leading.)

Yup. When the contract landed in my inbox, only the hubby’s name was on it!

Being soft-hearted (or soft in the head), I let the vendor know I couldn’t sign the contract because it didn’t include my name. In other words, I gifted him an opportunity to redeem himself. Here is the response I got:

“I put (the contract) in (hubby’s) name and thought you could forward the email to him to sign.”

So much for giving people a second chance.

By the way, I shared this story (no editorializing) with my two adult sons. I am delighted to report they were both incensed. See how well they were raised, my darling male feminists.

The most shocking aspect of this story is that the sales rep is not thirty years older than me, but thirty years younger! Not only that, he is a university-educated business major. Apparently, limiting yourself to male customers is now part of the curriculum.

My eldest son—Mr. Often Decisive—recommended two ways to address the situation: refuse the contract or request a different sales rep. However, he ultimately agreed my idea was the harshest form of retribution: lecture the young man as if he were my own child. (It should only take an hour or two.)

I’m off now to sing R-E-S-P-E-C-T in an off-key imitation of Aretha Franklin. Feel free to join in.

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