Cock Bombay is a self-made man. I know this because he tells me over and over again. He moved from India 14 years ago to pursue what he calls “the life of the dream.”
The dream began, somewhat nightmarishly, slinging impossible sacks of mail for the post office. He would check in before the sun was up, work as many double shifts as possible, and bust his ass until he could finally move up from there to the Dry Cleaners. But it was this time served in the mail room that injured his lower back. To this day, that is why he struts around with his chest sticking out so cockishly. Well, he is probably also trying to gain the couple of inches God forgot because rumor has spread that he definitely has lifts in his shoes.
I watch him pace feverishly outside, chain smoking. It’s Saturday morning, 7am, and we are about to have a store meeting. Most of the sales reps have arrived, bleary-eyed from a night of drinking, carousing and the general ‘forgetting of customers’. Mr. Bombay is waiting for our special guest speaker.
Typically, our meetings are well-structured. The Company is so micro-managed, even the managers get play-by-play scripts to go over in the Saturday morning meetings. This way the language is universal, the cogs are set in place and the machine works. New phones are mentioned, new rate plans are discussed and we are told how to better sell, sell, sell. We are also reminded, often in the same breath, of how important it is to do right by the customer. “Double make sure,” Cock Bombay urges us, “to take care of the customer and the customer takes care of you.”
It’s futile to fight the agenda. It’s too early to get so upset and it would only further ruin the weekend you already lost. So we nod, pretend to take notes, obey. A panacea is explained, in simple script form, of how you can close every sale, solve every problem and meet every goal. It will be shot straight to hell by the first special circumstance to walk through the door. And, in case you haven't been paying attention, they are all special circumstances.
The guest has arrived and Cock Bombay begins. He loves an audience.
“Good Morning!”
The ranks mumble something back. Brooklyn settles into his beach chair, rolling his eyes.
“I said, Good Morning!” Mr. Bombay repeats.
To everyone who has ever tried to address me and my classmates since grade school: Saying ‘good morning’ louder the second and third time does not make it so.
I yell “Good Morning!” back so we can move on.
“Okay, that’s better!” The Cock continues, “Everyone is here, so the ball needs to roll. Thank you all for coming early on your Saturday. I thank you. I bow to you." He does. "First, let me talk about the numbers. Store was number one in the new activations again--4 months in a row now above 500 each month. Store was number one in television product sales for 8 months in a row. We did 82 TV package sales. You guys are doing the selling. Selling is there. That’s the best news.”
He always amplifies “good” to “best”. In other one-on-one meetings, he'll gladly “give you best example.” It never is. He goes on to talk about the network and how selling is only half the battle. Making sure the customer understands the network is our priority. Talking about the network is the key to a good customer satisfaction score. It’s how we will bridge the gap between the customers total satisfaction with us and their Likelihood to Refer The Company. I’ve been telling my own, devoted customers that the network would improve for four years now. At what point am I responsible for this lie? I nod, take notes, obey.
“Now I have a special treat for you. Thank you for listening to me. This man will be talking to you now will be more exciting to listen to, more motivational. He is a very exciting speaker. He is my friend. The Big Fish.”
The Big Fish greets us and immediately proceeds to tell his story: As a teen, he lived in a park across from the McDonald’s he worked at. He would hide food in the dumpster so he could go back and eat it at night. He worked two jobs, maybe five jobs at once, went to school and became a cop. Once he joined the police force, he moved up quickly through the ranks as a motorcycle cop until the fateful day a guy driving an El Camino on Crenshaw flipped his bike through the air and broke every bone in his body. He “crossed over.” He saw the light and the next thing he new, he was in the hospital, tubes sticking out of every orifice.
These are the bullet points and they are, one may say, riveting. Even I have to admit it is pretty amazing stuff. I have no problem with the story. On paper, this can be some motivational shit. Just going through that shit, however, does not entitle you to become a motivational speaker. You must know how to speak and, preferably, in a motivational fashion. This guy is, quite possibly, the least inspiring person I’ve ever met. The story is disjointed, more than a little rough around the edges and wanders in broken english until it finally ends with these parting words, verbatim:
“I’ve crossed over. I died and came back. I’m retired now. I used to eat burgers from a dumpster but now I have two Rolex watches, five cars and my wife can buy whatever she wants. I came from nothing and have the man upstairs to thank for everything.”
Brooklyn leans over from his beach chair and whispers, “The guy who owns the gym?”
I turn red with suppressed laughter, stifle it and endure the rest of the story.
“You guys have some opportunities that I never had. You guys have been given so much more than I ever was. You are blessed by the man upstairs.” Oh please stop. “He watches over you and he takes care of you. You all have it better than I ever did. I made the most of it and look at me now. See this Rolex? I never thought I’d be wearing one of these when I was digging burgers from a dumpster. The man upstairs provides. Do the best with it.”
I take a breath. Once I stop giggling over the image of Rage watching over us and providing for us, I start thinking about this guy’s speech. Wait, what was that? Then I get angry.
Firstly, my personal belief in The Man Upstairs stands in stark contrast with material goods. That Rolex, I had always been taught, won’t make it with you when you 'cross over' for good. I’m pretty sure that if you believe in God, you also believe he’s never said, “hey, nice watch! Is that a Submariner?”
The fact that this guy thinks I care about his Rolex is an insult. But why is he even here to begin with? Why bring in yet another person to further confuse the boundaries of sales and service? This is the message: ‘Be thankful for what you have and, by the way, I have more now.’?
So Cock Bombay thinks we’re brats. Clearly the purpose of this motivational speech on an early Saturday morning is to remind us that we come from (mostly) middle class America and therefore have already secured a better life. The lesson is that we should never complain about our shrinking compensation pay, that we are ungrateful and should be embarrassed. No matter how little we are paid, or how poorly we feel we are treated, we should be thankful. We should never voice our concerns or suggest that we want something better.
But didn't he? Isn't that how he got his back problems? Isn't that the result of both of these guys and their dumpster-diving, double-shifting and extra-hour-ing? Complaining alone will not improve your condition, sure, but shouldn't you speak up when your condition worsens, when you sense injustice? Shouldn't you say something while you are also doing something?
In this moment I say nothing as I look at a cohort further alienated from their leader. The de-motivational speech has taken its toll and I sense there is about to be an increase in day-drinking nearby once we leave. At best, more than one of us walks away with the lesson that it's okay to steal burgers from your employer as long as it eventually leads to wearing a really nice watch.
