Free Hard Sell: The Evolution of a Viagra Salesman by Jamie Reidy Page B

watching the game slip away must have driven a guy like that crazy. It did.
    Few places were more chaotic than the middle of a pediatric practice on a late-autumn afternoon, with kids coming home sick from school as ear infection season found its groove. Appointment schedules, already a term used loosely, became even more of a working document as at least one family would invariably arrive late, throwing everything off. Further derailing the operation, Joey’s nanny scheduled a visit for him, but brought his two siblings along, because, “They all have it.” Impatient mothers quizzed harried nurses, who nagged doctors to stay on schedule—all of it occurring in an area rarely larger than a living room.
    Squarely in the eye of the storm, the same doctors attempted to collect their thoughts long enough to remember what child they had just examined, what ailed said child, and what drug to prescribe for said said child. The last thing such a scene needed was a salesman trying to impress his boss. Yet there we were, two guys in suits standing in the midst of this tumult, as out of place as pork chops at a bar mitzvah.
    My every instinct screamed, “Run away!” but Bruce sensed my discomfort and motioned with his hands to stay put. With an assuring nod, he nudged me in the direction of Dr. Jones, a pediatrician in his late thirties.Hair thinner than his runner’s build, he leaned against the countertop, poring over a patient’s chart. Of the three docs in the office, this was the guy I would have picked to approach first; weeks earlier my mentor, Jack, had tipped me off to the tendency of younger physicians to be more willing than seasoned doctors to talk with reps; the young ones were closer in age and would feel like jerks if they blew us off.
    “Listen, guys, I’d love to talk, but”—he held his arms outstretched at the madness—“this isn’t a good time.” Apparently, Dr. Jones hadn’t gotten the memo re: talking to reps. “I’m sure you can understand.” I could and did understand, and I began to thank him for his, albeit brief, time, when I saw a strange gleam in my boss’s eye. We weren’t going anywhere.
    Bruce was about to cross the manager–rep line. He had tried to stay out of the fray—I had to give him that. Like a medic, he did his best to remain a noncombatant, but in the end, he could not resist the urge to pick up a rifle and fight. I did not know it, but I was about to witness a master at work. Class was in session.
    “I can see how busy you are, Dr. Jones,” he began, “and that’s why I’ll be brief.” As if. “I guess it’s not surprising that your office is this packed, considering that it’s prime otitis season,” he said, referring to the clinical term for an ear infection. “Let me ask you, after amoxicillin fails in those patients, do you have an algorithm for deciding which antibiotic you’ll use second or third line?”
    Most reps considered directly asking a doctor what drugs he used to be a risky move under good conditions, let alone in the middle of a busy office when the doc had already told you he didn’t have time. The noisy swirl of sick kids and moms and nurses seemed to increase in response to this bold overture. My throat went dry, and I braced for the explosion.
    None came. The pediatrician cocked his head, squinted at Bruce with a “let’s-mess-with-this-guy” kind of smirk, and said, “Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. I like Cefzil, and if that fails, Biaxin.” Amazing! He had just given up extremely valuable information that I’d be able to use to my advantage on my next call, as we would certainly be leaving now that we had overstayed our welcome. Or not. Bruce’s eyes brightened as his mouth formed a similar smirk. He had stumbled upon a worthy opponent and had no intention of passing up an opportunity to spar.
    “Interesting,” Bruce continued. He turned to me. “Jamie, do you have a copy of the Block reprint?” Of course I have a copy,