Free No Way Back by Matthew Klein Page A

you on my side.’
    ‘That’s good to hear.’
    ‘Every company needs a sales king. And I want you to be mine.’
    He nods. ‘All right, then.’
    ‘So tell me about sales.’
    ‘Sales?’
    ‘Since you are my sales king. Maybe you can let me know what’s in the sales pipeline.’
    ‘The pipeline is good,’ Dom says. ‘The pipeline is strong.’
    ‘OK.’ I nod. I wait for more. But he’s silent. So I say: ‘Can you give me a
hint
what’s in it?’
    ‘Well,’ he says, and sighs, as if the thought of having to run through the massive sales pipeline is frankly exhausting. ‘We’re talking to Facebook, of course.
They’re the big player now. And MySpace. And Yahoo. And Google.’
    ‘You’re talking to them?’
    ‘And lots of smaller players, too.’
    ‘Great.’
    ‘So, my message is’ – he points his index finger at me – ‘I’m on top of it.’
    ‘Great,’ I say again. ‘But when you say that you’re
talking
to them, what does that mean? Talking like: “Hello, nice to meet you”? Or talking like:
“Here’s the contract. Sign on the dotted line”?’
    ‘More like the second. The dotted line.’
    ‘OK,’ I say. ‘So do you have a pipeline report I can look at?’
    ‘A what?’
    ‘It’s a report that sales executives usually prepare. It describes what’s in the sales pipeline, and where we stand with every prospect—’
    ‘I know what a pipeline report is, Jim. I’m asking why you want one.’
    ‘Well,’ I say patiently, ‘I’m curious whether our company will still exist in September. I’m curious if you and I will still have jobs. I’m hoping you can
enlighten me.’
    ‘I see.’
    ‘So will you prepare one for me? A pipeline report?’
    Dom looks at me as if I’ve asked him to change a dirty diaper.
    ‘Jim,’ he says. ‘Let me ask you something.’ He swivels in his chair, leans back, looks down his nose at me. ‘You seem to know all about me. Maybe I can ask about
you. What’s
your
background?’
    ‘Fair question, Dom,’ I say, pleasantly, even though, at this instant, I make the decision that I will need to fire him. ‘Let’s see. I grew up in California. I graduated
from Berkley undergrad. I worked twenty-five years in Silicon Valley. I’ve held sales and management jobs at several companies, including SGI, Lantek, NetGuard. A few others, too.’
    If my résumé impresses Dom, he doesn’t show it. ‘The reason I ask,’ Dom says, ‘is that I’m just wondering.’
    ‘Wondering what?’
    ‘Wondering why they appointed you CEO.’ He cocks his head and speaks in a gentle, quiet voice – as if he’s a child asking me to retell a particularly charming fairytale:
the one where the village idiot wanders into the castle and is mistaken for king.
    ‘I suppose,’ I say, ‘because I have a track record.’ But it is a good question. I’m not exactly the most likely candidate for this job – or
any
turnaround job – with a résumé that includes two addictions, three arrests, and more than my share of day-long blackouts.
    ‘
Do
you have a track record?’ he asks. Again, it’s a friendly, encouraging tone of voice. There’s no malice, no hint of challenge.
    ‘Are you disappointed that they didn’t ask you to be CEO, Dom?’
    Dom nods. ‘I am. Yes, I am, Jim.’ Again, the in-your-face honesty. He must have passed that Interpersonal Skills Seminar with flying colours.
    The funny thing about Sales VPs is that they always think
they
should be CEO. In every company I’ve ever worked for, every sales guy guns for the top job, but doesn’t get
it; and he winds up bitter and disappointed. It’s the nature of being good at sales. To be good at sales, you need to be completely unaware of what a tool you are. After all, what kind of man
can talk his way into a corporate executive suite at some media company, and blow smoke about Tao’s half-assed software – software that doesn’t always work – and then ask
for a fifty-thousand-dollar cheque?