The principle to be observed in all cases where orders have to be signed, receipts made out, etc., is to make the process as easy as possible for the prospect. Let him work along the line of the least resistance. Avoid giving him the adverse suggestion of "red tape," formality, "iron-clad contracts," etc. Act upon the principle of the young man who when he asked his father for money would say it very smoothly and rapidly "twenty dollars please," as if it were twenty cents. Smooth away every item of delay and friction, and adopt the "rubber tire and ball bearings" mental attitude and mode of procedure.
Regarding the much disputed and vexing question of the interval between Decision and Action, and the frequent failure of Decision to take form in Action—which question, by the way, is very important in the Closing of the Salesman—we ask you to read the following from the pen of Prof. William James, the eminent psychologist:
"We know what it is to get out of bed on a freezing morning in a room without a fire, and how the very vital principle within us protests against the ordeal. Probably most persons have lain on certain mornings for an hour at a time unable to brace themselves to the resolve. We think how late we shall be, how the duties of the day will suffer; we say, 'I must get up, this is ignominious,' etc.; but still the warm couch feels too delicious, the cold outside too cruel, and resolution faints away and postpones itself again and again just as it seemed on the verge of bursting the resistance and passing over into the decisive act. Now how do we ever get up under such circumstances? If I may generalize from my own experience, we more often than not get up without any struggle or decision at all. We suddenly find that we have to get up. A fortunate lapse of consciousness occurs; we forget both the warmth and the cold; we fall into some reverie connected with the day's life, in the course of which the idea flashes across us, 'Hello! I must lie here no longer'—an idea which at that lucky instant awakens no contradictory or paralyzing suggestions, and consequently produces immediately its appropriate motor effects. It was our acute consciousness of both the warmth and cold during the period of struggle, which paralyzed our activity then and kept our idea of rising in the condition of wish and not of will. The moment these inhibitory ideas ceased, the original idea exerted its effects. This case seems to me to contain in miniature form the data for an entire psychology of volition."
Prof. James, in another place, gives the following additional hint of the process of transmuting the Decision into Action: "Let us call the last idea which in the mind precedes the motor discharge, 'the motor-cue' * * * There can be no doubt whatever that the cue may be an image either of the resident or the remote kind."
It will be seen then that the "motor cue" which releases the spring of Action—the mental trigger which fires the gun of will—may easily be some remote idea suggested to the mind, as for instance the sight of the slanted fountain pen and order book. The man wants to, but does not feel like getting out of bed, and his mind becomes inactive on the question. If some friend had said to him, "Come, get out old fellow;" or if he had had his mind suddenly attracted by some outside sound or sight, he would have sprung out at once. As we have said, elsewhere, the placing of a piece of twisted paper in the ear of a horse will cause him to forget his balkiness—it changes his current of thought. Any new impulse will tend to get a man over his period of "I want to but I don't" mental hesitancy. We may have given you the psychology of the thing here—you must work it out in the details of application to suit your own requirements. Learn to show your prospect something that will cause him to spring out of bed. Learn to stick the piece of twisted paper in his ear, to overcome his balkiness. Give him the "motor cue" by supplying him with a mental image "either of the resident or remote kind." Like the boy shivering on the brink of the stream, he needs but a "little shove" to make him take the plunge. Then he will call to others: "Come on in, the water's fine."
And, now in conclusion: You have the signed order, but you must continue your Mental Attitude until you fade from the prospect's sight. Do not gush or become maudlin, as we have seen salesmen do. Maintain your balance, and thank your customer courteously, but not as the recipient of alms. Keep up his good impression of and respect for you to the last. Leave the prospect with this thought radiating from your mind: "I have done this man a good turn." The prospect will catch these subtle vibrations, in some way not worth discussing, and he too will feel that he has done well. Avoid the "Well, I landed this chap, all right, all right!" mental attitude, which shows so plainly in the manner of some salesmen after they have booked an order. The prospect will catch those vibrations also, and will not like it—he will resent it, naturally. In short, you would do well to follow the homely but scientific advice of the old salesman who said: "Keep your sugar-coating on to the last—leave 'em with a pleasant taste in their mouths." Make a good Last Impression as well as a good First Impression.
But—and remember this also—get away when your work is over. Do not hang around the office or store of the prospect after the sale is made. Do not place yourself in a position where some newly discovered objection will cause you to do your work all over again. You have got what you came for—now get out! As Macbain says: "When the close is made the customer should be left in the shortest possible time that may not be characterized as abrupt. Having 'talked a man into a sale,' the salesman should be careful not to talk him out. The old adage, 'Stop praising the goods after the sale is made,' is as true as it is trite." Collins very aptly says on this point: "The explainer type of salesman may actually sell goods to a customer and then, by staying and talking, unsell him without knowing it. * * * One afternoon not long ago, for instance, a salesman sold eleven thousand dollars' worth of fabrics to a prominent merchant and, by staying for a friendly chat after the order had been secured, gave the merchant time to think twice and cancel it. An excellent rule is that of a salesman who built up a business to a quarter million in competition with wealthy competitors, doing this by sheer selling ability. 'Take the first train out of town after you sell your man,' was his rule. If there was no train for several hours he excused himself the moment a deal was closed, and disappeared. 'Just as sure as I stayed around after that order was in my pocket,' he says, 'part of it would be cancelled or modified by the buyer, or some of my work in selling undone. If it were nothing else the buyer would play on the fact that I felt good about getting that order, and squeeze something extra out of me.' When you land your man get out of sight."
And, taking our own advice, kind reader, we, having said our say and "closed," will now take our departure. We thank you for your kind attention, and feel that we "have done you a good turn."
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: