Thursday, September 08, 2011

Wednesday, we were on our way to a prospect meeting in northern NJ and I’m stuffed in the back seat of a Mazda RX-8 wondering why we didn’t take Grace’s BMW. The driver is the account manager who’s trying to close this deal. I’m asking questions and getting irritated at his responses. Not what he’s saying, but that he’s making shit up as he really doesn’t know the answer but won’t admit. I equally irritated with Grace as she knows that we should have this information before going into this meeting. They both know I’m irritated, Grace doesn’t care and the account manager is getting defensive, so I cool it.

The meeting went well; the AM did a good job with the presentation and handled some tough questions, I made a note to let him know that. Grace did her thing with her normal aplomb and I tied it all up in a nice package with a bow. There were important heads nodding with smiles when we finished.

In many presentations that I attend in the US, there is always someone who is interested that I live in Paris. In this one, it was the company president, whose wife and fourteen year old daughter are coming to Paris at the end of the month to spend a few days at the shows. Back in the car heading for the city, I got an idea and messaged a friend who owes me a favor. He’s a business manager for one of the houses and I asked him he could arrange good seats for them and perhaps a special tour or something.

Thursday morning I found a BCC of an email to the prez, inviting daughter and mom to the show with a promise priority seats, probably the second through fifth rows and the chance to come back stage after the show. Thursday afternoon I received a gracious phone call from the prez. The fastest way to a man’s heart maybe through his stomach, but the fastest way to his wallet is to make him a hero to his daughter.



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