Sticks and Stones

Frank looked like he was doing semaphore with flags as he waved his arms about pointing at me and the two hapless salesmen at the same time. At the word ‘ponce’ he had jabbed his outstretched arm with its extended finger slightly more in my direction as if he was physically stabbing me. His eyes came back to mine and they looked as if they were throwing daggers, each one dipped in poison. For some reason, I had made an enemy out of Frank with just four words. It’s just possible that I had made an enemy out of some of my colleagues too. Partly for getting the right answer and depriving them of their fun, but far more likely because they now all knew I was a college boy. With a degree! I was still slightly reeling with being called a ponce. I could imagine going home that night and chatting to Pat, my wife. It would not be unreasonable for her to ask me how I got on.

‘Did you sell anything?’ she would probably say with a big smile. She did not yet know that we were not expected to make a sale within the first three months. That turned out to be a joke.

’No,’ I would reply, ‘but I did get called a ponce and make several enemies.’ Best to keep that nugget of information to myself I thought.

Soon after that my first sales meeting ended. There were to be many more, some more exciting that others. Like the time that Frank threatened to stab someone who's sales were poor. But that tale is for another day.