I’m no prude, but I’m often times shocked at the number of times I feel like either lowering my head to meet my buyer’s gaze (“hellooo? I’m up here!”) or simply reaching over and bumping his chin up with my fist (gently, people… not like an uppercut).
I know I’m not alone. Over at Wine Berserkers they were commenting on the number of women now on the streets as Reps:
Sex sells and all that rot. I bristle when the Southern rep makes a crack at how I was able to make a placement over him. “Well, if I looked like you, I’d probably own the list at that account.” No, asshole. If you stopped off-loading product at the end of the month on the poor schmuck to make your quota only to pick it up the following week and return it to stock… If you stopped shoving Choco Wine down your buyers’ gullets because if you move a pallet this month you might win an iPad… If you actually listened to your winebuyer when he asked you for a “small-production Sonoma Coast Pinot Noir” instead of bringing Meiomi around for the tenth time… If you brought around wines with delicate and distinctive character, wines that excel when paired with food, the kind of wines the winebuyer at this particular account prefers, rather than showing off the Molly Dooker Shake… Then maybe you’d own that list. Oh but maybe if you did all that and had tits like mine, you’d own every list in this town.
Dear Wine Buyer,
I see you once a week, and I am happy for the time you spend tasting my wines and talking small talk. I appreciate owning your wine list because I worked hard for each and every placement.
However, if I could have complete eye contact with you during our 30 minute meeting, it would be most appreciated. There is no need to talk to my completely covered chest every time I meet with you.