• Everyone should be empowered to bring revenue in and given a commission for it
I put the letter from Diana’s husband down and head to my boss’s office. “Yes?” he rasps, looking irritated.
“I’ll come back,” I say and head back to my office. He’s in a foul mood, why should I make it any better and tell him he just hit pay dirt?
Diana’s husband has been on our radar for years, and we could never even get a meeting with his marketing manager. I stood up for the right person’s wife.
I read the letter again and slowly, the wheels begin to turn. I give it an hour and then I return to his office.
“With the economy as tight as it is for everyone, I think we all need to be pulling our weight more around here,” I say. “Everyone should be empowered to bring revenue in and given a commission for it.”
My boss looks and up nods in agreement. “That’s a good idea, lord knows those bloody salespeople aren’t getting much done.”
“We can even give end-of-year bonuses to employees who sign up new business,” I continue. “The longer the stretch of advertising, the higher the bonus.”
“Ok. Put a memo together with the numbers, I’ll sign off on it,” my boss agrees.
I go back to my office elated. I’m going to make so much money off this deal. Hurray! I structure the deal to maximise the cut I’ll get for this specific deal. I write down that we will give triple the regular commission for anyone who signs a client for an entire year, knowing my boss will sign off on it. It hardly ever happens. We get six months at most and that hasn’t happened for three years now. It’s a terrible time for business at the moment.
I do the math of how much I will make from this deal and I’m elated. I need to help out damsels in distress more often! My phone rings, it’s Alan.
“Hey, you rushed off the other day,” he says.
“I waved goodbye,” I answer.
What’s been going on with him? Should I ask? Should I just wait for him to tell me? They say men are like rubber bands and sometimes they need to stretch far and wide, but they always snap back.
There are dozens of books, all dedicated to man caves and how they need to go in there to lick their wounds and recover from whatever ails them. And how we need to stay out until they do. Then of course, how we must welcome them back with open arms and no judgment. The feminists are loving the last part, I’ll bet.
“It’s great to hear from you,” I say, diving into the open arms-no judgment-trying-the-crap-the-books-tell-you spiel.
“Same here, I’ve missed you,” he responds.
“Lonely in ghost town?” I ask.
“Have I been ghosting you? I’m sorry,” he says. “There’s been a lot going on.”
I say nothing. Let him share if he wants to. Or so the books say.
“Would you like to meet up today? After work?” he asks.
“Let me check my schedule,” I respond, looking at my empty calendar. “The soonest I’m free is Thursday,” I lie.
Screw the books. How do you disappear into thin air and expect me to be waiting patiently like a good wife to be at your beck and call?
“Thursday it is,” he says, sounding deflated at the three-day wait. Good, he’s eager to see me.
I hang up the phone and finish the memo outlining the new commission and bonus structure for my boss. I email it to him for his approval. I hum to an old Abba song as I hit send… Money, money, money, must be funny, in a rich man’s world.