Growing up in a large family in a blue-collar neighborhood, my folks did their best. They kept us fed, clothed and housed, but it was made clear that if we desired things beyond our basic needs, there was the door: Get out and work to drum up money for any extras.
We hit the bricks. I shoveled snow with my brother for 50 cents a walk, wiped down cars at the car wash on weekends for a quarter, ran errands for neighbors — anything we could do to make a buck, including selling stuff door-to-door, which I loathed.
This was my introduction to the cold call.
One of those items we peddled was the Grit newspaper. A rural, Midwest-based publication mailed to carriers such as me, it was billed as, “America’s Greatest Family Newspaper.” (Right up there with The Packer, of course). For every Grit newspaper sold, I pocketed about 40 cents. It was a tough sell, but the Grit publication did have its followers (and is still in publication). It didn’t hurt to offer a piece of penny candy to the reluctant customer to open the door and get the sales pitch started.
However, cold sales were the toughest way to make a buck, knowing that rejection was far more likely than a welcome and a coveted sale.
Fast forward to today, and things are often the same in business. Working for the Idaho Potato Commission, many times (like people with similar travel jobs) I was compelled to attempt that same cold call, like I did as a kid with a few Grit newspapers under my arm (except this time I toted a briefcase filled with potato print materials), hoping to meet with a hard-to-reach buyer, a specialist or perhaps an owner or director.
A heavy entry-door buzzed, and an unseen voice crackled over the security squawk box. “Who are you? Who are you here to see? Do you have an appointment?” I sheepishly tried to explain that the person I was trying to see didn’t respond to calls or emails and that I was probably at fault for not having the right contact info, asking if could I please introduce myself, say hello and drop off a few materials. The good thing I had going for me was that I was a marketing type representing a long-established, respected organization.
My calls on distributors weren’t all cold calls, perhaps just one out of 10, but still. Something that really helped me connect with hard-to-reach distributors had to do with, of all things, bagels — or doughnuts.
It came to me one day, remembering my produce buying days at US Foods in Denver. Our local mushroom representative, Sandy Malouff-Quintana, was terrific. (Today, she is the vice president of fresh sales at South Mill Champs.) But we also unwittingly turned down a lot of visitors due to our busy schedules. Salespeople struggled to secure appointments. Sandy was different and creative. She would show up with an armload of Village Inn pies — I’m talking whole pies. Apple and cherry and, well, you get the gist.
Someone with fresh pies wanted to see us at 9 a.m.? Most of us buyers started work around 4 or 5 a.m., so by 9 those fresh pies were the ultimate temptation. “By all means, let Sandy in,” we’d all say.
I remember Sandy not just for the pies she brought in with each visit (which were a welcomed treat) but also for all the great product information she shared with us about the mushroom business, the marketing support and top-notch customer service offered. She established a solid business relationship all because she was able to get her foot in the door and, well, get our attention.
So, years later when I was in a similar position, trying hard to just get in front of some of the sometimes-elusive produce people I needed to see — be it a CEO, buyer, category manager or specialist — I sometimes used the “Sandy technique” of bringing along a box of fresh cinnamon rolls, doughnuts or top-quality bagels with little tubs of fresh smear when I had a tough or cold call to make.
Oh, I still received the usual pushback about not having an appointment, but I also overheard the receptionist whisper over the phone when they conveyed that I was there with, “Let him in. He has bagels.” It usually worked, even if I just got to speak with an associate of whomever I was aiming to meet. It helped long-term, as oftentimes that lower-tiered associate rose to a higher level.
Person-to-person relationships remain the heart and soul of the produce industry.
I was fortunate. My Idaho Potato Commission business card was typically sufficient to open doors all over my territory, but sometimes a box of something sweet helped nudge that door open as well.
Just like in the old Grit days.
Armand Lobato’s more than 50 years of experience in the produce business span a range of foodservice and retail positions. He has written a weekly retail column for two decades.
