My job in Boston was as manufacturer’s rep which meant I was to ride around with merchant sales reps and talk about my product, hoping the listener would buy it over the competition, which most merchant reps also sold. One would think that since I was of two female manufacturer’s reps in the entire territory, the novelty would make me very popular. Just the opposite. Women were not allowed in the boys club. No one wanted to work with me, except for the odd, the weak and the partiers.

In Maine, the only man who would work with me, Bob, looked like James Joyce, but with incredibly spaced out front teeth. He wore a straw hat and had bottle thick glasses which made his eyes so buggy it was hard to return glances. He was balding and so was his mustache which I think he kept to distract from his front teeth. Unlike most reps he wore full suits and was incredibly formal; tipped his hat ‘good day’ as he left each place, got the door for me, etc. Each print shop we went to, he was greeted warmly and often with a smile and a shaking head. Most would look from what they were doing and start the greeting with a chuckle, “Heh, heh, how’s it goin’, Bob.” Bob would return with a tip of the hat. I had a printer pull me aside once and say, “He’s an odd duck, but a great rep.” He was right, he was a great rep, with a great hook. His oddness meant people remembered him, felt sorry for him and bought from him. Lesson for my girls, always have a hook.

In western Massachusetts, my main supporter was Mike. With his dark hair and Seinfeld-like good looks, my first I thought was "he must be successful". But then he spoke, at least, I think he did. His voice never went above level one, as if he had permanent laryngitis. Going on calls with him was like going with a ghost. We were always told to wait and often had our meeting canceled due to “unexpected printing problems on a big job”. One day I decided to grab the reigns from him and take over the sales call. When we left, he had a solid order for my product. Once back in the car, he sat smiling in his seat. He then looked me in the eye and placed his hand on my knee. I laughed uncomfortably and patted his knee like a grandma. Lesson for my girls, never underestimate the weak.

Some party boys were fun, some were unfathomably inappropriate. The bad ones took me to party boy print shops. It is hard to be taken seriously in a sales pitch when the wall behind you is covered with posters of naked women holding power tools. The worst was a guy, Paul, who talked all day about these “stag parties” that he and his customers attended, although no one was getting hitched. The idea that married men would sit around tables drinking beer while strippers danced on top of those tables, sometimes stopping at a twenty dollar bill to give its owner a blow job, was astronomically creepy. Even worse that he thought it was appropriate to tell me, a young co-ed these stories. At the time, I was too intimidated to tell him to shut up. Lesson for my girls, always carry verbal mace.

After several months on the road, I put all my acquired information together and realized that if I wanted to upgrade from the lower sales pool to the big boys, I needed to be more confident, have a great hook and a bigger set of balls. The answer? Start doing stand up. Lesson for my girls, to get out of status quo, take a risk.