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By Ed W. Ramsell, CLU

Something triggered the recollection of a couple of unrelated memories recently. The first involved a can of motor oil.

Almost 40 years ago, I worked part time in a hardware store. One of our customers was Ol’ Becker, a local farmer. He had a heart of gold but was grumpy as hell.

Once, in response to my standard question, “Can I help you?” Ol’ Becker looked me up and down, sized up my teacher’s attire (I taught high school full time) and said, “No, you probably can’t.” He turned his back and headed for the shop owner.

A wheezing antique
I was the store’s official lawnmower repair guy, on personal terms with every mower in town, except for Becker’s. But one day he finally dragged in his wheezing antique. When he came back to get it, with his preteen son in tow, he saw me tending to it. A visible “What do you think you’re doing?” question flashed across his forehead. Luckily, the boss intervened with “Yeah. Ed’s the repair guy.” Becker settled down apprehensively as I picked up the oilcan.

Uncontrollable blobs
If you ever opened a new can of motor oil—the big square gallon size—you know what’s coming. Pouring the intuitive way, cap-hole down, the oil comes out in uncontrollable blobs. Very unprofessional. You pros know to hold the can with the hole at the top. No blobs. Ol’ Becker was impressed. He looked at me, paused and elbowed his kid, “You see how he did that?”

Now we came to the test. I pulled the starter rope, and it started on the first pull. Ol’ Becker’s personality changed. He smiled when no one was looking and even quit spitting on my shoes. The oilcan flipped his switch, as if he were saying, “I guess you’re OK, for a school teacher.”

Work at the level that’s important to your clients, not to you. Oilcans and banjos are important to them.

Banjos
Fast forward a quarter century to a nice evening spent talking to a nice couple about Med Supp. They spread out a stack of M-S proposals; they had seen it all before. “A lot of guys call when you turn 65,” the man said. “You got anything we haven’t seen?”

Things wandered politely for a while, when a gleam caught my eye and turned my head. “Is that a banjo in the corner?” I asked innocently. I knew it was a banjo. It was a nice five-string banjo. That’s bluegrass!

“Yeah,” he replied, brightening a bit. “Do you play the banjo?”

“Yeah,” I kind of lied. Enough to fool people for 30 seconds or so, I thought.

My banjo cost $35, a gift from my wife who has regretted it since. I called it the Flexible Flyer; you could watch it go out of tune. I could taste that banjo in the corner.

“Do you play in a band or something?” I asked.

“Can’t no more,” he replied, nostalgically. “Touch of arthritis. Wanna try it?”

I wanted to play it. But then I thought, what if I’m so bad that they laugh at me? Or, what if it’s out of tune? (Never tune another man’s banjo!)

But then I said, almost without thinking, “No, thanks. That’s your instrument.”

The tone of the interview changed after that; they looked and sounded interested! So I closed and walked out with the sale.

Wondering what happened here? I asked that question on delivery a few weeks later. How had they made their decision?

“The banjo,” he said simply.

“The what?”

“The banjo,” he repeated, with a nod toward the corner.

“But I didn’t play it, did I?”

“Exactly. You showed respect. We liked that. I want you on my side.”

Way cool
You can relate to these tales. You did something right—once—and your spouse gave you an “I’m impressed” look. Your teenage son noted something you did and muttered a sincere “Way cool!”

What are the lessons here? Work at the level that’s important to your clients, not to you. Oilcans and banjos are important to them. Everything counts.

Know your craft so that you always perform at your best, as if you were born with an oilcan in one hand and a banjo in the other. Above all, respect your clients the way you demand respect. While you’re at it, respect yourself.

And remember, never, ever tune another man’s banjo.

Ed W. Ramsell, CLU, is marketing training and education coordinator at Wellmark Inc., 636 Grand Ave., Mail Station 36, Des Moines, IA 50309. You can also reach him at ramsellew@wellmark.com.

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