Saturday Mornings

My first job out of college was pretty much straight-forward sales. Oh, they dressed it up as "Financial Planning," but it was sales. As fate would have it, I wasn't selling much.

To get me back on track, my bosses (all three of them) determined that I, along with the other under-performing rookies, would have to come in on Saturday mornings to make calls. Sleep was, and still is, precious to me. Saturday sleep even moreso. I was not happy. And I was snarky. By this point in time, I knew I was not long for this particular career.

"What time?"

"Let's say 8:00 am," said Brian, who was boss number 3 of 3.

"You think people will be awake at 8 am and will be happy to hear from me?"

"Oh, if people have kids they will be up by then, for sure."

Brian had kids, so I assumed he knew what he was talking about. I was 22 years old and childless, so I had to take his word for it. But this was one of those items that stuck with me over time because it scared me. Up earlier than 8? Because of kids? No thanks.

So, last Saturday, as I was pulling George out of the crib at 6:15, I thought of Brian.

When 8:00 am rolled around, I thought, yep, parents are awake at 8:00 am, but if some sales guy had the stones to call me at that hour, I would reach through the phone line and strangle him.