BEHIND ENEMY LINES

General Biscuit had a long standing policy: In order to be a cookie/cracker sales representative, you had to start out as a swing man. You had to prove to management that you could handle a variety of accounts and increase the sales volume of each person you were subbing for. It seemed realistic, within my grasp.

I learned that the easiest way to ruin a perfectly healthy relationship with the regulars is to not order enough product. No one likes to return from vacation and look at barren shelves. A lull in product-movement is the equivalent of flat-lining commissions. “Folks can’t buy it,” Clayton Middleton, our district manager, used to say, “if it ain’t on the shelf.”

“I’d rather have you order too much,” Dick said, “than too little.” Not only did he have the highest sales volume, he also wrote the most store credits. At first I attributed this to stock rotation, or lack there of, and rodents chewing through packages. “You hungry?” he asked once. We were jamming cookies onto an endcap display. “I’m buying.”

Before I could answer, he tore into a package of cold cuts and a loaf of bread; the store owner, hot on his trail, kept yelling in broken English, “You pay for that, Dick, you pay for that.” Such was Dick’s way—give the store owner a generous credit and fix yourself a sandwich, condiments included.

The suburbs, on the other hand, didn’t operate in this manner. There were certain rules that must be adhered to. Call it payola for shelf space. National Biscuit commanded a sizeable lead, with General Biscuit and Keebler a distant second and third, respectively. Each company had their linear footage, their beach front property; their land surveyed and marked for all to see.

I remember stocking the shelves of a Meijers and facing a dilemma—too many cookies, not enough space. Remembering what Clayton had told me, I decided to face off the Nabisco cookies and slide my extras in behind. No harm done. The National Biscuit rep still had his beach front property, his house was still standing. Of course, I knew the steady erosion would soon give way to General Biscuit and I’d infiltrate his loyal customers.

Later in the week, a National Biscuit rep confronted me. He grabbed a box of my Salerno Butter Cookies and started stomping on them in the middle of the aisle. As much as I wanted to reciprocate, I lied instead. “This is the first time I’ve been in this store.” The women grocery shoppers looked at him like he was a raving lunatic.

Short story recommendation: Seth Taylor’s “What You Want But Can’t Buy”