Everything I know about sales I learned from this guy:

[The following is a recurring boutique flashback/nightmare I have. Man. Those were the days...]

Every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Saturday I hob knob with the rich and pedigreed. I sell them fancy French lotion. When my clients purse their lips in disgust I’m supposed to mirror their expression. It’s a sales technique I picked up from Andy Bernard, initially as a joke but now I actually furrow my brow and say, “Not in love with this?” with so much concern they feel obliged to smell the next scent I spritz onto the cardboard stick. When their eyes light up I turn into a real life manga character—big expansive gestures and a wide inverted triangle grin: “Doesn’t it feel like absolute silk on your skin? See how you just glow?! Your skin just drinks that right up, doesn’t it!? I am queen of the italic, the exclamation mark, and the leading question. I am their new best friend, cheerleader, stylist, and financial advisor all in one. If I bat my eyes or throw in a wink they just can’t help it: they’re sold.

I, in large part, must manufacture trust ex nihilo. I do this with bright as a button compliments. “Oh Mrs. Morrow, what a stunning x, y, or z! It’s so sleek/elegant/chic/stylish.” I’ve traveled just extensively enough to be interesting, am just ambitious enough to keep them smiling (oh how cute!) but I never let my guard down. Once a potential customer starts to feel intimidated you have only so many minutes left before he or she will write you off forever.

My job is to basically make every person who walks through the door feel like a celebrity. Unfortunately, I’m pretty good at this. The game is simple: at first I keep a polite distance, letting the person take in the lay of the land. (Otherwise the sense of mission—this shopping expedition—will be stifled, lose its sense of adventure.) This scaled down suburban version of Manifest Destiny is imperative, I have learned, to achieving the coveted post-purchase glow—that boost in self-confidence that emerges upon the promise of eternal youth and beauty in a $78 jar. And let me tell you, it’s not the jar that keeps them coming back week after week after insufferable week—it’s the glow.