Not long ago I attended the summer blowout of a very famous commercial cleaning and disaster mitigation business. Trust me, you’ve heard of them. These are the guys that clean up after your business has had a fire or hurricane or something.
Big party, big beer-and-BBQ bash (because this is South Carolina, after all!) I met the principals, toured their million-dollar disaster-response RV, and had my picture taken next to their NASCAR racer (because this is South Carolina, after all!)
Afterward, I thought about e-mailing the principals, thanking them for the booze and cholesterol, and offering my copywriting services. But, since this was ME, it didn’t happen. Besides, I am NOT a salesman. I work with several fine web developers, but I do NOT feel qualified to represent them.
Several weeks go by, and I get a call from one of my web-development clients. He has sold this same company on a new website, and now HE is calling ME for copywriting services.
And this is where the cryptic title of this post comes into play. As I said, I am not a salesman. I have never had a talent for approaching a lawyer, landscaper, or garage door installer and selling them on a new website. Instead, when I moved to Charleston SC, I decided to sell to the creative folks who make the websites for the lawyers, landscapers, or garage door installers. I let THEM do the heavy lifting and then contract ME. Not because I’m so clever, but because I know where my strengths lie.
It’s a niche, kids. Long ago I realized that I will never be Donald Trump. I will always be the guy selling concrete to Donald Trump. Or the guy who sells the aggregate to the guy who sells concrete to Donald Trump.
At any rate, it’s all good. I’m employed, the web designer is employed, and the client is getting a much fuller package than he would have if I had approached him at the summer beer bash.
The way this gig worked out is a total justification of my entire business model. Hook up with talented designer/programmers, let them do the selling, and then I fulfill my role. Synergy! Or something.
Anyway, check out my kickass NASCAR picture! I feel like a true redneck now (instead of merely a West Virginia hillbilly!)
I must correct the egregious error in the caption of the photo for this article. A NASCAR fan would NEVER need to ask what kind of car this is… she would know.
Then I am doubly ignorant…thanks for proving my point!