conversation, you believe you’ve actually come to know the people around you, even though they
barely spoke. In Opening Up, Pennebaker muses, “Most of us find that communicating our thoughts is
a supremely enjoyable learning experience.”
It’s the givers, by virtue of their interest in getting to know us, who ask us the questions that enable
us to experience the joy of learning from ourselves. And by giving us the floor, givers are actually
learning about us and from us, which helps them figure out how to sell us things we already value.
To shed further light on how givers sell successfully, I want to take you on a journey to Raleigh,
North Carolina, where I’m posing as a mystery shopper. I’m working with an innovative optometry
company called Eye Care Associates, with the goal of figuring out what distinguishes star sellers
from the rest of the pack. Every employee in the company has filled out a survey about whether
they’re givers, takers, or matchers, and now it’s time for me to see them in action.
I enter an eye care office and express an interest in replacing a pair of broken sunglass frames that
I purchased at LensCrafters. I walk over to a display case, and I’m approached by my very first
salesman. He shows me a snazzy pair of glasses, and swiftly launches into a compelling pitch with
powerful communication. The lenses are tailor-made for driving. The contours of the frames
accentuate the shape of my face. The color matches my skin tone. I’ve never been mistaken for cool,
but I briefly flirt with the fantasy that these shades could transform me into James Bond—or at least
James Woods. When I express concerns about the price, the salesman confidently assures me that
they’re worth it. They fit me so perfectly, he says, that the designers must have had a winning face like
mine in mind when they created these shades. I develop a sneaking suspicion that he’s flattering me to
make the sale. Taker?
At another office, the salesperson offers to do me a favor. He’ll replace my frames for free, if I
switch over to his office for eye exams. Matcher... and I have the survey data to back it up.
Who’s the more successful seller: the taker or the matcher?
Neither. Both are right in the middle of the pack.
At a third office in Knightdale, North Carolina, I meet Kildare Escoto. Kildare is an imposing
figure, with thick eyebrows and a thin goatee. He’s a serious weightlifter, and if you asked him right
now, he could drop and do a hundred push-ups without breaking a sweat. His parents are from the
Dominican Republic, and he grew up in rough-and-tumble New York City. He has the same title as the
two salespeople I met at other offices, but his style couldn’t be more different.
We’re the exact same age, but Kildare calls me “sir,” and I sense that he means it. He speaks
softly and asks me some basic questions before he even pulls out a single tray of sunglasses from the
case. Have I ever been here before? Do I have a prescription to fill? What’s my lifestyle like—do I
play sports? He listens carefully to my answers and gives me some space to contemplate.
I have 20/20 vision, but Kildare is so good that I suddenly feel the urge to buy a pair of shades. I
blow my cover. I tell him I’m studying the techniques of outstanding salespeople—is he willing to
discuss his approach? Kildare objects. “I don’t look at it as selling,” he explains. “I see myself as an
optician. We’re in the medical field first, retail second, sales maybe third. My job is to take the
patient, ask the patient questions, and see what the patient needs. My mind-set is not to sell. My job is
to help. My main purpose is to educate and inform patients on what’s important. My true concern in
the long run is that the patient can see.”
The data reveal two striking facts about Kildare Escoto. First, in my survey, he had the single
highest giver score of any employee in the company. Second, he was also the top-selling optician in
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(Michael S)
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