Once you have travelled around the world a little, as I have, you begin to notice the difference between your average South African and the normal folk that populate places like Australia, England, and Norway. You even begin to notice the very distinctive South African accent.
As long as I lived in South Africa, I had no idea how South African I sounded. The moment I walked through London the very first time, and heard a South African in the distance, I realised quite how loud we are, and quite how unique our dialect is.
It is even more so in Norway where one doesn’t often hear English being spoken in public. One is tempted to rush up, hug the poor fellow, and invite him around for a braai tonight at your igloo.
The single biggest difference between a South African and anybody else, at least in every country I have visited, is that the South African is a master at the art of offering unsolicited advice. This makes us pretty unique. In the rest of the world, most folk will respond if you ask for help. But they will keep their distance until then.
This does not happen when a South African is around, whether this is in South Africa, or anywhere else. You can be, for instance, in a supermarket, looking at the range of adult diapers on offer. Most of the locals will diplomatically leave you to your ponderings. Not so your basic South African.
“I see that you are looking at the adult nappies?” Is the opening gambit.
“Hmmm.” Is the usual, very embarrassed, response.
“May I suggest that you take the extra large, silicon-based, waterproof, ShyteNoMore, and take the big packet because it’s much cheaper? I have tried all of the others, and that’s the one that works best.”
“Hmmm.”
“The regular size simply doesn’t hold enough to make it worth the trip to empty it. Trust me, three bars of sugarfree chocolate and that’s my bundle!” Our South African hero helpfully offers.
“Hmmm.” The victim mumbles desperately hoping that a heart attack – whether his own or the South African’s – might end this agony.
“Hey Janet, “our hero calls across three aisles “I told you that I wasn’t the only one with this leakage problem. I just met another guy who also needs those extra large ShyteNoMore nappies that you keep laughing at!”
It is usually at this point that our deeply embarrassed victim shuffles away, possibly to the WC to cram a large wad of toilet paper into the back of his trousers while he walks to the nearest supermarket where South Africans are no longer welcome.
It doesn’t just happen to strangers. Befriend a South African, and you’re inviting a one-person-expert on everything into your life. Their knowledge knows no bounds, and they are always happy to offer guidance on issues like raising your children, your garden, your engine size, why Norway and Britain should not allow more immigrants in,… I could go on, but you get the point.
What’s even worse is when you find yourself doing it. Women typically don’t like us men because we offer answers and solutions long before they have finished explaining the problem. For them the joy lies in the explanation, and the subsequent discussion. They don’t want answers, they want dialogue.
Folk living in Norway and Britain don’t even want the dialogue.
Which brings me to the point of this email. The best sales advice I can offer: Shut up and listen for at least five minutes for each minute you speak. When you speak, don’t mention – ever – how great your service is. People will believe you as much as they believe Telkom’s current statement about their service: “You will enjoy uncompromising service excellence and an unparalleled range of affordable communications products and services.”
Your sales will rocket. Your prospects will respect you. And you will earn enough money to be able to pester strangers in any foreign land you care to visit.