Mercedes Benz.

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Feeling flushed with the success of the Ford application I point the Polite Hatchback out of town and head north to the nearby city that lies about 20 miles away.

My first port of call is Mercedes, simply because I knew where it is. Mercedes re-modelled their dealer network a few years ago, shutting down many smaller provincial dealers in favour of fewer but much bigger city dealerships. This is such an example. The place is huge, impressive, busy, and a touch impersonal if I’m honest.

I park the car and head inside through the two sets of double doors to the vast high ceiling-ed showroom, lights blazing down on a sea of Mercs and two standard pattern slims awaiting my pleasure at reception.

The challenge here is going to be cracking a meeting with the sales manager. There’s no way I’m going to get to him first, but I’ve got to try and avoid handing over the CV to be passed on.

I explain my mission to the older of the two receptionists and as expected she offers to take the envelope and pass it on. I explain that I’d really like to hand it over personally if at all possible and, bless her, she sees where I’m coming from with this and pages him for me.

No answer from his phone, she takes me to where we can see into his office but he’s not there. At a bit of a loss now all she can suggest is that I hang around and try and intercept him if he goes for his office. She describes his appearance and how he’s dressed and I thank her profusely as she leaves me to it.

Trying to blend into the pot plants I feel a bit like a sniper awaiting my prey. I’m not short of time but I receive the odd enquiring look from passing personnel. Ten minutes pass then fifteen and with no sign of my quarry I head back to reception and report the non sighting. The other receptionist says she spotted him in an office out the back somewhere, he was on a call to a recruitment agency about the sales job. We fill her in with the purpose of my visit and before we can stop her she’s off like a whippet with a parting “I’ll go and tell him you’re here” over her shoulder.

The first receptionist smiles sympathetically at me, that wasn’t quite the plan and we both know where this one’s going. Sure enough she’s back within two minutes “He’s asked that you leave your CV with me to pass on to him”. Oh well, it was worth a try. I reluctantly pass over the white envelope and with thanks to both I bid my goodbyes. As I’m leaving I have a thought and go back to reception. One minute later I have my elusive quarries email address in my pocket, better than nothing.

Back in the motor I shrug, that was bound to happen really and I gave it my best shot. My work here is done and putting it behind me I crank the engine into life, poke my way out of the car park and head for Fiat.

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2 Responses to “Mercedes Benz.”

  1. Bob Says:

    And what happened next?

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