Werris's first job as a rep was for Two Continents Publishing, run by
the Shatzkin family, which distributed both U.S. and U.K. titles. After
a first day "selling" that featured her hitting a boy on bicycle with
her car and never making it to the bookstore, she began to get used to
the routine.
As a book rep, I learned the finer points of dining while driving.
Unless the occasion called for taking a buyer out to lunch, on an
ordinary day--while driving between appointments--I chowed down at the
steering wheel. First I learned where all of the fast food joints were
on my route, such as the In n' Out near Ventura off the 101 freeway, or
the MacDonald's between San Juan Capistrano and Camp Pendleton on the
way to San Diego on I-5. My favorite, Jack In the Box, called to me on
the way to downtown L.A., at the intersection of Vermont Avenue and
Third Street.
It took me a few years to get the rules of personal etiquette down to a
science in my car. Along the way I spilled and slopped fast food kibble
on so many items of clothing that I hoped my dry cleaner would start
giving me a discount. Occasionally I had to detour to the nearest Gap
to buy a new sweater or T-shirt, rather than walk into an account with
the remnants of Burger King's chicken broiler across my right breast.
---
I found that a key requirement for a book rep is to resonate with the
solitary life. We all spend so much time alone, feasting on the silence
of this peculiar choice of careers, that there must be a willingness to
wear aloneness like a cloak of honor. Fortunately, I was able to assume
this inner posture easily.
---
Traditionally, publishers' reps had always been men. It was a well
established boy's club when I first started out, so I had to become my
own role model, inventing and improvising as I went along. Was I
supposed to be alluring and playful when selling to male buyers,
turning the then-stereotypical image of women to my advantage in that
way? Would the illusion of helplessness make these men buy more
books from me? And with the women, how was I to proceed without
making them feel threatened by having to buy from a confident,
independent young woman? Should I patronize them? Behave
passively, or with aggression? In those early days, I had no idea what
to paint for the outline of my identity as a book rep.
So I fell back on that old behavioral standby--humor. Thanks to my
father I was always pretty clever in that department, and by leading
with laughter I somehow found a good balance for my sales persona. It
unfolded gradually over the course of my first selling season, the
spring of 1975. As I met each buyer for the first time, it was my
self-deprecation that created a good first impression. "Hello," I'd
say, "I'm the sacrificial lamb from Two Continents." The ability to
poke fun at my ineptitude and myself helped to make the buyers relax. I
would forget to bring something essential to many sales calls--an
order form, perhaps, or a pen--and have to borrow a writing implement
from the buyer, or scribble the order on a note pad or the back of
another publisher's catalogue. But no matter what, I laughed aloud at
myself, which in turn made the buyer take a detour from irritation to a
fond reaction.
I was fortunate to be raised by a woman who had a low tolerance for
bullshit. My mother never put on airs, never pretended to be anything
other than her natural self, and she absolutely knew who she was.
People always knew where they stood with her. Her favorite expression
was, ". . . and you can kisch miern tuchos!" For the uninitiated,
this is Yiddish for the friendly saying, "Kiss my ass, pal!"
This memory was music to my ears when I finally sorted out the
confusion of how, as a publishers' sales rep, and a female one at that,
I should behave with the multi-faceted personalities of bookstore
buyers. What worked best for me then, and still does now, was simply
being myself. Straight up, undiluted, maddeningly candid me. For those
who didn't appreciate this behavior, I certainly toned it down.
However, before leaving the store I mentally turned around, bent over
and conjured my mother's pearls of wisdom.
---
One of the most distinctive payoffs of being a book rep is the
camaraderie one realizes in meeting others of the same ilk. It's a
small world, this business of books, and sooner or later we all meet
one another and form relationships unlike any others in our lives. We
share an understanding of the unique aspects of our jobs, and there's a
symbiosis at work on many levels. We drink together and rage together;
we share gossip and rumors and sometimes we pair off and have sex with
each other. In many ways we cannot live without one another. The
friends I made thirty years ago are still my comrades, book-ended
within a thousand pages of empathetic love.