I came across this story and just wanted to share it with you. It reminded me of a talented and successful pre-owned sales manager that I worked for. He used to tell me that "Pigs get fat and Hogs get Slaughtered".

The other day I went to visit a friend who had just bought a puppy for her daughter. It was a small dog: a Havanese. As a puppy it is barely bigger than a rat; full-grown it will be the size of a cat. (This isn’t really relevant to this column, but I like dogs. Even small ones, occasionally.)

No one was home but the puppy and my friend’s dad, so we hung out, played with the dog, and talked sales. Pop was a used-car salesman for most of his life, and made a decent living doing it. So we sat around, watched a 9-week-old puppy tripping over itself, and talked about what makes a good salesman.

I will admit, this is an area of small-firm practice where I do not excel. I belong firmly to that group of practitioners who opened a firm because they like the practice of law and think that small firms give them the best chance of actually doing what they love. I am firmly not in the camp of people who are naturals at selling themselves and think they have the best chance of success if they immediately become their own rainmakers.

At risk of sounding self-aggrandizing, there is a certain nobility to representing people for whatever price they feel they can afford. But at risk of sounding like Gordon Gekko from “Wall Street,” there is a certain stupidity to representing people for whatever price they feel they can afford. And as I was sitting in my friend’s living room, talking with her dad and watching a 9-week-old puppy gnawing on a bone almost half his size, Pop asked me a question. “What do you think my customers did with the money I didn’t charge them?”

I was stumped and didn’t say anything for a minute; just watched the puppy (which, in a fit of exaggeration, his 8-year-old owner had named “Zeus”) wrestling with the bone meant for a dog 10 times his size.

“Here’s what they did,” said Pop, answering his own question, “because they came onto the lot ready to spend a certain amount on a car. If I charged them less than the car was really worth — less than they were willing to pay — they would buy the car, and then with the extra money they would go shopping or pay some bills; maybe they would get their kids some ice cream.”

I shrugged. I never claimed to be a salesman.

“Sometimes I would have people come onto the lot just looking to get a car as cheaply as possible. I would still sell them a car; but they would have to understand that they were getting a car just based on price. On the other hand, when people came in looking for a reasonable deal and were willing to pay a reasonable price for a good car, I wanted to take care of those people. So if something broke on the car six months later and they came back and said their brakes were going bad, I would give them a loaner, fix it for them, and make sure they went home satisfied.”

I saw where he was going.

“Those people, they didn’t mind paying for quality. They would leave the lot more satisfied — and long-term, be more satisfied — than people who only wanted the lowest price. Because they knew that when they paid a reasonable price, they would get a reasonable deal. And so when I was negotiating a price, I wasn’t looking to just give them the lowest, bottom-line price I was allowed just to move a car off the lot. I wanted to be satisfied too, so that I could pay my bills and maybe have something left over to buy my kids some ice cream.”

I hung my head like Zeus when he was caught peeing on the carpet. Pop had been there more than once in those early years when I had come over to join family dinner because I didn’t have food to put on my own table.

“You told me not too long ago about a client who was six months and $5,000 behind on fees who drove to court in a Mercedes. But you continued representing him just because you liked his case.”

It wasn’t a Mercedes; in an over-abundance of caution I had changed even the car my client drove to avoid revealing details of his identity, but the gist of his point was still valid.

“Where would his Mercedes be stored if he had ended up in prison?”

“It wasn’t a new Mercedes,” I finally objected, as if that made it better.

“The point is, he wants you to put in your time from your business, but doesn’t want to give up his ice cream. He thinks you should sacrifice for him; that he shouldn’t have to change his lifestyle at all and still get the representation he needs. You’re not looking at prison time, are you?”

“No,” I admitted, even though the question was clearly rhetorical.

“You don’t have to be judgmental,” Pop continued, not having needed my interjection at all. “It’s not about punishing people who need your help. But you have to pay your bills and put food on the table too, and sometimes, when you’ve worked hard for a client, maybe you want some ice cream too.”

I did. Summer was just starting, and Grand Old Creamery was only two blocks away. I started thinking about their Rocky Road double-scoops in waffle cones. They put malt balls in the bottom.

“When people came onto my lot, I wasn’t out to screw them. But I didn’t think of my job as some sort of charity, either. There’s an area in between, where you are getting something you want and they are getting something they want. Just because you like the work doesn’t mean you have to give them what they want for whatever they want to pay. You’re running a business.”

Zeus and I were now both watching Pop as he became more emphatic, trying to drive the point home to me.

“The next time a client walks in telling you how much he wants to pay, tell him how much your time is worth. Doesn’t matter if you enjoy the work. There are always excuses about why they can’t afford to pay. But you take their cases anyway, and then you come over and I make you chicken.”

Pop made good grilled chicken.

“I’m not saying you should shoot at doves,” he clarified. I had heard him use this analogy before; he meant don’t try and fleece people who were vulnerable. Then the car salesman came through. “But you’re not the one who needs a car. Charge them what your time is worth — and maybe an extra little bit, so that you can go buy some ice cream.”

Pop ran out of steam and just looked at me for a minute, to see if I’d gotten the message. Zeus stopped paying attention and went back to his bone, having bitten off far more than he could chew simply because he liked the taste.

I knew how he felt.

Contact Michael Kemp at mkemp@metlawmn.com.

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