In 2002, I was a 24-year-old construction superintendent in Algonquin, Illinois. The market was hot.
Our “new home consultants” were two salesmen my age.
Good smiles.
Spiky hair.
Brooks Brothers suits.
$350 Allen Edmonds shoes.
They weren’t selling so much as taking orders. It was a fish-in-a-barrel situation, and they showed up at 10 a.m. every day and just drained the water out of the barrel.
We were closing two homes per day.
I was working 60 hours a week, making $46,000 a year.
The sales guys made multiples of that.
I wasn’t jealous.
(Well, maybe a little.)
But they worked every Saturday and Sunday, and a couple times a month, some young couple would wander in at 5:57 p.m. on a Thursday evening and keep them there until after 9:00.
These guys closed deals.
But there’s one thing they didn’t do: they never said no.
Especially one sales rep we’ll call Barry, to protect the guilty.
Barry took full advantage of our double standard.
On one hand, leadership was clear: Sales drive the business.
On the other hand, non-standard options are a worst practice. When you’re closing 10 homes a week, any non-standard option means we’ll inevitably install it twice to get it right. Production moves too fast.
A prospect insisted the ceramic tile is installed diagonally in the kitchen.
Another demanded a custom fireplace hearth, exactly 36.25″ tall with some Parisian masonry.
A third couple announced they’re both doctors and couldn’t live without site-finished hardwood throughout.
Barry earned hefty commissions on all three.
We installed the first two non-standards twice. The doctors sued us because the 2,000 square feet of hardwood didn’t look like the basketball court at Chicago Stadium.
Barry didn’t see—or seem to care—how these “small favors” reliably resulted in construction chaos.
But we said yes.
Again and again.
Why? Because sales drive the business.
Barry had the best year of his young career.
That December, Barry invited us construction guys to the model home for a thank-you lunch.
Pizza and Pepsi.
We finished eating, and Barry stood up.
“Listen,” he said. “Just wanted to say I couldn’t have done any of this without you guys.”
We nodded.
That’s true.
“And as a small token of my appreciation…”
Now I’m doing the math.
Barry will clear more than $300K this year.
So, what did he get us?
Maybe an entry-level Tag Heuer watch?
Some badass tool set we’d actually use?
Or even just a handwritten note would be appreciated, naming specific times Barry had made my life hell on his way to buying a new S-Class Mercedes.
Nope.
Barry presented me with… a bottle of Grey Goose vodka.
Sticker still on it.
$37.95.
| No note. No personalization. No specifics. Just vodka. I wasn’t mad. I was annoyed. It was obvious Barry had no idea what our effort was worth. Now, am I being petty? Maybe. But also quite human. A bottle of vodka—French, no less—didn’t match the contribution. It didn’t acknowledge the stress, frustration, or hours of rework. It cheapened what we did every day to make him successful. That night I gave the bottle to my roommate. “Thanks,” he said. “What’s this for?” “Nuthin.” Twenty-three years later . . . I see salespeople make the same mistake every December. If you want the people behind you—the yard crew, drivers, dispatch, inside sales coordinators, admin—to move mountains for you next year, here’s how to do it: 1. Write a handwritten note. Be specific. Make it personal. Name the moment they saved you. Don’t roll your eyes at the $13.95 price tag on the Papyrus stationery. Buy the cards and give yourself time to think about the real contributions they made. 2. If you buy a gift, tie it to the person. Prove you’ve been paying attention. Budgeting one percent of your comp to thank the people who made it possible isn’t crazy—it’s smart. 3. Thank people publicly. Share with their boss exactly what they did that you appreciate. Costs nothing. Worth a lot. 4. Pair a statement with one key question. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you. What could I do to make next year easier for you?” Write their answer down on the spot. Then act on it. |
| In LBM, sales does, in fact, drive the business. But operations fulfill the promise. When your appreciation matches their effort—not your convenience—you build loyalty, trust, and momentum that fuel the entire next year. Get it right, and people will bend over backward to help you succeed. Get it wrong, and you create resentment that lasts a lot longer than any bottle of Grey Goose. Thanks for reading. I’ll be back next Thursday. |
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