Rage

Yesterday I attended a customer meeting in Loughborough which went exceptionally badly. Currently my working hours are consistently 8.30am - 8pm due to the fact that my manager has been offsick for the last six weeks. This has left a hole in the business which I have had to fill. I was ill-equipped at the start, although my knowledge and skill-set has come on leaps and bounds through my endeavours. It is a wonder that I have been able to write my blog each evening.

Therefore due to being under-resourced I have not had the time to visit any customers. This is the first time that I have visited the customer since the end of November and unsurprisingly the Director was not happy. He refused to look at me when he shook my hand and as soon as I sat down he used the meeting as an opportunity to launch a personal attack.

I understand that sucking dick is a large part of any sales job. Most of the time it is an essential tool to build relationships with clients. It is a well known saying in sales that people buy people more than the products themselves. If you can strike up a rapport and deliver results with a client then you will be able to sell him almost anything. I can accept this, although I was not appreciative of the way that this particular Director spoke to me. I found him to be very abrasive and rude which is an attitude to which I will always disengage. After the first five minutes he was threatening to "kick me out" of his office. Now for me, when somebody uses this kind of language it immediately gets my back up.

After an hour and half of constant insults and niggling jibes about my recent non-attendance my rising anger led to violent thoughts. My hands under the table were trembling with rage. I can only describe this Director as having a diminutive stature: about 5ft 7in with a very narrow frame; therefore easy meat for me in a combat situation. I imagined leaping from my chair, across his desk to land a short straight right hand. Launching myself in this way to throw the strike would reduce some of its power and impact since I would not be able to plant my feet. However, catching him in the jaw or face would be more than enough to stun him or possibly knock him off his chair. Once on the floor I would set upon him with controlled aggression. He would most likely start to throw some punches of his back which would not have any power. As alluded to previously, power in punches is generated by planting one's feet to twist the hips into the strike. Off his back he would only be able to throw arm punches which would cause me few problems even if he were to catch me in the face. They would be nothing more than a brief annoyance before I would grab the back of his head with my left hand and drive my right knee into his solar plexus to pin him to the floor. For somebody who is not used to ground fighting this position can be debilitating; I would pull on the back of his neck to drive and twist my knee into his sternum at a different angle. At this point I am sure that I would see a grimace and yelp of pain on his face. The thoughts going through his head would be ones of fear, wishing that he had not continually fucked with me. I would take pleasure in seeing this pain and my racing heartbeat would bring a sort of deranged smile to my face which would make him think that I was a fucking maniac.

In this position the pain caused would have stopped his futile attempts at trying to attack me. The only thing that would be in his mind would be to alleviate the pressure on his solar plexus from my knee, which would be causing him shortness of breath as well as excruciating pain. He would inevitably use both hands to try and push my knee off. In an open space I could grab a hold of his arm, spin, fall back and break his arm in split second. However, in the confines of small space his attention on my knee would leave his head open for strikes. Yanking on the back of his neck with my left hand to control the position would leave my right hand free to rain down hard punches and elbows. Thirty seconds is all I would need to turn his face into a bloody mess - gashes under both eyes, a split lip and a shattered nose which would make his eyes water. I would apply a tight guillotine choke whilst he was lying helpless until he lost consciousness before straightening my suit and tie, mopping my sweaty brow, allowing my breathing and heart rate to return to normal, picking up my bag and casually exiting the scene.

Of course this did not happen. Instead I took his abuse with good humour and laughed. I am certain that this only made him madder but it was the only thing I could do stop myself from ripping his head off. I agreed to meet again next Friday. He assured me that if I am not there then I should not bother turning up at his office for the rest of the year.