From the Stockroom to the Sales Floor: My Introduction to Sales

I didn’t get into sales because I read a book or watched a YouTube guru. I got into sales because on day one, at my first job, I paid attention to what mattered. That job? Foot Locker. I’m a teenager. Just a kid sent to work in the back, stocking shoes.

It’s Saturday morning, store’s packed, and I’m in the back doing what I was told—stacking boxes, putting away sizes nobody asked for. All of a sudden, the manager, Steve, walks in, he looks at me and says, “Can you sell shoes?”

Now, what kind of question is that? I don’t know if I can sell shoes—I’ve never done it. But I sure as hell know I can figure things out. So I step out onto the floor. I look around. Chaos. Parents, kids, teenagers—everyone grabbing shoes off the walls like it's Black Friday.

Then I see it. A woman. Standing there with a shoe in her hand. She’s holding it up in the air like she’s raising a flag. What the fuck do you think that means?

She needs help.

Nobody had to explain that to me. Nobody handed me a training manual. I didn’t have a playbook or a headset whispering directions in my ear. I saw a customer. I saw a need. I went.

That’s instinct.

That first day—my first day—I sold more shoes than anyone else on the floor. 

The manager’s jaw hit the ground. Didn’t matter. I already knew. This wasn’t luck. This was wiring.

But here’s where most people get it wrong. It wasn’t just about being aggressive. It was about seeing the room. Reading people. Figuring out who really makes the decisions.

You see a mom come in with her kid. Who’s buying? Who’s calling the shots?

Sometimes the mom’s in charge. She’s the decision-maker. You pitch her. You walk her through the options. Other times? That kid is running the show. The mom’s just the wallet.

If you can’t read that dynamic in 10 seconds, you're dead in the water. You're wasting time. You're pitching to the wrong person.

You can’t teach that in a seminar.

That’s instinct.

The Bottom Line

It’s not about knowing features. It’s not about memorizing specs. It’s about watching, listening, reading the room before you even open your mouth. And if you can’t do that, you’re not selling—you’re just talking.

That first day at Foot Locker, I didn’t know a damn thing about shoes. But I knew people. I knew what a raised hand meant. I knew when a kid tugged at their mom’s sleeve, she wasn’t making the call—he was.

People say sales is a science. Maybe. But the ones who rise? The ones who dominate? They’ve got some animal in them. Some sixth sense that kicks in before the pitch starts.

That was the day I realized I had it.

I didn’t need someone to tell me how to sell.

I just needed someone to get out of my way.