I was recently reading about one of the good ‘ol boys who is finally retiring. Older than me, but he just couldn’t put down the baton. Until finally, he did. I remember when I was young, in my 30’s, he was a full-on testosterone driven chap. One day I was in his office (we were colleagues, he wasn’t my boss, but he thought he was). I’d cancelled an ill-timed container of wine that he’d “ordered.” Apparently, our bosses never took the time to let us know who-was-who on the org chart. When he found out about it, he was angry. He threatened to throw me out of the second story window of his office. Not being one for physical violence in the workplace, I got the hell out of his office, left the building, and as soon as I was in my car, used my car phone to line up another job. All in service of Italian wine.
A few years before, a boss in one of the companies I was worked for, was not handling the dissolution of his company (staged as a “merger”). I happened to be in his office. I mentioned that if he’d just get out into the marketplace a little more and off the phone, maybe we wouldn’t be in such a situation. He didn’t like that, and proceeded to jump up from behind his desk and throw me, physically, out of his office – through a wall! I also left the building, called up his boss (the new owner) and told him what happened. I had pictures just in case. Well, my boss was demoted. And that company folded shortly thereafter.
In both cases, today none of that would have been tolerated. Both of those guys, using physical violence, would have been summarily fired by HR.
I had another boss, who didn’t have much of a work ethic. He liked making deals. Sound familiar? Anyway, he made a deal to buy another company. The only problem, was the company he was buying and the company he owned were incompatible from a legal point of view – conflict of interest. So, he nominally put me “in charge” of the company he’d grown tired of in lieu of the newer company which had greater opportunities for prestige and earnings. In other words, he wanted to become a millionaire quicker. And he did. But not without putting me in jeopardy with the law, as a possible colluder of his unethical, and illegal maneuvers. Again, when push came to shove (this time just figuratively, thankfully) I walked out of the building and got on the phone to my lawyer, who advised I “keep walking and don’t look back.” And while that wasn’t physical violence, it was a psychological onslaught.
In all cases I pivoted, usually to a better position. I was also lucky to be a bit naïve, forgiving (to a degree) and especially resilient. But looking back now, I realize how much physical and psychological violence there was in the wine trade when I was coming up in it. And all through this I reminded myself I was an ambassador for Italian wine. I was a soldier for Brunello, Barolo, Montepulciano d’Abruzzo, Gavi and any other number of wines from Italy. All in service of Italian wine.
Towards the end of my tenure in the trade, I remember being at a trade show in Italy. I was at a booth of one of my suppliers when a well-known importer appeared. He was very flamboyant and successful (he’d sold his company not once, but twice, and made multi-millions from the deals!). But there was a moment back when he was climbing the rungs of success and he came into contact with several of us in an office. He wanted us to prove our loyalty to him and his brands by not bringing on a newer, smaller importer that competed with his company. My boss stood his ground and told him we would do no such thing. But standing there, I was fruit of the poisonous tree. And the importer never forgot it.
So, when he came up to me with some cockamamy story about how I was spreading lies and talking bad about him (not true), this time I was ready to rumble. All those years being manipulated by people who were getting rich off my back – white men – who thought they could walk all over me. Something in me snapped and I looked him in the eyes and said, “Let’s go outside so I can properly kick your sorry fucking ass – I don’t want to sully the carpet here.” Well, he wasn’t equipped for that. He was used to “yes” men (and women) and I could see a flicker in his eye - micro expressions - Surprise. Then fear. At the same time, my friends in the booth behind me came out and pulled me back inside, de-escalating the situation.
It was only the second time I snapped. Another time, at a fancy Italian restaurant, the owner would open for lunch on Friday. A trade lunch day, where all the reps would come and eat and show their wines. There was this character who’d made his fortune (let’s call him Tullio) preparing meals for the airlines. He’d gotten it into his head he could also be successful at running a restaurant, which proved to be a major flop and cash vacuum for his fortune. Along the way he also got it into his head that he was a wine expert and decided to import his own wines from his region. When the company I was working for didn’t bring them in for him, he took offense and brought them in himself. Eventually, as it often happens, he couldn’t sell the wines fast enough to prevent them from getting old and oxidized. They had to be closed out for pennies on the dollar. They just weren’t that good to start off with. But his ego got in the way of good business decisions. So, he resented me for that. At this Friday trade lunch he was holding court with a group of his lackies. The sommelier on duty was taking care of them because he wanted a big tip (Tullio was a big spender!) and the attention. As I was was leaving the restaurant, Tullio yelled out to me, in front of his friends, to impugn my integrity. I got to the door, went outside, opened the door back up and put my head in. “Tullio, would you mind please, a word outside?”
Tullio came to the door, he wouldn’t come outside. That was good enough for me. I opened the door and looked down on him squarely in the eyes (he was quite a bit shorter than me) and said to him, “Tullio, if you come outside I will kick your ass until your breath smells like shit. You are a dishonorable person and I will take no more insults from you. I will hurt you!”
Well, the look of fear in Tullio’s eyes was all I needed to know I got the best of him. He put his tail through his legs and ran back to the safety of his little mob of misfits.
I tell these stories because it wasn’t easy selling Italian wine in Texas then, nor is it now. I happened to run across several unsavory characters in my career. A couple of times, I took the licks. But when it got to be too much, I recoiled like a rattlesnake, ready to strike. I’d had enough.
I never did physical violence to those two fellows, even though I threatened to. They were bullies and cowards – all they needed was the threat. But it didn’t change who they were. They continued to do what they did. What surprised me is how often things like that happened. And can you imagine if it happened to me – a white man – how many times unsavory things happened to women, the minorities, to the disabled, and the neuro-divergent in our business?
A funny story to end. In the beginning of my career, part of my route was the gay bars. This was the 1980’s when AIDS was beginning to roar through the community. I remember taking an order at a gay bar and the bartender started hitting on me. I was young and looked like I could have been Freddy Mercury’s younger brother, I get it. I thought to myself, “Even gay guys can’t help themselves. It must be something about the male gene that makes us aggressive. Maybe it’s the testosterone.” Because they were my customer, I had to act professionally and without rudeness. So, I looked him in the eyes and said to him, “Look, I can understand how you might have affection for other males. I really do. I am of another persuasion. But I do understand your passion for men. My most important relationship happens to be right now with a male. And he is my young son, for whom I have custody and am responsible for his upbringing and well-being.” The bartender looked at me, with a look of astonishment but also relief. He knew I was straight. “Well, you can’t blame a guy for trying.” And he filled up a cup with maraschino cherries with the parting words, “These are for your son. He is one lucky son of a gun.”
Oh, and he also gave me an order for ten cases of Asti Spumante for the weekend. All in service of Italian wine.
