Once I was in a precarious situation. It was 9 o'clock, getting pretty dark, looking like no sales were on the horizon, mostly because it was 9 o'clock and there was literally no horizon. I was achy, tired, and really, really hungry. I couldn’t fail my team. They were depending on one from me. About to throw in the belly-growl-towel, a thought flashed through my mind like a firestorm. It spoke in a Mufasa voice:"Josh, do you really think you are hungry? How hungry are you?" I almost ate a lizard. That hungry. But something said press on, motivational-video-koolaid-drinking lad. I did a quick Michael Jackson two-step, pulled up my britches, and remembered a darling lady who arrived from work really late. With an ounce of hope in my heart, and a pound of sadness in my belly, I lugged my body to her doorstep and knocked. When she opened the door, a sweet aroma—something that smelled like an RSVP and mockery at the same time—smacked me in the face. It was smoky, meaty, spicy, buttery, creamy: all of the most tempting aromas at once. Stopping mid-sentence, I asked her what in heaven it was she was cooking. She invited me inside to see. I couldn't believe my nostrils. She served me a plate. It tasted exactly like I imagined victory tasted: buttery but light, flaky, cheesy, like what you imagined Greek gods ate when they talked about ambrosia; like Zeus himself had finely crafted these little taquitos from a fattened, golden-fleeced ram. So over ambrosia taquitos, I began asking her questions about her needs.One presentation later and her new system scheduled, she thanked me, handing me a towel. And I gladly dried the dishes, thanking her for being an Iron Chef.Specialties: planning/executing sales goals, d2d, telesales, marketing, referral business, team-building, turning cold-calling into tropical-breeze-calling, rapport-building, prospecting, making hard work smart work.