The sales assistant who knew

In a mobile phone shop in Manama, a young sales assistant has worked out why so many customers leave without buying. They ask about the trade-in, hear the figure, and walk out. The figure is not really the problem. The way it is explained is. People hear it as an insult to a phone they loved.

He has known this for months. He has never told the owner.

When someone stays quiet like that, the reason is rarely laziness. It is a picture in the head. The owner will frown. He will ask who asked for an opinion. It will be remembered at the next pay rise. The picture is detailed and vivid, and it plays in full every time the moment comes.

The real conversation would probably take three minutes. The owner might shrug. He might say fair enough and change one sentence in how the trade-in is offered. Most of the time, the price of saying the thing is far smaller than the price we rehearse.

But the rehearsal has a cost too, and it is paid daily. Each time the assistant watches another customer walk out and keeps the reason to himself, a little of his interest in the work walks out with them. Silence is not free. It is paid in instalments.

Speaking up is not a gift some people are born with. It is closer to a muscle. The first time is clumsy, the tenth is easier, and the only route to the tenth runs through the first.