It took 2 years to get a book properly printed. I’d forgotten that I’d have to sell them too. After paying the printer for the whole lot, I woke up in the middle of the night with visions of what 6,000 books would look like. Then I thought about the recent floods and what mildew can do to books. Then I thought about the narrow road and how a truck couldn’t possible get in to unload the books. Then I wondered if the books would even sell.
Testing the water
I hadn’t sold anything since Boy Scout days when I went door-to-door with Jamboree tickets and kindling wood (not in that combination). Before college I went door-to-door to wash windows. It wasn’t bad money and I found my pitch. “I’m earning money to go to college. $50 to do your windows.” Now I'm in Laos. Why would someone buy a book by a middle-aged foreigner on a bicycle and speaking baby Lao? Well, as it turns out, just about everyone.
Being professional
I printed business cards. I bought a cell phone (hated them for years) and learned how to pack 100 books on my bicycle. I started with international organizations like UNICEF and JICA and CARE and whatever. I left my business cards, innocently left free samples and never heard from them again. If I sold to bookstores, I could sell around 10 books a day. At that rate, it would take 2 years to sell them all. The printer said to be patient. I decided to be impatient and take the books on the road.
Getting down to work
Selling “door-to-door” needs to be literal and that’s what I did. I’d mentally map out streets and districts and cover every storefront. With practice I could do a sales pitch in 20 seconds (too fast to be understood) and predict a sale by a person’s face. People started to stop me in the street to buy books and strangers approached me over lunch. One day a hotel called to order 300. By early December, one book had sold out.
Human behavior
Who buys in Vientiane? Women outnumber men. Private companies outnumber NGOs. Government officials outnumber school administrators. Who else buys? Dentists do. Beauticians do. Bank tellers do.
Feeding frenzies
Where else in the world is buying a book a social activity? I found that in Laos, if I got a key person interested, others would come and gather out of curiosity. People appeared from nowhere. It’s as if an emergency book-alarm button is pressed. After reaching critical mass, the indecisive become afraid that they will be left out and the final sales go quickly. Then, the next day I get a call for a few more. This works well in banks, government ministries and a specific insurance company in Vientiane. I really shouldn’t be selling in government ministries. Lao people are generally polite and good-natured, but one senior official made it very clear that I had violated protocol by knocking on doors without permission (She bought two books).
At one company, the commotion lasted too long. An employee quietly told me it would be best if I went outside. I thought she was going to order a bundle, but she whispered desperately that her Korean boss was getting angry.
At one bank, I was told that the director wanted to see me. I see him leaning way back in his chair (Lao people don’t put their feet on their desks) surrounded by other seniors. I’m ready to be reprimanded, but he buys copies for his children and everyone else does the same. Buying frenzies are moments in time. They often don’t work the second time around.
“A thousand ways to sell a book”
I catch myself at airports looking at the books about sales techniques. I’d never done that before. I didn’t see myself as someone with vacuum cleaners in hand and slick sales techniques up my sleeve, but with books, I learned quickly.
The customer is god
People can’t always be faulted for the way they behave. Some are helping me by testing my patience. My Japanese friend agrees that selling is a kind of religious practice though I’d say gathering alms might be easier. Monks don’t need a sales pitch.
Here’s the top five of customers that irritate me.
- “Just looking” If I’m trying to sell 100 books in a day, I don’t have a lot of time. There is the type who reads through the book, page by page. I don’t know if they’re discerning customers or think I’m a free library, but after five minutes of careful reading, 99% hand it back without buying. One lady dared to tell me she had already bought one.
- “Lower the price, lower, lower” First of all, the books are already cheap. They’re the price of a big bowl of noodles or two bottles of beer. I discount further because that’s customary and because I don’t like small bills. I’ve learned not to be insulted when they ask for a bigger discount. My first response was, “How dare you devalue my book that much!”
- “Give it to me for free” In geographic pockets where too many NGOs have passed through, people think the book is free. They smile radiantly and their hands reach out to receive the book. I watch their hands freeze when I flip it over to show the price. Their smiles freeze too. One lady said that if I really wanted to help Laos, I’d hand out the books for free. Now, that really tested my patience.
- “Why don’t you….? Why don’t you….?” Advice should be received graciously, but I have my limits. “Why don’t you write a French book? Where’s the Korean/Chinese/Vietnamese one? Why don’t you put the Lao on top of the English? Where are the accent marks? How about a book for car mechanics? How come you don’t write a dictionary?” I try to explain that I barely have time to brush my teeth in the morning, but by now I’m exasperated and sputtering in Lao.
- Remember me? I usually get phone calls when I’m in traffic. I have trouble hearing. They often don’t announce who or where they are and I’m afraid I’ll sound rude asking, “I’m sorry, but who are you?” When they act like they’re my best friends, I have to explain that I’ve already visited fifty places that very morning.
Disclaimer
You must understand that I am not making fun of Lao people. I would bet that human behavior is consistent in its basic form across most cultures. I tell these stories for fun because the scenario of a foreigner selling books is odd to begin with.
Monks
Hmmm. Passing the Sangha College, it occurs to me that this is a good place to sell. The time is ripe. Novices and monks are milling around before their lessons start. I know that many are avid students. The teacher isn’t around so I take the liberty to introduce the books. I guess to be monk-like, they can’t show the enthusiasm of female bank tellers, but there’s a buzz. I’m keeping track of the samples circulating and trying to collect money, but instead of 10,000 kip notes, they’re paying in bundles of 500 notes, probably the denomination they get as alms. It’s hard to count crumbly bank notes when there are customers demanding more. One novice is saying, “Give me one” while another has his hand in my bag.
It turns out that several know me from Luang Prabang. They’ve probably given up on the miserable system there and have come to Vientiane in search of a better education. I explain why I left and why I got tired. “So, it’s better doing business than being a volunteer? I think they understand. Now there’s an alarmed murmur. “The teacher’s here”. I’m afraid I’ll be reprimanded for being a moneychanger in a temple school, but he seems content to wait outside. I know I haven’t been paid for one sample circulating. This has happened before and I won’t be outwitted. “I haven’t received money for one book.” Not a novice stirs. “I haven’t been paid for one book.” Not a robe rustles. “Somebody needs to payeeeeeee”. A hand pops out and I get the money.
Fat pants
By the end of the day, I have bulges in my pants. Kip accumulates in wads. Every so often, I need to take bundles to the bank to deposit them and it takes at least an hour to count and recount in preparation. There is a special room at the back of the bank. It’s the money counting room. Attendants wear facemasks, I guess to protect them from money dust. I think I’m bringing in a bundle, but I see many people come in with full garbage bags. The tellers check for folded or torn notes and then pass them through the counting machines. The room reverberates with the “whirrrrr” of kip being mechanically counted. So much for online banking. I guess in America, people don’t even use carbon paper anymore.
I’m happy to get it done quickly. Now in the role of a customer, it’s suddenly seems odd to try to sell a book, but it’s worked before. It’s close to closing and the ladies are pulling out pickled fruit so I quietly do my pitch. Sure enough, they buy them like they’re condiments.
No-go zone
I’m confident with the books. If people don’t buy, I tell myself that they’ll regret it later. However, there are places that don’t need them. Now that I’ve covered most of Vientiane, I know where the Chinese and Vietnamese businesses are. Most of the mobile phone shops are Chinese, but if I don’t know, I’m embarrassed after doing my standard pitch. “These are books made in Laos, about Laos and for Lao people.” Most are polite though and say they don’t read Lao.
I visited the disabled center. It’s divided into areas of people who can’t walk, can’t talk and can’t see. A blind student guided me to the office and I caught myself before peddling my book. Not everyone needs my books.
NGOs
On the other hand, there are NGOs that I’d expect would be interested, especially those working in literacy, education and more specifically about books. Their offices are harder to find because most are down leafy lanes in renovated French colonials. Many offices are air-conditioned to freezing and most do not warm to the idea of supporting my books. Some people are outright arrogant. I wonder how much effort it takes to sneer. I’m not sure why they do. Maybe it’s because of the budgets they handle and the attitudes that come with it. The Vientiane Times newspaper reports on one book project that has millions of dollars to spend on libraries. For some reason, I get the feeling that I’m supposed to beg at these places. I don’t beg.
Not forever
I don’t intend to be a book peddler forever. I’m trying to help young Lao people be good salespeople, but I guess they need to read more of those books selling in airports. One person jacked up the price to get bigger profits, but only sold a handful. I think others just gave up after a few refusals. I can count just two people who could really sell. I gave them a cut so they made a month’s wage in a few days. They would become “salesperson of the month” by default.
The schools?
This is Vientiane. I’ve sold 6,000 books and haven’t even reached the schools. Most administrators are distant. I suspect they don’t have any background in education. They don’t seem to understand the business potential in book sales either. One director didn’t really understand what I was doing and asked if I could print books for her cheaply. She complained that she had to photocopy hundreds of books for classes. “No, I wouldn’t do that for you because it’s illegal”, I tell her. She complains that it’s too expensive to buy and sell the real thing and she still doesn’t understand that’s the very reason why I’m trying to publish in Laos. I will not bang my head on school doors. In time, I’m hoping they’ll be coming to me. Isn’t it ironic though that schools need to be taught what students want?
Commodity trading
When books are rare, they become commodities. Someone told me that some books aren’t even put on the market, but are stashed away to increase their value. It’s calculated that they won’t be devalued through reprints and new editions because that depends on the budgets of international aid organizations. Publishing isn’t necessarily State controlled. Books are scarce because few people have tried to make and sell them. Maybe people don’t believe in the value of a book. The kiosk proprietor at the airport complains. “Don’t print the price on the back of the book. It’s too cheap.” She buys regularly and I never bothered to check what she sells them for. I just about dropped my book bag when I saw that she was getting $12 US for the $1.50 she pays me.
It’s true that I’m selling books, but I’m selling an idea too. That idea is that a book can be worth more than the paper it’s printed on. It’s not a hard sell, but it takes time, patience and energy – things that are not going to run out soon.
