An Empty Cafe and a Persistent Old Man

Opening a conversation with a client is hard.

Not because you can't sell.

Not because your product is bad.

It's hard because the client has other priorities.

They're busy.

They're solving things that, for them, are more urgent than you today.

That's why they reply:

Thanks, just looking.

I'll call you.

Or they simply don't answer.

Does this happen to you?

Look.

In 1961, Matt owned a cafe.

Nothing fancy. One of those diners from American movies.

Checkered floor, black and white.

Red vinyl chairs, already cracked at the corners.

Smell of reheated coffee.

Grease in the air.

A menu that seemed unchanged for decades.

More truckers than families came in.

And sales?

Bad.

Terrible.

Freefall.

Matt did his job well.

He cooked well.

He was friendly.

He gave good service to those who did come in.

But the scene repeated daily.

Empty tables in the morning.

Empty tables at lunchtime.

Empty tables as evening fell.

And with every empty table, the doubt appeared.

The one unspoken:

What if I made a mistake starting all this?

Matt cleaned the counter.

Tidied the place.

Checked the kitchen.

Everything was ready.

And still, no one came in.

He thought of his father-in-law.

That time he said starting this business wasn't a good idea.

And how he'd tell him he was right.

That opening a business wasn't so easy.

He imagined hanging his head.

Accepting, without argument, that he'd been wrong.

And the tables remained there.

Empty.

Until one day something very strange happened.

A chubby man, with white hair and beard, entered the cafe.

Matt was in his usual rush:

three tables occupied,

a child crying,

a waiter cleaning stains that would never come off.

The man approached and said something odd:

– Give me your kitchen. Twenty minutes.

It wasn't a robbery.

– If I don't sell more than you sell today, I'll buy your meal.

People looked at him as if he were crazy.

Who asks for twenty minutes of kitchen time from someone barely surviving?

But Matt accepted. He had nothing to lose.

Do you know who that man was?

His name was Harland David Sanders.

Yes, Colonel Sanders of chicken fame.

He was 71 years old.

He didn't own a restaurant.

He wasn't famous.

He slept in motels

and traveled highways with a recipe under his arm.

He never started a conversation by asking for attention.

He didn't say:

Can I have five minutes?

Are you interested in my product?

He did something different.

He entered the kitchen.

He cooked.

And he showed owners and their staff how, with a pressure cooker, chicken cooked faster and always turned out well.

He helped his potential clients. Before asking them for anything.

That's how the door opened.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

In less than five years,

more than 600 restaurants were using his recipe.

No advertising.

No internet.

No social media.

His secret recipe wasn't the chicken, the pepper, or the oil.

His secret recipe was this:

“Serve first, sell later”

Here's the lesson for you and for me.

The best way to open a conversation with a client

is not by asking for their time, or trying to introduce a product.

It's by helping them.

With something that genuinely matters to them today.

A real problem.

You too can open sales doors like the Colonel. No matter what you sell.

Reply “Recipe” and I'll send you a guide on how to do it.

Warmly,

Carlos.

P.S. Remember, serving is the way.

P.P.S. If you want to attract clients and keep them close, I have something for you, let’s talk.

—

Shopology S.A. de C.V.

Av. Pacífico 468 Local C, Coyoacán, Ciudad de México, CP 04330, México

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