9 year SP legacy rep here. 13 years prior pharm sales before SP. All I can say is WOW. I feel like I am in a nightmare. I go to bed hating my job and I wake up hating it even more. I love selling, I love interacting with my customers, I love the competition. What I hate is the Bull Sh1T. An overwhelming amount of BS. It takes me 10 minutes to open my computer and turn it on. It takes another 5 to "log in" it takes another 5-10 to go to another screen. God help me if I need to order a pack of paper to print the endless PDF files I am give away. The once a month tax mileage reports take another 20-30 minutes. If I need to add a customer to my deck...yep, you got it. 30 + minutes. Let's not mention the horse crap endeavor to submit an expense report..... Argh. Ok, now, that's before I even leave my house. Then, comes the wonderful iPad. famous handcuff that follows me everywhere. If I sit in an office making a total call it could take me 1 hour. I drive another 45 minutes through brutal traffic to my next 1 hour call. Then, off to my RFM, sit and wait entering my complete event into the Ipad. How many people ate my Boston Market, were they doctors, janitors, staff, roaches? I have no idea, but they better fall under $10 bucks a piece. If not I hear from my manger who is quick to tell me I am "burning" through my resources. Then leave office, close call and enter all the RFM info. Sync, resolve errors, sync again, stress about job because error came back. Sweat. try to delete call. Error reappears. Sweat some more, get stomach ache. try again to resolve error. Poop my pants. Say screw it. Go to next call drive around for 20 minutes to find parking all the while stressing about my f'd up lunch entry in Veeva. Finally enter office and schedule another lunch with receptionist. Here we go again. See doctor, say hello, inform her that we have a program at 7pm tomorrow night. Please come I need asses in the seat. I hear the same old response, I'll try my best I always wanted to hear an overpaid drone spew PI info. Get signature for the one sample I had left which she does not need but hey, I need proof I was here right...? On to the next call? But not before visiting the nearest unlocked bathroom. I think it's in the neighboring town. If I am lucky there wont be a dirty diaper in the stall or worse. Make that one last call following my Boston market blowout. Head home pour a tall Red wine and think about the pig crap that awaits me again tomorrow. Can we say Groundhog day here? Did I mention I hate my job? Did I mention I love my job?