The phone call on a Saturday afternoon
On an ordinary Saturday, mid-afternoon, the phone rings. It's not a sales rep. It's not a supplier. It's a client.
They're not calling to haggle. They're calling because something critical has broken down: an inverter, a pump, a switchboard, a line that can't wait until Monday at nine. They speak quickly, but with respect. They know it's Saturday. They know they don't owe me that time. And still they call — because the relationship exists.
That client, to me, is worth gold.
Not because they pay more. Sometimes they're not even the one who bills the most. They're worth gold because they understand the exchange: I'm there when it's needed; they don't treat me like a catalogue with a price to haggle down. When the next project comes along, they don't ask for three quotes to beat mine down. They call. They trust. They commission.
That's the Saturday client.
The other client: the one with the permanent calculator
The other client calls too. Sometimes they even call a lot. But the tone is different.
They want a price. They want «the best price». They want you to lower it because «the competition offered me less». They want a free panel, a free cable, a free visit, an extended warranty, a «little something». And when you lower it, they don't say thank you: they note it down — proof that it can go lower still.
That client isn't buying a project. They're buying a fight. Every euro shaved off the quote doesn't build loyalty: it builds the expectation that next time there will be a war too.
I spent years learning this the expensive way. Quotes that ate up hours. Free technical site visits. Detailed explanations that later showed up, almost word for word, in the cheapest installer's quote in town. In the end, the «client» would vanish or sign with someone else… and six months later call back angry because it wasn't working, and now they really did need someone good — but still wanted to pay as if they were the cheapest option.
What I learned from the burger place — and from Pedro
A few months ago I wrote about how you can lose a premium customer in one minute: four euros, an owner with no commercial instinct, and a years-long relationship gone in an instant. The lesson was clear: a good client is built slowly and lost in a single gesture. I wrote about it in how to lose a premium customer in one minute.
The reverse lesson is just as harsh: a bad client sneaks in slowly and steals years from you.
I also wrote about Pedro and my sales rep: people whose value doesn't fit in an Excel cell. Well then: the Saturday client is the mirror image of that sales rep. They're the relationship that keeps the business standing when the quarter gets tight. They're the one who recommends you without being asked. They're the one who understands that Saturday isn't a call centre: it's someone stepping away from their family for a while because the problem is real.
The eternal-discount client is the opposite. They generate no network. No useful reputation. They generate noise, broken margins and demotivated teams.
How I tell them apart in the first conversation
You don't need to be a mind reader. There are early signs.
The Saturday client tends to ask technical or outcome-focused questions: «will this solve my power spikes?», «what happens if the power goes out?», «how long does this really take?». They talk about their problem. They listen to the answer. They tolerate a «no» if the no comes with an alternative.
The discount client talks almost exclusively about money, impossible deadlines and soft threats: «if you don't lower it, I'll go elsewhere». Sometimes they haven't even properly explained what they need. They want a number. They want to win the negotiation before the project has even started.
There's also a brutally simple tell: how they talk about previous suppliers. If every previous one was «a bunch of thieves» and they were always in the right, you'll be the next thief in their story. If they acknowledge what went wrong and what they themselves learned, there's room to work together.
Saying no is a business decision, not an ego one
When you've truly founded something — when there's payroll, stock, vans and people who get paid because you close deals — the easy «yes» is a dangerous luxury.
Saying no to a discount client isn't arrogance. It's protecting your margin and your team. Every toxic project ties up a good technician in an absurd fight, damages your reputation when the client tells their version of events, and leaves you unable to help the person who calls you on Saturday with a real problem.
I no longer try to «convert» the discount hunter. Sometimes they convert themselves, years later, after burning through three cheap suppliers. Then, if they come back with a different attitude, we talk. If they come back with the same calculator, we don't.
The mistake of treating everyone the same
There's a toxic idea in the small-business world: «the customer is always right» and «you have to serve everyone». No. The customer has a right to professional treatment. They don't have a right to wreck your business.
Treating the Saturday client and the discount client the same way is an injustice to the former. It's like paying the same to the sales rep who answers on a Sunday and the one who vanishes on Friday at three o'clock. We already know how that ends: the good ones leave, and only the ones who look purely at the number stay.
If you have a Pedro in your company, hold on to him. If you have a Saturday client, treat him for what he is: a strategic asset. Prioritise him. Answer him. Don't make him fight over four euros of margin when he's given you years of trust.
And the other one, the perpetual haggler, give them a clear quote, no theatre, and accept that they'll walk. They'll leave anyway. Better that they take up little of your time.
The rule I use now
My filter is simple:
- If the conversation starts with the problem and ends with the price, there's a project.
- If the conversation starts with the price and never reaches the problem, there's noise.
- If someone only shows up when there's urgency and disappears when it's time to plan, they're not a partner: they're an extractor.
- If someone calls you on a Saturday with respect, that person is building a company with you — even if it doesn't show up on the org chart.
Companies are people. Clients are too. And people, as I've said before, are feelings: trust, urgency, gratitude, or the eternal cold of «make it cheaper for me».
Choose who you want to work with for the next ten years. Because on Saturday afternoon, when the phone rings, you're going to want someone on the other end who deserves you picking up.