"I was astounded to read these courageous remarks by Charlton Heston. I am thankful to hear a man with such high esteem say essentially the same things for which I have been reviled by the liberal media. His words should be reproduced and put into the hands of every American." NRA member David Duke, former neo-Nazi, Klansman and present bigot, sexist, racist, homophobe, anti-Semite and Republican Party Activist on NRA Spokesman Charlton Heston.
Rack turned into the parking lot, pulled down the rear view mirror, checked for boogers, stuck out his tongue to make sure it was the right color, yanked up his tie, grabbed his briefcase, and proceeded into Bullshitburg. This particular customer had been one of his best for a decade, but with the high turnover rate endemic to the industry, he only had one real friend left there, and sadly not in purchasing. It was Jeb, their top salesman, who Rack had been out making calls with since the beginning, his only inside help any longer.
Good waiting room. Plants, phone, nice dark decor, three receptionists behind glass with little slots on the counter to pass your card through.
"Joe please." Rack said leaning down shouting through the little hole.
"Is he expecting you [you lowlife peddler]?"
"Sure is, ma’m."
"Have a seat Rack."
If you have an appointment, always be late, they always are.
Rack picked up the new issue of Industrial Distributor paging through it reading about the new and better priced competition that would kill him, wondering if they needed anyone and if their advertisements were as filled with gross exaggeration and lies as his company’s.
He played with the phone and called his answering machine to see if the kids had got to it again. No messages, so he left a funny one for the kids who would be at it before he would. He stretched and crossed his legs, but noticing one of the ladies looking at him about to speak, he quickly stomped both feet back on the floor hoping she hadn’t seen the big hole on the bottom of his Tony Lamas.
"Mr. Jite? Joe can’t see you today, can you come back some other time [in about six years]?"
"Let me see Bill then please."
"Have a seat [no one wants to see you]."
Back to his main business, waiting room fun, he picked up Business Week and read that business in Texas sucked. It said it about a thousand times. Rack threw it down on the end table and walked over to the shoe polisher with the whirling black and red fluffy things. Straddling the machine, he put one boot under each fluffer at the same time, pushed the button on the waist high handle and awkwardly bent over with his butt in the air to see if the red one did anything different than the black one.
The door to the back opened and Bill caught him being stupid. "Hi Rack, I only got a minute. What’s up?" Bill did not invite him back to his office as in the good old days. It was much the same everywhere, the distributors didn’t want their suppliers not hearing the phones ringing.
"Sit down Bill."
"Only for a second."
Rack reached in his briefcase, yanked out the number one selling tool in America, The Full Color Brochure and, what every buyer thirsted for, the new price sheet with terms and discounts included!
"Here Bill," Rack said handing over the stack, "Notice the prices went up a bit but the net discount went from 2% net 30 days to 10% net 10!"
We want your money and we want it NOW Rack joked to himself.
Bill made quick small talk about how bad things were which Rack understood to mean, no order today. It also meant that his sales manger would be again threatening him come Friday.
Realizing that it was only 10AM and he had to go do this another eight times today and then go home and write it all down so not to forget how stupid it all was, he surmised that if corporate America took all the time and money spent in this country on getting people to buy one identical thing over another identical thing, we could buy the rest of the world and turn it into a giant theme park.
Rack’s reverie came to an end when Joe came running through the lobby.
"Whoa... What’s going on?" Bill asked, grabbing Joe and swinging him around before he made it out the door. "Yokum’s wife was found shot dead about an hour ago, the cops are looking for him!"
"Jeb Yokum?" Rack asked, now even more depressed, "Gosh, I was just out with him yesterday on a sales call."
Soon a score of people were running through the waiting room to the parking lot as the rest hummed with the sordid news. They were soon rushing back in with handguns tucked in belts, hanging out of pockets or in hand, one even carrying a shotgun as they filtered back to their desks and counters to hopefully fill yesterday’s pal with lots of big holes today. As a few stood in the lobby shoving in clips and comparing weapons, one of the receptionists shouted over the clicking din to announce the police had called to say they just found Jeb dead in his truck from a self inflicted gun wound.
The room held an air of intense electric silence, when Rack suddenly came to the realization that it was not over the death of a friend, but the disappointment of not having the chance to shoot him. Rack ran out the door, just barely making it before throwing up.
This is a literally true story from Houston in the 1990s.
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