It was my first day at work, and this time I wasn’t going to be using either a shovel or test tubes. Just my brain! I was entering a completely different world, and I had to make a good impression.
So, around a quarter to nine, I went into a bar near my workplace and had a shot of vodka, to calm my nerves and keep my hands from shaking.
I arrived at my brand-new job chewing mint gum. It was my first day. I couldn’t stink.
I looked at my hands again. I was shaking even worse! I felt like a high school kid on his first date, waiting with a flower in his hand.
I can’t be shaking! I told myself anxiously.
I reached into my pocket and took one of Mom’s pills. I chewed it up quickly as I climbed the stairs to the third floor.
The telemarketing center was just one long shitty room with about thirty snot-nosed kids, boys and girls, crammed into it. Each one sold their own product, spoke their own language, and had their own desk.
The big boss handed me over to a smaller boss, a guy about my age. He was supposed to train me, so I kept my mouth shut and my ears open. But there was no need. What he was telling me was very simple. Apparently, for the time being, I didn’t need a computer. He handed me a folder full of lists. Each list had five hundred phone numbers on it. I called, made the offer, and that was it—the person had to buy. Still, if I ran into some cranky guy who didn’t want to buy, I had to convince him.
If I managed to convince him, I had to quickly write down the customer’s information and how much they ordered. If not, I crossed out the phone number in red pen and moved on.
There was a computer on my desk, but it was mostly for decoration. I didn’t even have to plug it in.
All I used was the holy pen and those piles of paper.
“Come on, dial the first number!” he told me kindly.
I put on the headset, moved the microphone a little closer to my lips, and dialed the first number on the list.
He stayed beside me for a few more minutes, then said with a smile, “That’s good! You’re doing better than I did on my first day! Keep going!”
It wasn’t hard. I didn’t even have to think! I had a sales pitch written on a little piece of paper and read it quickly, like a parrot. The person answered; I started reading and… that was it.
“Good morning, ma’am! Please give me one minute of your time! I’d like to tell you about the most revolutionary anti-rheumatic product…” CLICK! “Damn it, she hung up on me!”
“Good morning, sir… Vogel anti-rheumatic cream is made from a traditional, high-quality German formula…” CLICK!
“Good morning! Did you know that…” CLICK! “Jesus Christ! What rude people!”
“Hello! Good morning! With active ingredients derived entirely from carefully selected plants…” CLICK!
“Good morning, ma’am! Could you spare me a second? Yes? Is that possible? Thank you! You may not know this, but Vogel anti-rheumatic cream is recommended for its beneficial effects and, above all, for…” CLICK! “Motherfucker! You said you’d listen to me!”
By around 11, I had about two hundred clicks and not a single sale. Sweat was pouring off me.
And to think that at this hour I used to be loafing around at the water-pumping station! I told myself angrily. Mia, you whore! Look what you’ve done to me!
I secretly took another one of those pills and kept going.
By around 12:30 I didn’t need the paper anymore; I already knew the pitch by heart. I hadn’t made a single sale, but at least I knew what I was selling.
I went out on break and smoked a cigarette, then ran over to the bar and had another shot of vodka. The business world was tough.
At exactly 1:00, I was taking my third pill and, somehow, I was starting to like this job. I felt like I was salesman material, and a sense of satisfaction filled the entire room. The buzz of the operators’ voices never stopped for a second, but I didn’t even notice it anymore. It was just background noise.
The big boss came over and looked over my shoulder.
“How’s it going, junior?” he asked, stroking one sideburn.
“Good!”
“You like it? You have to like it! It’s the greatest job in the world. Selling. You like it?”
“Yeah.”
“Got any orders? Sold anything?”
“No.”
“Don’t worry, young man, don’t get discouraged! It’s only your first day. I’ve got a feeling you’re going to become a real professional!”
And he left. Good thing he did! That sideburned boss of mine was starting to get on my nerves.
It wasn’t good to get worked up. A sales professional never gets angry. That’s what it said in that brochure. I had to calm down fast, so I took another pill. Which one was that? Who the fuck cared?
By around 2:00, I was feeling really good. The people I called weren’t my customers anymore; they were my slaves. They were my puppets. I could make them do whatever I wanted. They weren’t hanging up on me anymore. I hung up on them. Because I was a professional. You can spot a professional on his very first day on the job. That was the secret: you had to be tough!
Around a quarter past two, I was struck by a brilliant idea! I secretly wrote it down on a little piece of paper and quickly slipped it into my breast pocket, right next to my heart.
That idea was pure gold! It was going to revolutionize the art of telephone sales, and it went something like this:
If every 67th call has to be a sale, then the first 66 don’t matter.
It was obvious: I had to get through the first 66 calls as quickly as possible and then concentrate on the 67th.
Then I had an even more brilliant idea: dial the 67th number directly. Why waste time on the other 66?
Bingo! I told myself with a smile. That’s it, man!
I had just discovered the philosopher’s stone of sales, and the satisfaction was enormous! I felt very happy, but also a little exhausted. I had this… strange sluggishness. I needed an extra dose of energy.
I told the guy next to me I was going to the bathroom and shot out of there. I went straight to the bar, got a shot of vodka, knocked it back fast, and returned eagerly to my desk.
I picked up the pen and opened the folder with the lists. I counted 66 numbers and circled the 67th. Then another 66. And so on.
In the end, all I had left were the lucky numbers. I cracked my knuckles and told myself with a grin, That’s it! I’m gonna destroy them all!
“Good morning, ma’am! Listen to me carefully! Hello! I’m talking! I’m going to tell you about our new product… Oh, Mom, is that you? No, I’m not drunk! How could I be drunk at work, Mom? Yeah… uh-huh… it’s going good! I like it… I’m selling rheumatism cream. Oh, speaking of which, have you ever heard of the German brand Vogel? No, Mom, why would I be joking? Listen to me… I said I’m not joking! Come on, forget about… Oh… You too, Brutus? You know what? I’m putting you down for an order anyway, and if you don’t like it, no harm done! I’ll pay for it myself out of my first paycheck. Okay? You’re not mad anymore? Bye, Mom!” CLICK!
Yaaay! My first sale! So it worked! Mom’s number was the 67th. And it was a sale!
I was so happy I took another pill.
“Good morning! I want to talk to you about… How old are you? Put your mommy on, sweetie! … Good morning, ma’am! Did you know that our anti-rheumatic product… Wait, ma’am, you don’t even know what it’s about yet. Our product… No, I’m not being rude… Hello…” CLICK! “Unfuckingbelievable! And that was the 67th on the list. How the hell?”
“Good afternoon! Vogel anti-rheumatic cream is… Excuse me? So what if you don’t have rheumatism? Is that a reason to interrupt me? I was trying to explain about… Hello! Please don’t use words like… Hello, sir! Sir… Stop! I said, ‘Stop!’ Just be quiet for a second so I can talk too! Listen… You know what? You’re not hanging up on me; I’m hanging up on you!” CLICK! “Miserable bastard! Where are those pills?”
“Hello! Good afternoon, dear lady! Vogel anti-rheumatic cream… Yes, ma’am, it’s a German formula. Germans aren’t stupid! Ha, ha! I’ll put you down for one box, okay? … What do you mean you don’t want it? Then what have I been wasting my breath for all this time? Hello… listen, if you interrupt me one more time… I said shut the fuck up! I said… Shut up, bitch! Because of old elephants like you, young people like us can’t earn a living… What do you care what my name is? Well, that takes the cake!” CLICK! “Where are those goddamn pills? Damn old carcass!”
“Hello! It’s me again! You know what? I’m glad you’ve got rheumatism! I wouldn’t sell you Vogel cream if you begged me on your knees!” CLICK!
“Hello, hi! You don’t want any cream, do you? … How old did you say you were? Seven?… Put your mother on! No… hold on! Forget your mother! You don’t happen to have an older sister, do you? … You do? Perfect! … Hello! How you doing, babe? … What cream? Screw the cream… So, what are you wearing? … What?… That’s no way for a young lady to talk!” CLICK! “God, what a country full of morons we live in?! Jesus Christ! It’s really hard to earn a living these days!”
“Hi! I bet you don’t want any Vogel anti-rheumatic cream! … What do you mean, ‘you might be interested’? I’m telling you, you’re not interested! Bye!” CLICK!
“What the fuck are you doing?” the big boss asked from behind me.
“Sales!” I replied cheerfully, looking at him. “Look,” I said, showing him the list, “I’ve already made my first sale!”
“I’m asking you to leave,” he said coldly, tugging at his sideburn.
“And I’m asking you… not to ask me!” I replied, clenching my jaw.
“Get out of here right now!” he screamed. “Get up!”
I got up. It took a while. I was tall. Tension hung in the room.
It wasn’t just between me and my boss. All those people had stopped talking on the phone. Everybody was looking at me. Their stares pissed me off. Sideburns moved slightly toward me.
“Touch me, and see what happens!” I told him with an icy stare.
And all of a sudden time started moving faster. I nimbly climbed onto the chair like a squirrel and from there jumped up onto the desk as if I were some union leader getting ready to call a general strike.
“What are you all staring at?” I screamed at them. “All of you are pygmies! You’re nothing! You don’t know shit about sales!”
“Get down from there!” the guy pleaded in a faint voice. “What’s wrong with you? Just yesterday you were telling me you were mature and responsible.”
“Well,” I roared, “now you’ve really pissed me off! If you want to know, Sideburns, I don’t give a shit about your shitty job! And, yeah, I’m mature, you morons, and I’m a professional and… and I’m responsible… And all of you can kiss my ass!”
“Grab him!” Sideburns yelled. “Get him down now!”
But it wasn’t as easy as he thought! I started running. I jumped nimbly from one desk to another and managed to make two laps around the room and knock over a whole bunch of computers.
“He’s crazy!” the smaller boss was screaming. “Somebody call an ambulanceee! And the police… and the fire department! Stop him, damn it!”
Eventually, I suddenly felt my energy drain away. I was wrung out like a sponge. There were a lot of them and only one of me. They got hold of me!
“Don’t come near me!” I screamed as if the end of the world had come.
They carried me outside. The ambulance had already arrived. My welcoming committee was a female doctor, a paramedic, and the driver.
I was almost falling asleep, but the paramedic smacked me twice across the face.
“What did you take?” he asked, staring hard at me. “Don’t you dare fall asleep, you hear me? You have to stay awake!”
I stayed awake. All the way to the hospital, he kept slapping the shit out of me, while I kept explaining the benefits of Vogel anti-rheumatic cream to him. But he didn’t want to buy any. Neither did the other two. I got angry! Then my jaw locked up and I couldn’t make another sound. I wanted to keep talking, but the words got stuck somewhere in my throat.
“How many of these did you take?” the ER doctor asked, shaking the nearly empty box of pills. He snapped his fingers twice in front of my eyes, then repeated, “Look at me, kid! There were thirty pills in this box! There are only seven left. How many did you take? Was the box full? Talk!”
“Can’t you… count?” I muttered, blinking. “Let me sleeeep!”
He turned his back on me.
“God, what a city full of retards!” he sighed, then said to the nurse, “Stick the tube down his throat and pump his stomach! Once, twice, ten times! When he’s throwing up nothing but clear water, stop!”
It was a shitty day. I didn’t manage to get a wink of sleep! Toward evening, they called an ambulance and transferred me out of there.
The siren screamed and wailed, so we got to our destination fast. When they took the stretcher out, I looked around and was filled with rage. I could clearly see where I’d ended up: for the third time in my life, I was in the nuthouse. My jaw suddenly unlocked, and my mouth stayed open all the way to my room and then to my bed.
“What the hell am I doing here?!” I screamed, glaring with hatred at the bars on the windows. “Hey, I’m sane!”
“You tried to kill yourself, sweetie!” a nut in the next bed told me. “You gotta stay here three days. It’s standard procedure. Stop getting worked up for nothing!”
“That’s not true! I didn’t try to kill myself!” I got even more worked up, pulling at the straps they’d used to tie me to the bed.
“Yeah, yeah… Like I’m gonna believe you!” he replied, laughing. Then his eyes went wide; he suddenly jumped back into his bed, and quickly pulled the blanket up to his chin.
Someone had come in.
“I know you!” I told the nurse approaching my bed.
“You dooo?” she asked calmly, tapping the syringe with her fingernail and carefully pushing the air out. “And where exactly do you know me from?”
“You’re that lunatic who gives shots right through people’s pajamas! Don’t come near me! Don’t touch me!”
She looked at me with beautiful eyes, as if she’d stolen them from a doe. She also had two little braids. No, I hadn’t been mistaken, damn it! It really was her, the pajama-piercer!
“If you’re a good boy,” she told me in a tender voice, “I’ll move your pajamas out of the way this time. Okay?”
“It’s not okay!” I screamed, staring at her like a wild animal and jerking against my restraints. “I don’t want a shot! I don’t want one!” But she came closer, making the syringe squirt into the air, and I screamed again, foaming at the mouth, “No shots, you bitch!”
“My name is not ‘Bitch’!” she murmured, slowly pushing down the syringe plunger. “My name is Tabita. There, all done. See, that didn’t hurt, did it? Come on, stop staring at me like that! You’re a big boy! Try to sleep.”
“Vogel anti-rheumatic… cream…”
“Shhh… That’s enough, that’s enough. Sleep now,” she said softly, watching me from beside the bed.
She had white pants, a white coat, a white headband, and the two pretty little braids hanging down the left side of her head had white hair ties at the ends too. And she had skin as white as milk, without the slightest trace of makeup on it.
And doe eyes.
Oh my God… this woman looks like an angel! Exactly like a little angel who’s floated down from a fluffy white cloud. She’s the most angelic woman I’ve ever seen in my life!
That was my last thought. Then I fell asleep.
And I dreamed about her all night.
