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Salesman

Gil Hoy

    You were a born salesman. Your mother and father never tired of telling how, as a newborn, you so charmed the doctors and nurses with your gummy toothless smile that they couldn’t stop talking about you for weeks.

    When you were a boy, you trekked down to the softball field to sell soda pop. You lugged a cooler with both hands, filled with ice and 5 or 6 different kinds of pop. You always set up shop next to the busiest game being played that day. You loved to jingle the change in your pocket after a sale and you played upon your tender age to get more sales. You were so excited when you opened up your first bank account to deposit your soda pop profits. You couldn’t sleep at all that night.

    When most of your college friends were out socializing, you were studying your sales courses. You liked to read biographies about the most successful salesmen in the world. You also liked to head downtown and frequent the shops that were thriving. You watched the salesmen talk to customers to learn the best techniques to close a sale. Sometimes you got so close to them that they would politely ask you to move.

    You eventually opened up your own furniture store. You worked every day of the week. The first year, you sold more furniture than any other furniture store in your city. You soon opened up furniture stores in other cities. Many of them. All of the stores carried your name. You had quite a few employees. You visited a different store every Christmas and tried to meet as many of them as you could. You never met most of your customers.

    You enjoyed the process of growing old. You didn’t regret not marrying nor having any children. When you died, red fluorescent signs dotted the skylines of cities across the country, illuminating your name.

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