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Tom could not leave his fingers alone as he sat in the manager’s office at Consumer Life. He picked at the hangnails that his Uncle had warned him he would get one day if he did not care for his hands properly. His Uncle had taught him to push back and trim the cuticles, told him the exact length to cut the nails (1.6mm from the skin, in a neat arc with no discernable edges), showed him what the white clouds underneath the nail meant and how to rectify it, explained the importance of hand cream and the correct brands to buy. His Uncle’s hands, indeed his entire person, was as meticulous as his grocery store. Tom, of course, did not keep up with the upkeep, neglecting its importance. Picking at the skin from his fingers in nervousness now, he regretted his remiss.
His leg began to bounce involuntarily and to stave off this nervous tick he crossed his legs. He noticed immediately one of his socks was inside out. Quickly he changed his posture, swinging his other leg up and over. This sock was all right but there was something white poking out from beneath the cuff of his pants. Tom surreptitiously smoothed his pant legs down with his left hand while plucking the mysterious object out with his right. It was a dryer sheet, somehow lost and lodged inside the pants after he washed his clothes. It survived three days in the closet, clinging despite the box’s anti-cling claims to the inside of the pants, holding on until the precise moment when Tom could have done without it. It couldn’t have fallen out on his way to work? No, no. Or in his own office while he was dabbing at his brow practicing what he would say to management when called on the carpet for misconduct? Right here, right now was the time it chose to appear and be dealt with. He felt the blood rise to his already reddened face. To cover, he brought the dryer sheet quickly to his nose, hoping the two men seated before him (or rather he before them) would mistake it for a tissue. He blew his nose into the sickly smell of pine trees. This caused him to sneeze three times in rapid succession into the fabric sheet. The fabric sheet now made good on its promise of no-cling, and Tom held the wet rectangle to his side so no one would notice.
“Tom, these complaints are not something we take lightly,” the manager said gravely. His bulk filled the chair, his arms in his suit looking more like the arms of a plush recliner. The recruitment manager sat near him, just as large, closer to the edge of the desk. Tom shivered in an oversized chair far enough away from the desk so that he felt exposed. “It’s not something we take lightly at all.”
“That’s right,” the recruitment manager was smiling, “but at the same time, Tom it’s not a big deal. No skin off your nose.”
“No, that’s not right,” the manager said, “it is a big deal.”
“No, I know,” the recruitment manager countered, his smile faltering for the manager, but returning for Tom. “What I meant to say is, it’s not something you have to worry about at all, Tom, no skin off your nose at all.”
“Well,” the manager cleared his throat, “It is something we as a company have to worry about.” He scowled at the recruitment manager and the recruitment manager smiled and nodded.
Tom squirmed in his seat and held the snot-filled fabric sheet to his thigh. He nearly uncrossed and re-crossed his legs until he remembered the inside out sock that added to his humiliation.
“I have spoken to Joe Williams directly, both on the phone and in person,” the manager said.
“A very agreeable fellow,” the recruitment manager said and was ignored.
“I have never met with a man so angry, and I have certainly never had to deal with such a person so moved as to come down in person,” the manager continued.
“The man really cares about the well-being of his family,” the recruitment manager said, “and I think you did a bang-up job qualifying him. You get a guy that cares that much about his family and...”
The manager held one thick palm up to the recruitment manager’s smiling face. “I am sure you have your side of things, Tom, and I would like to give you the opportunity to tell it to us now.”
“The opportunity,” the recruitment manager mouthed and winked at Tom.
Tom shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “Things got a little out of hand.”
“Of course.” The recruitment manager nodded sympathetically.
“There was a misunderstanding,” Tom went on, “things got heated and...”
“You were assaulted,” the recruitment manager offered.
“Sort of, yes,” Tom said.
“What do you mean assaulted?” the manager pressed. “Did the man hit you?”
“It was very...” Tom found himself unable to remember the exact sequence of events. His mental continuity escaped him now. He remembered being angry, not scared, the way a victim of assault should feel. Or how he imagined a person would feel.
“So, you threw a rock through his window? His living room window?” The manager was squinting, his eyes lost in rolls of face fat.
“It wasn’t a rock.” Tom said quietly, “It was a gnome.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, hell, a gnome? Phht...” The recruitment manager waved a hand in the air dismissively.
“A garden gnome.” Tom held his hands up in what, to him now, was an exact replica of the ceramic garden gnome from Joe’s yard, complete with red gnome-like toque. “Ceramic,” he said.
The recruitment manager smiled and nodded, as if impressed. “Clearly self-defence,” He said.
“Joe has agreed not to press criminal charges as long as his window is paid for and a formal apology is made,” the manager said. “He wants us to fire you.”
Tom dropped the snotty fabric softener.
“Here’s the thing: Sam and I have spoken about this,” the manager said, motioning toward the recruitment manager who looked at Tom and winked. “No one is beating down our door trying to get into this sort of career right now.”
“We’re lucky to have you.” The recruitment manager smiled but the manager’s face did not reflect this sentiment.
“We don’t want you to see or even contact any new clients,” the manager went on, “you can continue with any existing business you have or have in the works.”
“All right,” Tom said quietly. He was not fired? Tom thought he could count his existing business on one hand. Perhaps on one finger.
“There will be an internal investigation of course,” the manager said, and the recruitment manager puckered his lips, closed his eyes and shook his head in a way that said: no skin off your nose.
“I appreciate it,” Tom stammered.
“You may use your office and the facilities here and we would like to see you at the Monday morning meetings as usual. We’ll keep this hush-hush. No one need know.”
“No skin off your nose...”
“But please,” the manager said, “no more rocks through windows.”
“It was a gnome,” the recruitment manager offered.
$$$
Tom had to walk past Wally’s office on the way to his own and the big man called out to him. “Tom Ryder?” he said, rising with some difficulty from behind his desk and taking a few steps towards the door. Tom stopped and looked in. He and Wally had not had too much to say to each other. After all, Tom was new and Wally was a seasoned vet. What could the man want? “Do you have a few $econd$?” he asked. Tom assented and entered the room; Wally closed the door behind him and with one big, meaty hand, beckoned Tom to sit down. “I heard about your little gnome mi$hap,” Wally said once he was assured Tom was reasonably comfortable. The chairs seemed to be made for Wally and men like him, Tom felt his toes barely reaching the floor and he had to sit forward. His nervousness had been spent at the meeting with the managers and he no longer even cared about his socks, forgetting even that he had left the fabric softener snot rag on the floor in the other office. “Do you need to talk about it, $on?”
“How did you hear about that?” Tom asked.
“I’ve been around a long time, Tommy. Nothing really get$ pa$t me in the office. If that water cooler out there could talk.” Wally said and leaned back. His gut stuck out and his tie looked as though it were laying flat on a display table. He hooked two large, tree trunk arms behind his head and exhaled. Tom could smell onions and beer on his breath.
“I didn’t really want anyone to know,” Tom said, humbly.
“Then you $houlnd’t have done it,” Wally said, then burst out laughing. The room shook and the pictures rattled in their frames. “Ju$t $hitting you, Tommy.”
Tom tried to smile.
“I wanted to tell you that, in thi$ indu$try, you will run into all $orts. You are not a$ unique a$ you think. I have had my $hare of bad appointment$.”
“You?” Tom asked.
“Hell ye$,” Wally said, and smiled. White blinding light filled Tom’s vision. “I remember my third year I got into a fi$t fight with a potential, $ame as you.”
“I don’t believe it,” Tom said, wondering what sort of man would challenge Walter (Call Me Wally) Russ to a fight.
“He wa$ a $ucce$$full bu$ine$$ man, thought he knew it all,” Wally said, “Big a$ a hou$e. I $et him $traight. But I nearly lo$t my job over it.”
“Wow.”
“You bet,” Wally said, “I want to tell you, though, you can’t win them all. Thinking that you can will only fru$trate you right out of a career.”
“I was almost fired,” Tom said.
Wally roared laughter again; this time Tom did feel the floor shake a little. “Do you $ee how many empty office$ thi$ company ha$ right now?” Tom shrugged. “Too many. We haven’t had a new recruit in a year or two. All the agent$ here are old hand$. A lot of old bull$ staggering around, clo$e to retirement. They need new blood and they will try and recruit ju$t about anything.”
Somehow this did not make Tom feel any better, if that indeed was Wally’s intention. He glanced around Wally’s office. Paperweights held everything to the mahogany desk. Wally’s screen saver showed a ball bouncing languidly around the black screen, bouncing off the virtual edges of the monitor. Fat families in heavy frames adorned the walls. When Wally leaned forward, his shirt strained against his chest and arms, making Tom think the buttons would pop off and fly right at him. Unconsciously, Tom averted his gaze in case one of the buttons would catch him the eye.
Wally narrowed his eyes. “How are thing$ going around here, Tom?” he asked. “You can be candid with me. I have heard it all and I have $een it all. Hell,” he chuckled, “I have probably done it all.” When Tom didn’t answer right away, Wally said, “De$pite my gruff appearance, I want to help. I $ee a lot of my$elf in you. I wa$ hungry once, too.” This Tom found especially hard to believe.
“Well,” Tom began, and then felt it pouring out of him. Perhaps it was the conflict with Joe Williams, perhaps it was the near firing. Maybe it was the unpaid bills and the begging and humiliation of asking for the power and heat to be restored. Maybe it was his fear of being a failure, but he told Wally every fear, every insecurity he had about the job.
When Tom was through, Wally let out a sigh and Tom looked away from the onion and beer wind. “Do you buy the $tuff in the book they gave u$? And the lecture?”
“The lecture? Disturbing?” Tom asked.
“That’$ right.”
Tom thought for a moment. “The concept I understand. It didn’t work when I tried it on Joe, I failed. I don’t think I got through to him.”
Another deep chuckle. “It’$ a good theory, and it doe$ work,” Wally said. “The thing i$, you have to believe it your$elf. You have to $ell your$elf fir$t before you can convince anyone el$e. Do you have children?”
“No.”
“Married?”
“I live with my girlfriend,” Tom said.
“Fine, fine,” Wally continued. “I remember the very fir$t time I delivered a death benefit cheque to a family. After that, I knew what I wa$ doing wa$ important. More important than any other job I could think of. $ecuring their future. After that, I knew there wa$ no way a pro$pect would get away from me. I knew what I had wa$ $omething they de$perately needed. That’$ why I am a$ $ucce$full a$ I am. No one get$ away from me.”
“I don’t think I can do this,” Tom confessed.
“You can, $on,” Wally said. “You can. All you need i$ a few $ales under your belt. Are you working on anything now?”
“Not really.” Tom didn’t want to mention Uncle who, he knew, was Wally’s client.
“$ell your$elf a policy. $ell one to your girlfriend. Once the money $tarts rolling in, you get motivated. After that, the motivation will come from knowing you are helping people.”
“I could sell a policy to Eddy, couldn’t I?” Tom said.
“$o thi$ a$$hole write$ a book, give$ thi$ principle a fancy name and think$ he’$ being original,” Wally said. “But we here at Con$umer Life have been doing that for year$. He call$ it di$turbing the client, that’$ fine; it’$ a good a name a$ any. All it mean$ i$ getting your potential client believing that he need$ what you’ve got to give him. And the only way to do that i$ to believe it your$elf.”
Wally half rose in his seat, Tom thought. Perhaps he was trying to stand in the universal body language that said the meeting was over. Tom stood to save Wally the trouble; already a fine layer of sweat was gleaming on the man’s forehead from the effort. Wally held his chest for a moment and then relaxed. “Damn.” He said.
“Thank you for the talk, Mr. Russ,” Tom said and extended his hand.
“Call me Wally,” Wally said and gripped Tom’s hand. Tom felt like he had stuffed his hand inside rising dough. “Go get ‘em.”
$$$
Once in his office, Tom could not face the paperwork he had to fill out. They wanted a detailed account of what happened at Joe’s, and Tom found his heart racing and his rage mounting whenever he thought about it. It was all wrong. What was he thinking? Lucky he hadn’t been fired. The recruitment manager had really gone to bat for him. But why? The only thing Tom could think of was the lack of new recruits. The manager talked to thirty people a day, he told Tom, and no one new was coming aboard. “We’re taking any lame ass with a pulse,” he said and Tom’s face went red.
What he needed at that moment was to talk to Rebecca. He dialled the underwriter’s number and extension, hoping he would not get a voicemail.
After three rings someone answered. “This is Rebecca Chimer.” She said. Her voice was soft and he recognized it immediately. He felt the hair on his arms rise.
“Hi, Rebecca, this is agent Tom Ryder,” he said slyly. He heard her tap at her keyboard.
“Hello, Mr. Ryder,” she said.
“Tom.”
“Excuse me?”
“You can call me Tom.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Her voice went up an octave. It signalled a seamless move from business conversation to casual conversation. “My husband’s name was Tom.”
“I remember,” he told her.
“So how have you been?”
“Professionally or personally?” he said.
She laughed. Three short spurts of pure music. A weightless bird fluttering above a rough sea. “How about both?”
“Professionally not that well,” he said, “I lost a good sale last night.”
“You can’t get them all, Tom,” she said quietly, reassuringly. Tom closed his eyes and nodded as though she were sitting at his desk and could see him. “What happened?” she asked.
“Ummm...”
“Sometimes people have no money. Or they need to re-evaluate on their own. Maybe the sale isn’t lost after all, you’d be surprised,” she went on.
“I don’t think I’ll be back to this particular... to this guy’s place,” he said.
“Oh?”
“We had a misunderstanding, and things got a little physical.”
“You’re kidding? What happened?”
“Well, he shoved me,” Tom said, humiliated again with the re-telling.
“Oh my God!” she screeched, “What did you do?”
“It’s kind of complicated,” Tom said. “I threw a gnome through his living room window.”
There was a long pause. “A what?” she said, her voice now sounded far away, her tone different, “A gnome?”
“Yes, one of those ceramic gnomes.” With his free hand he shaped the gnome in the air in a pantomime he had done so often he could see the gnome just by moving his hands in a certain way.
“Like a lawn ornament thing?” Her voice had definitely changed, Tom thought. There was hesitation now and Tom could sense her frowning. “That’s random.”
“Like I said, it was a misunderstanding.”
“The company didn’t...” Hesitation again. Wariness. “I mean, you’re still at the office? They didn’t fire you?”
“No, not fired,” he said. “Suspended, I suppose. No new contacts but I can still work on existing leads.” Of which there were none, he failed to add.
“That is...” Pause. “I don’t know what to say. You actually damaged property?”
“Yes.” He tried to laugh at the absurdity of it all. All that came out was a rasp and a wheeze.
“Wow,” she said. After a few seconds, Tom heard her clear her throat. The business tone was back. “Well, I am pretty busy here, I guess I should get back to work. What did you need this afternoon, Mr. Ryder?”
“Nothing really,” he said, “Just sort of called to see how you were doing.”
“Oh.” Her voice was flat. She must be having a terrible day, Tom thought. It was perhaps a good thing he called. Maybe it would brighten up her day.
“We had such a good conversation the last time,” he said, “I just wanted to drop a line and say hello.”
“Okay...” she said slowly, “umm...well, listen, thanks for the call, Mr. Ryder.”
“Tom.”
“Sure,” she said. “Listen, thanks for the call. I’ll talk to you later. If you have any business that I can help you with, don’t hesitate to call me.”
“Well, I appreciate it,” Tom said.
“Anytime,” she said, and Tom heard the hesitation again, “You really threw a gnome through that guy’s window?”
“I did.”
“Wow,” she whispered. “That’s passion!” She giggled and Tom’s heart flipped over.
After he hung up the phone, the conversation played over in his mind. The week had gone bad, but one phone call to Rebecca had made everything seem all right. Just letting it out to her about the gnome made him feel better. And what had she said before she hung up? Don’t hesitate to call me anytime. It seemed she was the only one he could talk to who would really understand. A lighthouse in a sea of doubt. A buffet for the starving, or a sensible diet for the overweight. And now he was going to meet her. He had to meet her. Her voice was the exact image of how he thought of her. Her skin would be naturally tanned. Her highlighted hair would be pulled back, but not too tightly, enough to let you know that she could let it down, and when she did, she would be the most beautiful woman alive. And glasses, which she would need, but not wear all the time. It was like she was already familiar to him, yet, where had he seen her before?
The trouble with Joe and his job and Eddy seemed to dissipate. The sounds outside his office grew dimmer until all he could hear was the beat of his heart and a strange buzz, which he associated with the overhead lights and the billboard on the sneaky back door route.