Godel - 10:52 p.m. , 2009-03-22 awake - 8:31 p.m. , 2008-08-20 Auspicious Omens - 3:06 p.m. , 2007-07-19 the never - 12:03 p.m. , 2007-07-18 vbs - 855788 , dfbhhj The phone rang just as Schultz reached over to make another call. Schultz leaned back and smiled when he heard Messner’s nasal voice. "Getting any appointments?" "I got dick." "Same over here, buddy." "This business is kicking my ass," said Schultz, "What am I saying, ‘business’? More like a nightmare, a slow-motion disaster. I’ve got to find something else." "I know. I know. But what?" said Messner "I read the classifieds every Sunday, hoping, but all I see is shit." "It’s all shit out there right now, unless you’ve got a Ph.D. in electrical engineering or Oceanography. Maybe there’ll be something when the economy gets a little better," said Messner. "This is my punishment for never finishing my college degree," said Schultz. "Dude, I got my piece of paper and I’m in the same dungeon you’re in." "The leads are crap," said Schultz "This surprises you?" said Messner. "The first lead I called this morning, turns out the guy’s been dead for almost two years. His wife answered. She was practically crying." Messner laughed. "She said she gets at least a call a week, sometimes more." "That poor woman. What’d you do?" asked Messner. "I told her I’d take care of it. I’m going to bring it to next Monday’s turn-in. Throw it in Dick’s face," said Schultz. "Maybe he’ll cut loose with some of the direct-mail leads. The real leads." "He’ll just ask you why you didn’t sell her a policy." "I know." "I’d paper-clip it to a big stack of business if I were you, tell him you want some real leads," said Messner, "Don’t let him look at the business until you’ve got what you want. They’ve got better stuff. They’re just not giving it to us," said Messner. "I know. Green gave me a nice stack a couple months ago when I was on a roll. We were in his office. He gave me a speech about how it isn’t equal around here." "That guy is Satan; I wish I’d never met him. Fucking guy ruined my life," said Messner. "He is Satan. He even looks a little bit like the devil in those black suits he wears with the black shirt and the matching black tie," said Schultz. "Wonder where he hides his tail." "Probably stuffs it down a pant leg," said Schultz "Probably stuffs it up his ass," said Messner "More like Dick’s ass." "Dick’s the little weenie devil, the one who lures fresh souls down here to the city of the damned," said Messner " Green comes by once a month to collect the money, hand out the new tortures." "And remind everybody how he made a million dollars at this business last year," added Messner. "Yeah I got that same speech about things not being equal. The guys that produce the most business get the best leads. Everybody else gets the recycles. I’m hoping to bring in a nice chunk of business this week so I can get back on the gravy train," said Schultz, "I need to get back on." "Don’t we all," said Messner. "I don’t know about your finances, but mine have taken a turn for the worse, lately. I’ve had to dip into savings twice just to cover the mortgage." "Been there, done that." "Bankruptcy is starting to sound pretty sweet to my ears. They let you keep your house and your car, you know. Of course, you still have to be able to make your payments." "I don’t know man, you file Chapter Seven, that thing stays on your credit history ‘til your shaking hands with Jesus." "Yeah I know. Somewhat of a drawback," said Schultz. "Don’t be in such a rush, man. You’ve got to remember who you are, Schultz; you’re the sales wizard. You’re the one we all hate ‘cause you make it look so frigging easy. Just relax and let the mojo start working for you. Don’t push it. Do some of your Tai Chi Gong Fu or whatever the fuck you do that you’re always trying to tell me about" Schultz had been practicing Tai Chi for the last year. "Yeah, I’ve been pushing it. I’ve been taking the wrong kind of appointments and I’ve been hammering on them, closing too hard. They sense it. All I’m getting now is "think-about-its". "Just relax. Christ, if anybody’s got a chance of getting out of this endless swamp it’s you. You’re only a year away from your back-end money and those stock options! I’ll bet they set you up as a trainer before very long. You’ll get your own Lincoln Navigator to cruise around in, just like Green. Write it off as a business expense," said Messner. Silence ticked by for a couple beats. "Well, I’d better get back to my leads," said Messner. "O.K., I’ll call you later, said Schultz. "Maybe we can go to that Chinese place on Friday, have a few beers" "Or nine or ten." "Sounds like a plan, and, uh—Thanks for the pep talk," said Schultz. "Anytime, ya fucking pansy. Just remember: this is the best business in the world," Messner said, repeating the phrase they had to chant at every Monday morning turn-in. They laughed. Schultz hung up the phone and stared at the stack of dog-eared cards sitting by his phone. After a long time, he opened up the door to his office and walked out into the kitchen. Break-time. Schultz ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich over the sink, washing it down with chocolate milk directly from a half-gallon bottle. He looked through the kitchen windows watched a couple of the landscapers raking mulch around the shrubs that lined his driveway. He felt a pang of jealousy. What the hell did they have to worry about? They were young and thin and tan. Probably single, too. He’d trade places with them in a heartbeat. He tried not to think of Green. He’d have something for next Monday morning turn-in. This slump of his couldn’t possibly go on for another week. Messner was right. His failure was due to a lack of relaxation. He hadn’t been practicing Tai Chi very much, lately. His body and mind’s energy was probably out of balance, the result of his anxiety over his lack of sales. Anxiety just creates more anxiety. Sifu told him a week ago that he was letting the tail wag the dog. At the time, he thought his Tai Chi instructor had been referring to his movements during Push-Hands. It occurred to him now that the old man might have been commenting on his mind’s preoccupation with the Slump. Maybe Sifu meant that when Schultz achieved inner harmony, then his outer world, including his business would reflect that. He couldn’t be exactly sure about this interpretation, since the only thing he and the old man discussed was Tai Chi. Still, when a customer came into Sifu’s shop for Tui-Na healing, he never asked them what was wrong. Just by touching them, he could feel disturbances in their energy field. Between the Tui-Na and the traditional herbs, it looked like Sifu had a good cure rate. Maybe he’d help cure the sales problem. Schultz decided to start with the basics. The world was the tail. He was the dog. There was no need to worry about next Monday morning’s turn-in. He felt certain about this. What he really needed to do right now was get adequate food and rest and get back to his workout schedule, build his internal energy back up, get back to his Center. Fuck the leads, anyway. He and Messner consistently had the third and fourth highest sales every week. He could call people right out of the phone book if he had to. The leads didn’t matter. Once he got into the groove, once he got back into his Center, he’d line up his appointments in a matter of hours, fill his weekly calendar. Then it was just a matter of collecting some signatures and some checks. What was so hard about that? It was the best business in the world. He’d just been slacking off too much on his Tai Chi, neglecting the Root and spending too much energy worrying about the stems and leaves (his career with The Munificent Insurance Company). When he’d first started with Dr. Li (who he now referred to as "Sifu" or, Honored Master), his numbers had been hovering between fourteen and seventeen at the Manchester Branch of The Munificent Insurance Company. By the time he’d made it half-way through the form, however, his sales had increased dramatically, putting him consistently at the seventh or eighth spot. Management started to notice him. Back then, it seemed the more time he spent practicing Tai Chi, the less time he had to spend trying to make sales. Everything just started coming to him: good clients, good, qualified leads, referrals, bonus checks. This went on until he’d reached the third and fourth position on the Monday morning sales board just about every week. Schultz drank the last of his chocolate milk and put the glass and his plate into the dishwasher. Messner was right. You couldn’t push, not even a little. The minute you do, you start sounding like a goddamn encyclopedia salesman and the clients get tight. If a prospect smells the slightest tang of desperation in the air, you’re dead. He wasn’t desperate. Just tired of the grind. Stale. He’d allowed himself to disconnect from the root of his own energy. He took off his shoes and lay down on the couch; a little nap and then he’d spend the rest of the afternoon working out. He’d do two entire Yang long forms plus the series of Chi Gong postures his teacher had given him to strengthen his back muscles. Every day, he’d do that. In a few months, he’d have the same physique as the college kids working on his front lawn. After that, he’d probably only need to work the phone for a couple hours to get his appointments. By lunch time on Tuesday, he only had three confirmed appointments, and one of those was a single-leg. He shouldn’t have taken that one. You really needed both husband and wife at the meeting, because otherwise all you had was a be-back, as in, "I’ll tell my wife all about this, and then I’ll be back to you." So really, he only had two quality appointments. He’d already run through his stack of leads, so that meant a full day of telemarketing. This was stone cold telemarketing right out of the phone book, the deepest pit of the inferno. "Hello, Mr. Abramson? This is Bob Schultz with the Munificent Insurance Company here in Manchester. How are you doing today? Great. Well, I’m calling today to offer a free financial planning analysis. The people I’ve helped in the past are people who keep meaning to sit down and look at their overall financial picture, but never have the time to get around to it. Mr. Abramson, are you currently working with a financial advisor? You’re not? I have somebody I need to see out in your neck of the woods—I might be able to squeeze you in between seven and eight o’clock on Thursday if that works for you." Schultz had the script tacked to the wall in front of his desk, though he no longer needed to look; he’d memorized it two years ago. Most people hung up the phone by the time he got to the word insurance, but this guy sounded eager to meet with him. This could be a sign that his recent slump was over. "Great. Now how would I get to your place from the interstate?" "Super. Look forward to meeting you on Thursday. Goodbye." He tucked the instructions in his schedule book and penciled Abramson next to 7 PM on Thursday’s blank page. He felt flushed with excitement at this successful first call. That almost never happened. The last time he’d had to do this, the ratio had been something like fifty phone calls for each appointment and three appointments for each sale. A hundred and fifty suppers and TV shows and family time he had to interrupt just to get to the one person who needed what he had. He took it as an omen that last night’s Tai Chi practice was starting to have some effect in him. He’d gotten an appointment on the first call! Still, the guy sounded pretty old, probably a retiree on a fixed income. Old people usually didn’t buy squat, but sometimes he could roll them out of a money market and into a lump-sum annuity. That was always good for a fat commission, better for the client, too. By seven o’clock that night, he was still working the phone when Donna came into the office and tapped him on the shoulder. He hung up in the middle of a call that was going nowhere. "Ariel wants you to come tuck her in." "’kay," he said. "How’s it going?" "Pretty much nowhere. I’ve got six, but two are probably worthless. I may have to work this weekend." "Again?" "I know. I know. But shit’s not happening since they pulled the plug on the direct mail leads. I’ve got to make something out of nothing." "Why don’t you take the rest of the night off, recharge your batteries," she suggested, "Tomorrow’s another day." "Maybe I will, but then I usually get more people at home around this time." "Well, whatever you think," she said. He went upstairs and stepped into the darkness of his daughter’s room. "Daddy!" she whisper-yelled, standing up in her bed to kiss him. "Mom said you might not come, but I wished for you to, and you did. I think maybe I’ve got magic." He sat down on the bed with his arm around her bony shoulders. "I know you’ve got magic." "Do you think magic is real, Dad? I mean really real?" "Of course it is." "Some kids on the bus say it’s just baby stuff." "Maybe they just aren’t magic, so they don’t know any better," he suggested. "Daddy, did you know that when frogs are babies, they have gills, and they can swim around without ever coming up for air?" "Really?" "Yes they do. The teacher brought some in today for us to watch and I saw them swimming around, and they were cute, though the water was all brown and yucky. Why would they like that sort of water do you think?" "I don’t know sweetie. I don’t think they have much choice about it, really." "Well if I were a polliwog, I would want nice clean water. Wouldn’t you, Daddy?" "Definitely." "And guess what?" "What?" Billy sat next to me at lunch today. He’s sooo gross. He picks his nose when everybody’s looking. He just laughs. He doesn’t even care." "Sounds like my type of guy." "Daddy! He’s disgusting." "I’m sure he is, honey. Most boys are." "Not Nickie." "No?" "NO. He’s very mature, not like the other boys. He says he’s going to be a scientist when he’s older. He already knows lots of science. His parents got him his own chemistry set and they got him a computer. He says he’s taking a chemistry course right over the Internet. Can I get my own computer, Daddy?" "Not quite yet. Mom and I will have to talk about it for later, ‘kay? " "Please?" "We’ll see about it." "You always say that when you really mean no." "Ariel, we haven’t had a lot of money lately…" "I know. I know," Ariel sighed. "I’m beginning to hate money," said Ariel, "Can’t you just go get some more or something?" "I’m working on it." "Good. ‘cause Nickie and I want to e-mail each other about stuff." "O.K. young lady, it’s time you went to sleep." He leaned over to kiss her goodnight. "Tell me a story, Daddy!" Ariel whispered. "I don’t know, Ariel, I’ve still got lots of work to do." "Just do it tomorrow, Dad. C’mon. Pleeeease." "Ariel," he sighed. "I think you should do some other work, or maybe just stay home and play with me like you used to. I liked things better the way they were before. Remember how we used to ride around in your old Subaru and drink soda and stuff. And that place we got those huge apple fritters every morning after mom left for work?" "I guess I might have time for a short story," he said. "Goody!" she said, pushing up against the wall to make room for him on the narrow bed. He lay down. "Make it the one about Princess Ariel, the one where she has to go in the cave and down past the all the gargoyles and through the underground city where everybody lives backwards." "You want that one?" "That one." "O.K., but just a short one." He lay next to his daughter, and they both looked up at the glow-in-the-dark stars and planets they’d stuck to her ceiling and walls. They were quiet for a moment. "Come on Daddy! No lollygagging." "I was just trying to remember where we left off. Had the Princess found her dragon yet?" "Yes." "Well, let’s see, after the underground city where everybody talks backward, the Princess and her dragon arrived at the forbidden door. The forbidden door was the entrance to the abominable pit, at the bottom of which Sir Robert was held prisoner by the Demon King. Now Princess Ariel had traded the mountain gnomes to get the golden key, so she put the key into the old rusty lock and slowly turned it…" "Did she remember to bring her wand?" "She remembered." "Will she rescue Sir Robert?" "Shhh! You’ve got to listen to the story to find that out." "I just want to know if there’s a happy ending. Some of your stories have yucky endings." "Well, you know that every Princess that’s any good rescues her knight, don’t you?" "That’s true," said Ariel. "It’s in the Princess Rule Book." "That’s right. And did you know that the Princess Rule Book had actually been lost for thousands of years in the tombs beneath the Deadly Desert of Boredom?" "Yes Daddy, I remember, but just go on with THIS story tonight." He went on with the story.
Inferno: A Story
Main Entry: plas�tic�i�ty
Pronunciation: pla-'sti-s&-tE
Function: noun
Date: circa 1783
1 : the quality or state of being plastic; especially : capacity for being molded or altered
2 : the ability to retain a shape attained by pressure deformation
3 : the capacity of organisms with the same genotype to vary in developmental pattern, in phenotype, or in behavior according to varying environmental conditions
NOOER
wicked old stuff