I paused, catching my breath. Then, with great pride, I said, “I netted over three thousand dollars that day. And it was the first time in my life I felt like a true salesman. And I was good at it. My auctioneer's rap came pouring out of my mouth as if there was no tomorrow.” I smiled at the memory. “Toward the end of the auction, the dean came walking into the room, and he just stood there, staring at me. After a minute, he shook his head and walked away, too dumbfounded to comment. I'm sure it was the first auction at the Baltimore College of Dental Surgery, and I'm also sure it was the last. And it was a grand success, I might add.”
By now everyone in the room was chuckling, even the Witch and the Bastard. It was a good sign, I thought, so I decided to jump right into the insanity of the meat-and-seafood business: “What I failed to mention, though, was what inspired me to hold the auction that day.”
“You said you were running low on funds,” said OCD.
I shrugged noncommittally. “That had something to do with it, but it wasn't what was really driving me. What happened was that, a few days before, I received a phone call from Elliot, the Penguin. I was home at the time, lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, wondering what the fuck I was gonna do with the rest of my life. I was living in a tiny studio apartment, just outside Baltimore, and it had two pieces of furniture in it: the bed and a rotting tweed couch. The Penguin was living in Queens, and when he called me, he was in a very agitated state, almost out of breath. He said, ‘I found a way to make beach money all year ‘round. I'm working as a salesman for a meat-and-seafood company, and I'm clearing two-fifty a day in cash. They even gave me a company vehicle.’ I think it was the last part that shocked me most. ‘Really?’ I said. ‘They gave you a car? Jesus, that's amazing.’
“ ‘Yeah, it is,’ he answered. ‘And I can get you a job there if you want.’”
I thought back on the Penguin's words. “In retrospect, I should've realized that something wasn't on the up-and-up. Remember, Elliot didn't actually say they'd given him a company car. He said, ‘company vehicle,’ which is kind of an odd way to put it, you know? I mean, if you went to work at IBM and they gave you a car, you wouldn't refer to it as a company vehicle: You would say, ‘IBM gave me a company car!’ Still, the thought of making beach money all year ‘round was so enticing that I chose not to read too much into things. Before I hung up, I asked, ‘Are you sure they're gonna hire me, Elliot? I don't have any real sales experience.’”
I began chuckling. “You have no idea how ironic that question was.” I started shaking my head.
“What's so ironic?” the Bastard asked tonelessly. “I don't get it.”
“Well, companies like Great American Meat and Seafood— which was the name of Elliot's company—are alwayslooking for salesmen. The same goes for companies like Stratton Oakmont or Monroe Parker or Kirby vacuum cleaners or any other company that employs fast-talking commission-based salesmen.” I paused and took a moment to think back. Then I said, “At Stratton, we used to give our job applicants the mirror test—meaning, we would stick a mirror under their noses and wait for it to fog up. If it did,we hired them; if it didn't,it meant they were dead, which was the only reason we wouldn'thire them—unless, of course, they were already licensed stockbrokers. Then we definitelywouldn't hire them, because they knew too much. We wanted our brokers young and naive, hungry and stupid.” I shrugged. “Give me someone like that,and I'll make them rich, with no problem. But give me someone with brains and imagination—well, that's a bit more difficult.
“But, to get back to the story, I spent a few more minutes on the phone with the Penguin, listening to him chirp about how wonderful the meat-and-seafood business was. ‘It's all restaurant-quality food,’ he assured me. ‘Nothing but the best.’
“I mean, the whole thing sounded too good to be true, but I'd never known Elliot to be a liar. He was a bit gullible, maybe, but he definitely wasn't a liar. So I put aside my skepticism, packed up my 1973 Mercury Cougar, and drove up to New York to drop the bomb on my parents. It was February 1985. I was twenty-two at the time. I had my whole life in front of me.”
CHAPTER 7
THE BIRTH OF A SALESMAN
“Yeah,” I said casually, “that's just what I did. And I had all my worldly possessions with me, which amounted to a suitcase full of dirty clothes and the shirt on my back. And, of course, I had the three thousand dollars I'd cleared from my auction.
“In retrospect, it still amazes me how easyit was to pick up and leave Baltimore. My studio was on a month-to-month lease, I had no furniture to speak of, and my financial obligations were basically zero. The only bummer was that I'd be living at home with my parents again, which I can assure you is no picnic. They were still living in the same two-bedroom apartment I grew up in, which was the same apartment I swore I'd leave after I struck it rich.”
I paused and scratched my chin thoughtfully. “In fact, they're still living in the same apartment today, in spite of all the money my father made at Stratton.” I shook my head in amazement. “Can you imagine? I mean, I even offered to buy them a house when things were rolling, but they didn't want to move. I guess you could say they're the ultimate creatures of habit.”
“So how'd you break the news to them?” the Bastard asked impatiently.
“Well, I figured it would be easier if they digested things in small chunks, so, before I left Baltimore, all I told them was that I'd dropped out of dental school; I didn't say that I landed a job as a meat-and-seafood salesman.
“I dropped that bomb on them in the living room, which was where all importantconversations took place. My father was sitting in his favorite chair, and my mother was sitting on the couch, reading a book. For some reason, I still remember what book it was— On Death and Dying.”I shrugged. “I don't know; my mother always liked those morbid books. My father, meanwhile, was busy watching his latest cop show and chain-smoking his lungs into complete oblivion.
“I took a seat across from my father and said, ‘I need to talk to you guys for a few minutes.’
“My father looked at my mom, and he said in a slightly annoyed tone, ‘Lee, will you turn down T.J. Hookerfor a minute?’ At that, my mother dropped her book and nearly ran over to the wall unit and turned down the Trinitron. That was the relationship between my parents, Mad Max and Saint Leah. The latter spent the better part of her day trying to keep the former from blowing an emotional gasket.
“I said to them, ‘Dentistry is not for me, guys. I gave it a full semester, and I know for sure now that I could never be happy as a dentist.’ That was a lie, of course, although I figured that if I told them that I'd dropped out the first day then they'd really be pissed. Either way, my mother was having none of it.
“ ‘I didn't think you'd be a dentist forever,’ she said. ‘I thought you'd open up a chain of dental clinics one day, or discover a new type of dental procedure. It's still not too late.’
“‘No, Mom; it istoo late. I'm not going back,’ and then I looked at my father for support. He was actually better in these situations. He loved a good crisis; they seem to calm him down somehow, even to this day. It was the small stuff that drove him crazy. I said to him, ‘Listen, Dad: I don't want to be a dentist. I want to be a salesman. That's what I'm cut out for, to sell things—’ And my mother popped off the couch and screamed, ‘Oh, my God, Max! Not a salesman! Anything but that!’ Then she turned to me and said, ‘Look what you've done to me already,’ and she lowered her head and pointed to a small patch of gray hair. ‘This is from when you cut tenth grade and smoked marijuana all day with that awful Richard Kushner.’ Then she pointed to a wrinkle on her forehead and added, ‘And this is from when you grew marijuana in the closet and said it was a science project! And now you're dropping out of dental school to become a salesman!’