By WR Jones
I was listening to the wind scatter the whining of Miss Climate Control when I started pondering why paint at all. After rummaging around in my mind for a while it came back to me; oh ya, to impress the ladies.
Clearly the product wasn’t doing the trick. Then, in an epiphany of salesmanship, I saw the way; just tell them.
The first opportunity came at the gym last Friday. I saw this woman sitting alone in front of the TV. I approached and asked her did she know who I was. She said no, but I could ask at the front desk, they might be able to help as they had photos of all the members.
Pretty promising so far. I asked if she knew what a good painter I was. “No, and further more, I don’t give a shit. Could you step out of the way of the TV? Move on and tell someone who cares.” Perfect, I always liked a tough sale.
I started my pitch. I could ride a PBR bull longer than she stayed with me. She hung in there a good 3 or 4 seconds before her eyes rolled back and she pitched forward in a boredom coma.
I left her there on the floor. I had to get to my muscle conditioning class. I’m giving up painting for Extreme Cage Fighting.