Dope Chapter 4 Flight over Death
Flight over Death
by: Robert J. Escandon MA, C.Ht.
I sat in front of my place of employment. I was sipping on a half-empty glass. It was half empty because I was the one that drank the other half. Only fools that believe their life has it hit rock bottom say it’s, “half-full.” Optimism is for those who lack hope and wish for a better tomorrow because today sucks. My hope is in the now, never tomorrow. Tomorrow brings too many uncertainties. I don’t like it.
Well, for the most part I get into work at about 8 in the morning.
I was drinking my lemon herbal tea. The kind that cleans your liver for no reason other than feeding that self-obsessed notion of feeling healthy.
My supervisor walks by me and says nothing. He simply unlocks the front door and walks in. I finish my tea and lag behind. I have no real reason for working here other than exercising time consumption techniques.
“Hello Frankl, how are you?” Says Jane. She’s the secretary. I would love to go out with her for some coffee, perhaps even a beer.
She wouldn’t go for it though. I think she’s doing “you know what” with the supervisor.
“Hello Jane.” I respond.
I make it to my desk without too many hoops. I sit and think. My morning evaluation comes at around this time.
I sell paper. I’m a sales rep for a leading paper supply company. I do all the deals with all the big stores. I sell them copy paper, paper cups, paper plates, red paper, blue paper, napkins, and a bunch of other crap you don’t really need or use. Yes, I also sell the paper people wipe with. Today I don’t feel like doing anything. Contemplation is even a struggle at this point. You see, the night before I had a dream about a pig. A huge pig dressed with the clothes of a man. He looked like a mailman. Anyhow, he was running around free and snorting at people. He seemed to be happy, carefree, and willing to do anything if only asked politely. I woke up a little sided with the dream. But I think what really scratched me this morning was my collapsing memory. I almost left for work without mailing my Sol Island Sweepstakes.
My moment is interrupted.
“Frankl, I want you to call these places today and make sure they order.” Says the supervisor as he hands me a stack of call sheets.
Yes, I sell paper. That is what I do.
“Are you listening?” He asks.
“Yes sir…” I blurt out. “Yes.”
“Okay, get done with that and send the invoices down to the warehouse manager.” He says as he importantly strolls into another office.
Every morning I get a stack of these hopeless contacts. These hopeless contacts are alphabetically organized with the numbers of our dead clients. They’re dead because they have not bought a single office supply in months. It’s the same thing every day. I call, give them my spiel and they tell me, “No Thanks.” Sometimes if I’m lucky they just won’t answer. The ones that are really trying to make a statement hang up before you’re even halfway through your sentence. It never changes. They do that everyday, and everyday I call them back. Today is different however, I feel like a change of pace. I usually don’t feel the need to have a change of pace so this is a special day for me. The feeling of wanted change is fantastic, the feeling of a new day. I think I’ll ask Jane out.