Larry is playing with a young boy and girl in a room in a house. It would appear Larry Junior and Viv Junior are progressing through life. Larry Junior is holding a wooden cudgel and waves it in the air.
“Flaming Hell son!” cries Larry. “Don’t go off like a frog in a sock with that thing! If you’re not careful you’ll stir the possum and we’ll all come a gutzer when your mother gets home”.
“Sorry dad” mumbles Larry Junior. “I’ve got a cricket match next week and I was just trying to get some practise in”.
Larry examines the cudgel and asks “What kind of a cricket bat do you call this then? It’s as rough as an old man’s donger!”
Larry Junior ponders for a while and replies “Well, it's the kind of bat you use for playing against the poms dad, so you can hit them over the head at the same time”.
Larry laughs loudly (though he only appears to be smiling) and ruffles a hand through his son’s hair. “Fair do’s son. You're as cunning as a dunny rat and game as Ned Kelly”.
Then he walks across towards Viv Junior and sits next to her. She is dressed in a miniature nurse’s uniform and is playing with a doll. The doll has imitation blood marks on various parts of its clothing, and most of its limbs are bandaged. She is dabbing some sort of medicinal looking liquid on the blood stained parts of the doll’s torso.
Larry prods a finger towards the doll. “What are you up to there then, my little two pot screamer?”
She looks up at him, proudly smiles and says “I'm rubbing some Vegemite on my dolly Matilda, dad”.
“Well it’ll certainly put hairs on her chest!” he chortles and gets up and walks away.
As he leaves the room he sighs “You’re both as mad as a gum tree full of galahs”, even though he doesn’t appear to be sighing.
Humvat and Parvark returned to the motel beneath the cloak of falling darkness. The middle class beggar woman was still patiently sitting outside on her blanket, reading her book and holding out her collection tin to passers-by. Humvat refused to pass anywhere near her aura, lest he be inflicted with the same bad fortune which had befallen her. So instead they went around the back and crept across the car park clutching their suitcases, carrying the meagre reassurance of their worldly possessions close to their chests. In the background crickets were starting to chirp out their relentless lover's song and it washed across the warm, still air of the night. A black Cadillac purred up and stopped alongside them. The tinted driver's window quietly whined as it wound down electronically. Valento's face appeared from within the car. “Hi guys.” he smiled. “Glad you could make it”.
Suddenly there was a rustling and a blurred flickering of movement amongst the shadows. Valento instinctively sprang from the car and put his hand into the inner chest pocket of his jacket, before relaxing as he recognised the familiar face of the girl fumbling out of the darkness towards him. She was struggling with the weight of her own worldly suitcase.
“Hey Charlene, what's with the bag?” he asked.
“I'm.... really, really sorry Mr Valento.” she stuttered, glancing towards the ground as her tired, sunken eyes shrank away from his. “But there's been a death in the family. I have to go home right away and I can't work for you any more”.
She then merged back into the shadows and was gone. Valento’s eyes followed her vanishing silhouette for a second or two, then he turned back to face Humvat and Parvark. He shrugged his shoulders and muttered through a grimaced grin. “It’s up to her if she wants to forfeit her kitty. Life is full of losers and that one, my friends, is a particularly fine specimen of a loser”.
He stood between them and draped an arm around each shoulder. “But I have a great feeling about you two guys. You got winner written all over you. You wanna know something? I think we're gonna be real good for each other”. He beamed at each of them in turn.
Humvat returned a grin which contained a starry sense of anticipation, whereas Parvark could only summon a faint, weak, forced smile. He was getting a feeling alright, but it wasn't a good one.
They entered the dishevelled motel once again and sauntered into the dank, musty lobby and along corridors until Valento pointed towards a handwritten sign which hung over a doorway and displayed in large letters “Conference Room”. In smaller letters beneath was added “Available for hire at competitive hourly rates”.
Parvark recognised it as the interview room they had been in earlier. Valento postured towards the room.
“Why don't you two r
elax and watch some TV in there. The sales crews will be back pretty soon and I can introduce you to everyone”.
They sat down at the long table and Valento returned to the lobby, closing the door behind him. Parvark glanced around the empty room, seeking any signs of surveillance.
“Let's get out of this place now!” he hissed. “Did you see the look of fear in the eyes of that girl? Bad things are happening here”.
Rather than listening to Valento’s words, Parvark was poring over the dark aura surrounding him, sniffing the scent of fear and peering into the alarming landscape of their new surroundings. He didn’t like what he saw. Meanwhile Humvat was looking in different places. He sensed Valento's positive attitude beckoning him across the same landscape, but he was sniffing the scent of money which might be made. Right now he was summoning up the strength to step across the rickety bridge spanning the abyss, rather than allow the dizzying fear of falling to hold him back.
“We're in America now and they just do things differently here.” he snapped back, with a newly discovered steel in his voice.
“She was just a feckless failure who ended up skulking out of the back door hiding amongst the shadows of the night, but we're going to be winners, mighty, proud and rich. Or are you just another failure, too scared or too lazy to summon up the extra effort it takes to succeed?”
In truth, Humvat wasn't blind to the reality surrounding him. But the overriding force driving him was a simple one. They'd been given a choice of either accepting the security of room, food and money with these people, or else a lonely exposure to the eroding elements of this wild and strange land. He'd made his choice and he was intent on dragging Parvark along with him, however much he might try to dig his heels in.
Parvark was taken aback by this sudden conversion. They'd hardly been in this country for a single day and Humvat had already turned into this contorting capitalist machine which was only interested in talking about making money and being a winner. In a sulky silence he scrutinised the walls, gazing at the cracks and peeling wallpaper. He then peered at the old television perched on the end of the table and wondered how to switch it on. He got up and pressed the buttons one by one until the screen bust into life. He then picked up a remote control and flicked through the channels, trying to locate PBS. He paused on each station to view some of the commercials which glorified this wonderful country and this evocative lifestyle in which himself and Humvat sought sanctuary. Meanwhile Humvat studiously read his Siminite-English dictionary.
“There don't appear to be any programs on these channels, just advertisements.” Parvark grumbled as he stared hypnotically at a man named Crazy Freddie who was “giving away computers at crazzee prices”, and a beautiful young bride enjoying a perfect wedding, all because her mother used the correct brand of soap powder. He eventually came across the local PBS station. Against the backdrop of some music which was vaguely recognisable, the voice of a presenter announced “And I'm afraid that was the last episode of the current series of Wild About Larry”.
The music continued as the credits rolled past. Written by Kenny Savage, Neil Petit and Brian Lovett. Directed by Ray Parlour. Produced by Roxanne Lewinsky.
The voice of the presenter continued. “However, if the thought of having to live without a daily fix of Larry brings you out in a rash of withdrawal symptoms then help is at hand. Due to overwhelming public demand we'll be repeating all episodes at the beginning of next month. In the meantime sta
y tuned to PBS for the very best in the art of entertainment”.
Parvark pointed the remote control towards the screen. “It's the television program with the Australian actor who looks like you. We've just missed it”.
Humvat looked up from his book towards the screen. “What a shame. I'd like to have seen him”. And then he smiled to himself. “He must be a handsome bastard”.
His face took on a puzzled expression. “There's something familiar about this music....” he vaguely said as his voice drifted along with his mind. Then his eyes lit up and he snapped his fingers.
“I know where I've heard it before. It sounds a bit like the theme song for One Great Guide, One Great Nation. Huh! Carbet claimed he'd written it himself, but I should have realised the talentless waste of space would simply steal it from American television. And to think I'd actually been impressed by the charlatan”.
Without thinking any deeper, he returned to perusing his dictionary.
But Parvark wasn't listening. There didn’t appear to be any exotic commercials on PBS, so he’d changed back to the previous channel. He was soon hypnotically transfixed, as he gazed upon further tantalising dreams of what might lay ahead for him, at the end of the many golden paved paths which criss-crossed this promised land.
So what should have been an overwhelming moment of realisation and revelation was firstly tossed aside by Parvark's preoccupation with television advertisements, then fatally lost in the instant it took to drop it into the deep pool of Humvat's consuming hatred of Carbet. A window of opportunity had quietly opened and closed again, without them ever being aware of it.
After a short while the door opened, and a mob of boys and girls in their late teens and early twenties wandered into the conference room. The first sales crew were returning to base, and the noise of their conversation and laughter made for a party atmosphere. A slightly older man entered, switched off the television, marched across with an outstretched hand and introduced himself as Steve Sibowitz, the leader of crew number one. Then, amidst the hubbub of the social gathering, a huge African American man, around six and a half feet tall and weighing around two hundred and forty pounds, entered the room.
“This is Joe.” explained Sibowitz. “He's the group bodyguard”.
Sibowitz tapped him on the arm. “Hey Joe, say hi to the new boys. They're from a country called South Jefferstown”.
From his lofty position, Joe’s eyes blazed an aggressive stare down at them. “Is that any place near France?” he barked. “You know anyone in France?”
“No, I do not think.” replied Humvat, shaking his head.
Joe continued to rant, almost spitting now. “'Cos I'm looking for the bitch of a French girlfriend of mine who walked out on me with ten grand of my money”.
Humvat decided a spot of diplomatic humour might help to hose down this inflamed conversation. “So, Mr Joe bodyguard,“ he nervously smiled. “When you find her you don't be guarding her body, no?”
“Dead right!” rasped Joe. “When I get hold of her I’m gonna stick this sucker up her ass!”
In a blur he reached into his jacket like a magician about to pull out a bunch of flowers, except in this case what came out was something nearly two feet long, black and metallic. Humvat and Parvark instantly recognised it as a huge revolver, which Joe clasped in his hand with his finger on the trigger, and started to wave around in the air. They instinctively dived onto the floor and lay there with their hands over their heads. The noisy room fell into an instant silence as Sibowitz and the rest of the crew stopped talking and instead looked down, nonplussed, at Humvat and Parvark, both lying prone on the ground. After a few moments the gunfire they'd expected to hear hadn't happened, so they sheepishly got up and dusted themselves down. The people around them turned away and returned to their conversations, and the noise ratcheted up once more.
Joe placed the gun back into the holster inside his jacket, then closely examined Humvat with a stare and barked “Don't I know you from somewhere, boy?”
Humvat furiously shook his head, denying any knowledge of any sort of kinship, even though he was well aware in his fear exactly why he was being interrogated. Damn this Larry character. Parvark shot a despairing, soulful glance at him which pleaded for a moment of sense to prevail and a swift deliverance from this dangerous, satanic place. But Humvat was so fearful of the gun being produced again and being kidnapped, or worse, that he failed to notice.
The wild black man then departed, pointing a stabbing finger at them and scowling “You two better not let me catch you with drugs or any other shit anywhere near you. Hear?”
The door slammed shut.
“Just don’t ever mention France again.” muttered Parvark to Humvat.
“I didn’t!” hissed Humvat. “I don’t even know where France is!”
Being unable to understand Siminite, Sibowitz regarded them both curiously.
The second and third crews entered the room in an equally noisy, yet more sombre fashion. Those who could find one wearily slumped on a chair and the others sat cross legged on the floor. Valento came in and sat at the head of the table with Sibowitz and the two other crew leaders, one male and one female, by his side. They passed him wads of paper sheets, each one recording the sales orders taken that day by their crews. Waves of animated conversation still swept back and forth across the room.
“Let's have some order here, you people!” shouted Valento, tapping the table with the large ring on the index finger of his left hand. “Today's sales analysis meeting will now commence”.
The noise of the mob subsided as he started to pick his way through the paper pile. He started tutting to himself. And then, as he flicked through them, he started to shake his head as well. Without bothering to complete the task he paused and stared around the room, his eyes as accuser, prosecutor, judge, jury and executioner briefly resting on each apprehensive face.
“These sales figures are bullshit!” he bellowed with aggression, outrage and indignation. “This is nowhere near good enough”.
He delved back through the pile, pulled one out and stared at the guilty party, sitting on the floor.
“Mr Rees. What’s this? Sales of only one hundred and twenty dollars today? What happened to the fifteen hundred dollar weeks? Don’t you ever let me see you here again with sales like these!”
He scrunched the piece of paper into a ball, threw it into a nearby bin and randomly picked up another one. He sought a face around the room, found it and locked onto his target.
“Miss Phillips. Do you wish to remain in the employ of this company? Because if you do, you’d better not let me see figures like these again!” And once again he hurled it into the bin.
Then he pulled out a third slip of paper and stared around the room until his eyes came to rest upon an unfortunate looking boy.
“Well, well, well. Mr David Johnson. So your total sales today were zero dollars. Again”.
With his right hand he drew back the shirt cuff on his left wrist and deliberately inspected his watch. Then after a further moment of silent tension he continued.
“As of 7:38 pm Eastern Time, on this Wednesday June the 13th in the year of our Lord 2012 your employment with us is terminated. Go and pack your bags. Get outta here, damn it! I don't want to ever have to see your goddamned sorry looking loser face again!”
David Johnson blinked back the tears of hurt and rage and scorched pride, solemnly rose from his seat amidst a subdued silence and left the room. He closed the door behind him with a gentle click rather than the slamming bang one might have expected from a person with any self respect. Parvark's sense of foreboding sank to new depths, passing his rising heartbeat on the way down.
“Okay now people,” continued Valento, cheerily resuming as though nothing of any importance had just occurred. “I'd like you to meet our two latest recruits”.
He beckoned Humvat and Parvark. “Stand up boys and tell us all who you are, and why you're
here”.
Humvat was comprehending and adapting to his latest role remarkably quickly, and understood he was being called upon to beat a rallying drum before the rest of the troops. He rose to his feet and beamed.
“Hello people. I am Humvat and I am here to earn a treasure chest full of monies!”
His fellow crew members broke out into spontaneous applause. Ah, what a feeling it was to have a loving audience. He almost felt like giving a performance there and then, but reluctantly forced himself to sit down.
Not having the benefit of drama schooling, Parvark was finding the role far more difficult to figure out, let alone master. Instead of standing up, he absentmindedly remained in his seat.
“I am Parvark,” he mumbled “And...” he struggled through an embarrassing void to fill the growing emptiness threatening to swallow him up, “... I don't know why I am here”.
To his surprise this generated a hearty laugh from his new compatriots. Valento chortled “Well, at least the boy's honest!”, which raised more laughter, followed by “But we'll soon sort that out!”, which provoked even heartier laughter. Parvark felt more comfortable at having passed his first test triumphantly. He'd even managed to get a better reaction than that old ham Humvat. Perhaps things weren't going to be so bad after all.
Valento composed himself and placed his stern face mask back on. “Any more business?” he barked.
The absence of response from the rest of the room suggested not.
“I hereby declare this evening's sales analysis meeting to be over. There is a WAL meeting at twenty one hundred hours for anybody who did less than one hundred dollars worth of sales today, and a thirty dollar fine for non-attendance”.
Parvark noted this announcement produced a baleful sigh amongst the audience, which told him firstly it wasn't a pleasant experience, and secondly there were going to be a lot of people attending.
As he arose from the table, Valento looked across at Humvat with a puzzled expression and said “This has been bugging me all day, because you seem kinda familiar to me, but I can’t place you…”
Pretty much the entire crew regarded Humvat and nodded their agreement and equal mystification. Although he knew exactly what the collective reminiscence was, Humvat stared back blankly and shrugged his shoulders. This Larry character was beginning to really irritate him. Valento left the room and a crescendo of sound erupted. Two boys were standing close to Humvat.
“Man, I hate these fuckin' WAL meetings.” scowled one of them to the other, who nodded back with an equal scowl.
“They suck.” he concurred.
Humvat was inquisitive, if nothing else. “Please tell what WAL meeting is?” he asked. The two boys initially looked at him shiftily and then the first one said “WAL stands for Weak Assed Loser, man. They hold them for all the kids who don't meet their sales targets and, like, they give them lessons in selling”.
“And, for at least one unfortunate son of a bitch, it’s torture by ritual humiliation.” continued the second boy. “It's a fate worse than fuckin' death. You don't wanna go there if you don't have to be there, man”.
Humvat nodded with a wise sympathy. “I must do good selling then, so I no go there”.
The boys looked at each other and burst into laughter. “How much sales did you make today man?” asked the second one.
“I no selling today. I only arrive here tonight”.
“Then your sales are a big fat zero!” pounced the first one. “I'm afraid you're up for your first WAL experience at twenty one hundred hours tonight, my man!”
Parvark walked over and grabbed Humvat by the arm. “Did you hear about this WAL business?”
“I'm just hearing about it now. Relax. We won't bother turning up”.
“And get fined thirty dollars?!” hissed Parvark. “Which means we're in the position where, instead of making your ‘treasure chest of money’ we owe them money?! We have to attend”.
There was a gap of an hour to kill before the WAL meeting was due to commence, so they wandered out of the conference room and down the dingy motel corridors until they came across a grubby looking diner. They sat down, inspected the menu, examined the contents of their pockets and ordered a sandwich and a cup of coffee between them. They sat in a stoic solitude, each of them mulling their own ideas of where this adventure might be taking them. Humvat was imagining himself returning to South Jefesta, dripping in riches and glory, with a magnificent diamond ring for Kipdip, a big kick up the backside for Kinbus and an even bigger one for Carbet. Parvark was imagining himself running up a dark alley, being pursued by Valento and a pack of dogs.
The contemplation was broken when a girl seemingly appeared from nowhere and slid across the bench and sat down beside Humvat.
“Janine Cutler.” she announced, offering an introductory smile and handshake to each of them. “I’m from Urbana, Illinois and I’m a member of sales crew three”.
Humvat instantly recognised her as the attractive girl who had been handing out the application forms earlier in the lobby and met her hand with his, gripped it tenderly and shook.
“I am Humvat, from South Jefesta and I am here to make a treasure chest of monies.” he said, before releasing the grip slowly and carefully. Parvark simply nodded a greeting towards her, suspicious of why this stranger should want to indulge them.
“Hey!” she giggled. “You guys have got such cute accents. I can see you’re gonna do real well here. Did anyone tell you yet how this company is really going places?”
They both shook their heads, so she continued.
“Year on year growth is the second fastest in the sector. Market penetration doubles every six months. Product recognition likewise. Profits to earnings ratio is gearing up to go as far as 30 to 1. Capital assets are low, which means overheads are also low, which in turn makes for a lean, mean, fast moving machine. You really should stick around and pick up stock options for when the company goes public in a couple of years”.
She got up to leave and offered a departing smile and handshake. “Well, nice talking to you and I'm sure we’ll see each other around. I do believe in the importance of networking with the right people”.
They looked at her departing figure.
“What was that all about?” asked Humvat.
Parvark shrugged his shoulders and replied. “Maybe she’s been to too many sales meetings and they have driven her insane”.
“Well I think she’s extremely attractive, for a Western girl.” replied Humvat, his eyes following her posterior as she walked away down the corridor.
A waitress went to refill their coffees. Parvark placed his hand over the cup.
“No more.” he declared firmly, belying his hunger and thirst and pitiful circumstances.
She sensed the privation which lay beneath his show of strength. “It’s free, you know”.
“Then I have two, please”.
It was 9pm when they returned to the conference room. The long table had been turned into a hastily erected stage, with some temporary steps at the far end. Valento was already standing by these and he impatiently hurried them in with a wave of his hand and started to speak.
“Okay Weak Assed Losers, heads up!“ he barked. “You are here tonight because you do not have sufficient mental strength to carry you beyond your negative thoughts. You have not found the MindTone which exists within each and every one of us. You have not trained it to work and perform for your own benefit. Instead, you have proven you cannot transform sales presentations into closed deals. You have proven you are Weak Assed Losers whose destiny is to achieve nothing in life and die young, surrounded by the poverty and paucity of unfulfilled dreams and ambitions”.
He swaggered up and down the room, hands in pockets. “Now here’s a confession. There was a time when I myself was a Weak Assed Loser, but that was before I created the MindTone technique which transformed my life. I have a number of favorite quotations I like to use from time to time, to r
emind me of how I turned myself from a miserable loser like you into the winner I am today”.
He paused and turned around to face them. “The quote I’d like to remember tonight is ‘Cleanliness is next to Godliness’, which is particularly pertinent”.
He looked around the room in general, not focussing on anyone in particular. He was injecting a moment’s worth of temporary tranquillity into the proceedings in order to set an agenda of variable pace. Then he continued.
“Now let's just think about what that means for a moment”.
Raising a single finger to his lips, he signalled for the audience to create its own group harmony of hushed deliberation. Humvat and Parvark looked at each other and the rest of the room with a suspicious uncertainty. The concepts of MindTone and cleanliness and Godliness were unfamiliar to them. After a few seconds Valento broke the stillness once again.
“Does anyone know where this saying comes from?”
He vaguely and quickly searched the room noting the sea of shaking heads, but he hadn’t expected a reply anyhow so he moved on to answer it for himself to maintain the rhythm of his own patter.
“Well, I’ll tell you. It comes from a time when diseases such as dysentery and cholera and even diarrhoea were major killers of mankind everywhere. They still are in developing countries. Now, it is a proven fact these killers are the direct result of unhygienic and unsanitary lifestyles. And while it is also a proven fact that Deterjeron is the crème de la crème of cleaning solutions, and the product should be able to sell itself, sadly some people still haven’t heard the proven message. This is that any person who does not use Deterjeron is putting their life at risk. We need to spread the proven message to every person in this country. We must show them the path to Cleanliness. We must follow the words of the good Lord himself, and help those who cannot help themselves”.
He stopped for a moment and smiled around the room before continuing. “Put these arguments together and you have it. Deterjeron equals Godliness through cleanliness. In short, we are selling a dream! We can change lives!”
Despite their tiredness and initial disinterest, the WAL audience suddenly discovered a euphoria within them and leapt to their feet, and started whooping and clapping. Humvat and Parvark sat in their seats, still uncertain of the meaning of the message being delivered. “Okay.” Valento continued, gesturing with his arms askance for everyone to sit down. “That’s enough of the theory for now. Let’s have a practical demonstration of the power of MindTone in action”.
He stepped up onto the stage and signalled to one of the females in the audience to come forward and up the temporary steps to join him. It was the girl they had been speaking to earlier in the diner.
“Okay now Janine, I’ll be a prospect and I want you to sell me some Deterjeron. Imagine you’re calling on me at my home and there’s a front door here”.
He marked the outline of a door in the air with a pointed finger.
“Knock on it and make the sale”.
Janine peered at the imaginary door and took a guess at where the door knocker should be. She rapped her hands on the knocker and creatively introduced some sound effects by shouting out “Knock knock!”
Valento stood motionless on the other side of the imaginary door, inspecting his fingernails.
“Knock knock!” said the door once again, but with a slight hesitancy this time.
“Go away!” he scowled. “There’s nobody here!”
Janine was momentarily taken aback, and for a second or two was unsure as to whether to carry on with her sales pitch here, or maybe find another imaginary door somewhere else to knock on. Wisely she decided to soldier on.
“Excuse me, sir.” she shouted through the imaginary door. “But I have an incredible product here called Deterjeron which I think you’ll be interested in seeing”.
Valento theatrically dropped his jaw and breathed a heavy sigh.
“Okay, okay. You got ten seconds.” he muttered, undid the imaginary locks and opened the imaginary door just enough to put his head around.
“What does it do?” he frowned.
Janine was trying not to get flustered. “Sir, this is the best cleaning solution available in the market today”.
“Don’t need any – I already got some.” and he went to close the door.
“But sir, you won’t have any of this product. It’s not on sale in the supermarkets and is only available through direct sales channels”.
“Yeah well, I already got something just like it and it does plenty good”.
“But sir, Deterjeron has been voted the best sanitary product in its class for the last three years running by the readers of Modern Detergents Monthly magazine”.
He opened the door slightly and poked his head around once again. The suspicion in his face turned into incredulity. “Hold on – did you say I can’t buy this stuff in any of the stores?”
“That’s correct sir. And because we don’t allow any stores to retail our product we can bring it to you at far more competitive prices then would otherwise be achievable”.
He harrumphed. “Well I don’t care - if it’s not good enough for the stores then it’s not good enough for me!”
He slammed the imaginary door in her face, leaving Janine alone on the imaginary doorstep, with an all too real deflation hanging around her and an unsold bottle of Deterjeron in her hand. She stuttered as she realised the show was over and she had been deemed a failure.
Valento turned on her with the spiteful fury of a scorned lover exacting a very public revenge.
“You See?!” he shouted at her as he simultaneously addressed the room. “You have demonstrated beyond any measure of doubt to all of us why you are such a Weak Assed Loser! You couldn’t get past my negativity because you don’t have enough positive MindTone of your own! You just stood there and took it and ended up looking plain stupid. You didn’t even have the wherewithal to demean yourself, telling me you’d do anything if only I’d make a purchase!”
He opened his arms in a circle around the room. “You have just lost the respect of each and every one of your peers in this room”.
The fact the room was full of Weak Assed Losers, each and every one of whom was currently mumbling a little prayer of thanks they hadn’t been selected to go up on the stage seemed to have passed him by for the moment.
Janine was attempting to retain some degree of dignity by remaining composed but the trembling hand, the biting of the lips and the welling in her eyes were conspiring to give her away.
“Get off the damned stage!” he snapped. “Go and sit back down, you worthless piece of shit”.
Humvat looked on, enraged by this shabby treatment, but he did nothing for he lacked both the temperament and the stupidity to intervene. She skulked back to her chair. Valento stood alone on the stage and pondered for a short while. Then he pointed towards her and clicked his fingers.
“Janine. Get back up here dammit, and stand where you were before”.
She wiped away a tear, hesitantly rose from her seat and stood back on the imaginary doorstep with her bottle of Deterjeron in her hand. It was obvious she would rather not be there, but the courage or the fortitude or the fury which would have provided her with the impetus to flee had deserted her. He strode over to her, took the bottle of Deterjeron away from her and beckoned her into the imaginary house.
“Now we’re going to swap roles and I’ll demonstrate to you how to use the power of MindTone thinking”.
He knocked on the door. “Knock, knock”.
Janine stood with her arms crossed, sulkily ignoring him. It was hard to tell if this was a case of role playing or not. He didn’t knock a second time. Instead he opened an imaginary window and shouted through it. “Helloo! Is anybody home?”
“What do you want? Go away!” scowled Janine in reply. Having weighed up her options between career and revenge, she determined that right now revenge was the needier. She was getting ready to g
ive him as hard a time as he’d given her.
“Hi ma’am.” he smiled. “My name is Tony Valento and I’m pleased to make your acquaintance”. He offered her a handshake.
She returned the handshake. “Janine Cutler.” she replied with a sullen politeness. “What do you want?”
“Well Janine,” he continued. “I’m here to offer you the opportunity to further enhance your sanitation and hygiene experience with the best product the market can offer”.
She interrupted him. “I already got some”. And she went to close the window.
“Not this one you haven’t, Janine, because we’ve been keeping it a secret”.
“Huh?”
“Listen, this product is so good it sells itself. You got any stains on the floor you haven’t been able to get rid of with your regular cleaner?”
Janine eyed him suspiciously. “Sure.” she said pointing half-heartedly towards an imaginary stain. “There’s this one here”.
“Okay, do you mind?” asked Valento, and without waiting he entered the imaginary room and sprayed the imaginary stain with some real Deterjeron. He pretended to wipe it away and looked at her.
“Well, what do you think of that? It’s just one reason why as soon as we get into a neighbourhood, word spreads like wildfire and pretty soon we’re all sold out”.
“Hmm.“ she stalled, unsure of an acceptable response. “Not bad”.
Valento continued with his unbroken smile. “Okay Janine, I can see you’re still not entirely convinced, so I'll tell you what I'm going to do. Seeing as we don’t have to worry about selling Deterjeron through retail outlets and the middleman putting his profit margin into the equation, my bosses have given me dispensation to offer the product to certain selected clients at a special rate. If you’d allow me, I‘d like to make you one of my three Gold Star Discount accounts. The bosses are confident you’ll pay us back a thousand fold with free advertising when you tell all your friends and family about how good Deterjeron is. And we’ll also give you a money back guarantee if you’re not satisfied with the product. How does that sound?”
“Wow, I’d have to be crazy to turn down an offer like this…”
“And I can tell you’re not crazy!” he beamed. “And I can also give you further reductions on bulk purchases”.
“Ok.” she replied in a mesmerised manner, completely forgetting her initial hostility. “Where do I sign and how much is it?”
“Well, you sign here,” he pointed to an imaginary form. “And I can let you have one gallon for twenty dollars or five gallons at eighty dollars”.
“I'll take five gallons then”. She signed the imaginary form, handed it over to him and shook hands on the deal. Then she froze momentarily as she realised something, “Hey, hold on. These prices aren’t discounted. They’re the normal prices we quote!”
He winked back. “A bargain at any price!”
With a suddenly graceful smile, he beckoned a bemused Janine back to her seat. There was a restrained applause of the respectful type given to accepted authorities, such as Nobel prize winners.
“You see?!” he bellowed in triumph. “You see how I unleashed my positive MindTone thinking to destroy all her negativity? I used it to control the conversation so it went where I wanted it to go. I demolished all of the negative objections before they’d been raised, so the prospect became more compliant. I used the psychology of making a personalised special offer and giving a reasonable and rational explanation for it, and turned a negative prospect into a closed deal”.
He flashed a wide grin which ran all the way up into his eyes.
“And if you have to bend the truth a little to get the sale, then remember. God forgives”.
He composed himself, clasped his hands together and said “And with that in mind, we’ll end today’s MindTone lesson. I’d like you all to join me in closing with a prayer to the Lord”.
Everyone awkwardly stood up again.
“Dear Lord,” he began. “Please help your people to realize they have a duty to both you and themselves to bring Deterjeron into their lives by employing it for their hygiene and sanitation needs. Please help them realize that cleanliness is next to Godliness, and Deterjeron is the best path towards cleanliness. Amen”.
A response of “Amen” resounded around the room.
Humvat was impressed by this masterful performance. Kinbus would have been impressed as well. When Valento was up there on the makeshift stage he possessed the commanding presence of a truly great actor, combined with all of the guile and gestures employed by a master magician. Getting the girl back on the stage appeared to be a risky strategy, for her hurt and shame could have driven the demonstration in any direction, but Valento picked her up by the scruff of her confusion and shuffled her with ease through his routine until she became a complicit ally, rather than a liability to his purpose. What a masterstroke. “I could learn great things from this man.” he thought, momentarily forgetting he was no longer at acting school.
Valento then ordered everyone to pair up and practise honing and implementing their MindTone techniques by repeating the exercise amongst themselves. The room soon vibrated to the resonance of the sound of “Knock knock!” followed by “I’m not home!”
Humvat and Parvark stood together like two unpopular classmates at the school disco, spurned by all the others for the last dance of the evening and disparagingly clinging onto one another through a sniffy grimace.
“Okay.” sighed Humvat. “I’ll be the customer and you be the salesman. Knock on the door”.
“Knock knock.” rapped Parvark.
“Go away! There’s nobody here!”
“Okay then. I’ll come back later when you’re at home”. Parvark turned around and made off back towards his seat.
“Hold on!” shouted Humvat. “I’m not sure you’ve grasped the point of this exercise”.
“Oh, I’m pretty sure I have.” muttered Parvark.
Valento and his lieutenants were pacing the floor, keeping a watchful eye on their young gladiators as they trained.
“Hey, you two!” snapped Sibowitz. “You gotta do all this in English. Ain’t nobody gonna understand your Jefferstown rap, y’hear?”
They both apologised in their best English. Neither of them was aware they had slipped into the refuge of their mother tongue as they grasped with this foreign concept of selling by the means of the MindTone method.
After what seemed like an aeon Valento called the meeting to a close and proceeded to take a register of attendees so he would know who to fine for not turning up. The register was taken at the end of the session rather than the beginning ever since Valento became aware some of the WALs were slipping out during the meetings. Nowadays they were slipping in, and he preferred it that way. Having called the names and received either responses or silence, he closed the book and informed everybody the next sales meeting would be in the morning at seven thirty. Humvat and Parvark were puzzled he hadn’t called their names out. They asked one of the crew members about this as they filed out of the room.
“I guess you’re not on the register yet.” he replied.
“So,” asked Parvark “I could miss meeting and no being fined?”
The crew member thought for a moment. “I guess so”.
Parvark felt like weeping.
Sibowitz stood in the dingy motel lobby. He searched through a list which was attached to a clipboard he was holding and approached them. “Hey, Humvat. You’re sleeping in room 224. Parvark, you’re in room 317. Get a good night’s sleep boys because you’ve got a big day ahead of you tomorrow”.
Humvat glanced at a clock on the wall. It was past eleven and he was exhausted. It was a nice gesture for Valento to have booked them a room each and he was already fantasising about lying spread out across the bed, lazily turning over to fill the empty spaces on the mattress. The two of them were trying to figure out how to get to their respective rooms when Janine appeared wi
th another female.
“Hi guys! Meet my friend Melissa.” she beamed, quite unlike someone who recently experienced the traumatic humiliation of a public mauling before the town inquisitor. “Listen,” she continued, “I know it’s late and it’s your first day but we’d like to take you up to our room for a short while”.
Humvat and Parvark’s flagging eyes sparked into life along with their hopes, and they followed the girls down various corridors. Janine opened her room door to reveal four couples already inside, each canvassing one another with “Knock knocks!” and “Go aways!” She grabbed Humvat by the hand and led him into the middle of the room. “I’m absolutely determined to practise my technique with you.” she smiled seductively. Humvat replied with the weakest of smiles, because he had a strong inkling what this technique involved.
It was nearly midnight by the time they managed to extricate themselves from the informal sales meeting, and they staggered out towards their rooms. Humvat eventually came across room 224 and opened the door. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness inside, he was startled by the scene which emerged before him. The room consisted of two double beds, each with a male occupant. A male and female lay entangled under some hastily assembled blankets on a mattress on the floor, while a radio sang in the corner of the room. They all looked to be teenagers. The male in the bed closest to the door woke up and blearily propped himself on his elbow and started to rub the sleep out of his eyes.
“I sorry,” apologised Humvat. “The man tell me to come to room 224 but it must be mistake”.
The male yawned, farted and rubbed his eyes again.
“No mistake man. There’s four to a room, except we got Laura as well which makes five”.
He pointed towards the couple lying on the floor. “You can either sleep with me or Mikey.” and he then pointed to the other bed.
Humvat's weary heart sank deeper with the heaviness of the decision, but both his mind and body were screaming out for rest so he decided he would sleep with Mikey, based solely on the premise that Mikey wasn’t farting. He went across to the radio and started to fumble with the control buttons.
“Don’t turn it off man!” hissed the male. “Laura can only sleep with the radio on. She’ll totally freak if you turn it off”.
Humvat sighed to himself, undressed as far as his underwear and got into bed. Mikey turned over in his sleep, dragging the bedcovers with him, and Humvat dragged them back. Thus commenced a battle which lasted all night, tussling for a rightful portion of the bedcovers as the radio played in the background.
It was almost nine in the evening on the Californian coast and the large red sun slipped below the horizon, while the full moon shone down from high in the sky. On the Santa Domingo beach the air was still apart from the sound of waves gently lapping upon the shore. Heather Surning sat at her regular spot amidst the shadows of the ancient palm with the odd green sprig protruding from its bough. She was finishing up the next edition of her newspaper column, typing the contents into her laptop. She stopped, lit a joint and reviewed the words on the screen.
“We, the people of the American NeoEmpire” she read to herself, “Are the richest race the world has ever known. We take for granted material possessions other people can only dream of. Be it your spacious house with a bathroom attached to every bedroom, the kitchen with space age appliances, the televisions in each room, the swimming pool in your back yard, the hot tub next to it, the cars you drive, the cars your kids drive, the computers, the cell phones and so on. Let’s face it. We’ve never had it so good“.
“But wait a second. How many of these goods are actually made in America anymore? The answer is hardly any. So if that’s the case then just who is producing them? Well, the answer is most of them are nowadays being made in Asia, and most of these are made in China, and this sets a kind of a conundrum. If the Chinese people are producing all these goods which are paid for by American dollars, how does the situation play out where billions of dollars are leaving the pockets of American workers and finding their way into the pockets of Chinese factory owners? The disturbing conclusion is it doesn’t. What happens is the Chinese government lends our government the money to buy their goods. Then, when we’ve used our credit up, they lend us more money to cover the money they originally lent us, so we can buy more goods”.
“The actions of the American government are the same as somebody who has a raft of credit cards and attempts to juggle them, using one card to pay the other off each month. And we all know what happens to people who follow this path; they end up bankrupt”.
“And this is exactly what our government is doing to us. It is impossible to measure our national debt accurately because it is growing so fast, by a rate of around $1,000,000,000,000 per year. And that’s just the annual interest on what we’ve borrowed, not the total amount we owe. This currently stands at more than $50,000 for each and every man, woman and child in the country, so the average family of two adults and two children is indebted to the tune of some $200,000. As a nation we are spending 5 times more than we earn, and in the meantime we are still being encouraged to spend more. Just like any struggling company that the bank calls time on, America faces financial collapse at any moment, at the behest of its creditors”.
“You may ask why on earth is this situation being allowed to continue? Well, the answer is simple. American corporations have financial interests in China. They don’t care where their income is generated so long as it gets generated. And the reason for that is also straight forward. A modern demand of capitalism and investors is that making an annual profit is no longer good enough. Companies must be seen to grow every year and senior management receive an annual bonus which is based upon meeting annual targets. So long as they hit this year’s target they simply don’t care about what happens next year, let alone what happens for the next generation of Americans. Because we have no sense of history, we have no sense of the future”.
“Now think back to all those material possessions we take for granted. Do we really need such spacious houses with a bathroom off every bedroom? Kitchen appliances that rarely get used? TV sets which are switched on with nobody watching them? The swimming pool you cannot use for much of the year? Cars for him, her and the kids? Computers which are obsolete by the time you take them home and unpack them? Spare cell phones?”
“As recently as thirty years ago America was content to produce more than we needed and export the surplus, and back then we really were the greatest economic power in history. But the legacy, the inheritance of this grand achievement has now been all but frittered away and the American dream is in grave danger of becoming the American pipedream. Unless we are prepared to spend a great deal less money, certainly no more than we earn, and accept a lower lifestyle we will eventually go down in history as the first empire that literally spent its way into oblivion”.
She smiled proudly to herself. Having made the initial decision to start creating solutions, and then deciding to save ordinary Americans from Corporations, she was now going to save America from itself. She really was creating solutions now. She gathered her belongings together and set off back down the beach, towards the car park and the track that led to the road. She was now so familiar with this journey she no longer needed daylight to guide her.
Chapter Eleven
Don't Toss A Dead Dingo, Mate