“I’m going to be straight with you,” says Pat Burridge as he leans back into the leather chair on the other side of the desk. “I didn’t get to run this company by smothering someone’s arse with my face.”
“Absolutely not,” I say, crossing my legs so that I look relaxed yet serious.
“Look at this face,” says Pat Burridge, placing a chubby finger on his chin. “Does this look like the kind of face that would be found associating itself with someone’s arse?”
“Absolutely not,” I say. His whole face resembles an arse.
“This is the kind of face that steps on arses, not smothers them.”
Pat Burridge lets his fingers slide down the knot of his tie.
“So you want to come and work here at Chariot.”
“Absolutely,” I say.
“Ever done sales before?”
“Never.”
Pat Burridge says nothing for a few moments. Instead he strums his fingers on the desk. Then he stands up and walks to the window which overlooks a railway line.
“I’m going to be straight with you,” he says. “I make a shitload of money.”
“Great,” I say.
“It’s a lot of hard work going out into the field every day. You’ve got to be tough, a fighter. Bend people over and screw the cash out of them.” He turns from the window. “Do you think you’re up to it?”
“Absolutley,” I say, although I’m fairly certain I’m actually not.
“You’ll be taking a lot of crap and a lot of rejection. A lot of people can’t take a lot of crap and rejection. What about you?”
“Oh, I think you’ll find that I take rejection on the chin and eat crap for breakfast.”
“I like your style,” says pat Burridge. “But I don’t like your shoes.”
He walks over and stamps one of his feet onto the desk.
“Feel that,” he says.
I slowly lean forward and touch the black leather with the tip of my finger.
“Impressed?” he says.
“I’m speechless,” I say, making sure my face stays beyond the orbit of his arse.
“I thought you would be,” grins Pat Burridge with self satisfaction. “I had them hand built five years ago and they’re as good as new. Do you know that if a herd of buffalo on ecstasy came charging through this office and stamped all over our heads and balls, my feet would be the only part of you and I to survive because of these shoes?”
“That’s dazzling.”
“It’s like I’m wearing a pair of tanks.”
Pat Burridge slides his tank off the desk and sits back down.
“This business,” he says as he runs a hand through his hair, ” is all about manipulation. We are manipulated twenty four hours a day through visuals, soundtracks and stinks. They make us remember things and create impulses within us to buy what we don’t have. With me?”
“I am indeed.”
“Only the other day I was in a gents standing at the urinal sandwiched inbetween two men with massive wangers – and I’m no Snickers Funsize – and it immediately reminded me of that Paul McCartney song.”
” ‘We All Stand Together’?”
“No, ‘Jet’. The point is I immediately found myself running to buy All The Best! Impulse is a mystical product of the unknown…”
Pat Burridge hums to himself for a few seconds then looks me in the eye.
“Now, let’s talk about the salary.”
“Great.”
“There isn’t one.”
“I’m sorry?”
“This is a commission only business. How much you earn depends on how much you sell. That’s why all of our field people have such a high level of motivation.”
“I thought the ad said ‘40,000+OTE’?”
“That is correct; forty thousand pounds On Target Earnings.”
“‘OTE’ stands for ‘On Target Earnings’?”
“Well of course it does. What did you think it stood for?”
“‘Own Transport Essential’.”
Pat Burridge guffaws into the air for an unflattering length of time. “This is a business-to-business operstion; having your own transport is far from essential.”
“I see,” I say, feeling very foolish, especially seeing as I don’t even own a car anyway.
Pat Burridge leans forward, “Still interested?”
I know I’m going to regret this.
“Yes,” I say, “I’m still interested.”
“Top tits,” says Pat Burridge as he springs to his feet. he stretches a hand across the formica. “Lenny, our administrator, will set up an observation day for you.”
I stand up and we shake hands; it’s like grabbing hold of warm plasticine.
