Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Lowered Expectations : Part III



Hello, Gentle Reader. Welcome to Part III of "Lowered Expectations" wherein young Master David learns more than he cares to know about his new overseer and a mere pittance about the immediate task at hand. Return with us now to that Dickensian warehouse back in 1994...

(And for the love of Ashley Dupre
if you haven't read the first two parts go back and read them first or this is gonna make even less sense than normal).

"This is Lucinda," Mike panted, the back of his hand trying to wipe away the hot pink lipstick that gave him the appearance of a prepubescent clown.

His "old woman" (winner, as I recall, of the MTV "Most Literal Ironic Reference Award" for 1994) looked vaguely dazed and ignored the condition of her own makeup.

I was unwilling to get close enough to test my hypothesis but I surmised that Lucinda smelled like a combination of "White Shoulders" perfume and beached haddock. She looked more oblivious than the trainees, as if she'd been fired from her job as a professional barfly and had been abducted by this roving band of misfits in some sort of marketing-themed Stockholm syndrome.

This line of reasoning finally brought me back to reality. A logical question finally muscled through a crowd of jumbled thoughts to stand at the forefront, jumping up and down and waving enough to land imaginary aircraft.

"Uh, what do we actually...market," I heard myself ask.

Mike was about to launch into his own personal tale of true love but now turned to regard me with contempt for having the audacity to ask about what I was actually doing there. I was starting to get the distinct impression that he was being less than forthcoming about the nature of the business. After taking another decadent drag on Lucinda's face he physically turned her around and gave her a gentle push back into the crowd.

"Talk to you later, babe," he said and then waved to her which she promptly failed to notice.

"I'll see you at three!" he shouted through cupped hands.

He turned to me and smiled, touching the cigarette package in his pocket again like it was a piece of Cross.

"See, man, that's another great thing about this job. You don't have to work a stiff eight hour day like a sucker."

He took me over to a spot in the warehouse where a massive green duffel bag sat waiting for him. With a Herculean effort he managed to lug it back into the middle of the room where the group was beginning to coalesce.

"Hey, do you have bus fare?" he demanded abruptly.

I was so busy seeking solidarity in the faces of the other new hires that I didn't hear.

"Oh, I'm sorry. What did you say?"

Mike sighed heavily, clearly pained by the prospects of being saddled with a helpless noob.

"Do you have a buck thirty for the bus?"

I obediently turned my pockets inside out.

"Uh, yeah, I think so..."

Mike's reply was cut short by the clarion shriek of the once-innocuous secretary. Her banshee cry instantly neutered any peripheral conversation.

"Alright, people! We got a nice day out there weather-wise and we're coming through with some good stuff this week so I expect a lot of good news by the end of the day. Come up here for your assignments and get out there and do it!"

I stood there slack-jawed. The once-pretty, amicable secretary had morphed into "Ilsa, She-Wolf of the S.S." right before my eyes. Mike got in line with the rest of the veterans and soon returned looking almost relieved.

"We pulled a good one, man!" he enthused. "Wyse Road, right across the bridge in Dartmouth."

"That's...good?" I asked.

"Sure, man. There's plenty of businesses right there just as soon as you get off the bus. People are generally pretty civil there as well..."

Now fully transformed by a lycanthropic curse of greed "Ilsa" produced a portable stereo and jabbed the "PLAY" button. At once, the warehouse was filled with the haunting strains of John Parr's excremental "Man in Motion" at a Spinal-Tappian level of volume.

"Alright people!" she screamed, "You all got your assignments. Now get out there and kick some ass!"

The "Marketeer Club" suddenly joined together, linked hands and spontaneously cheered. The rest of the newbies stood back a healthy distance, exchanging worried glances and trying to look for an obvious exit that didn't involve trying to sneak by the scary blond warden.

CONTINUED IN PART IV...where it is revealed to young master David the nature of what is to be marketed and of nearly equal import: how this is to be done. Join us in under twenty-four hours for the next thrilling installment of "Lowered Expectations" on "You Can't Get There From Here" theater.

EPIC: *WARNING* Not work appropriate! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M06e3PvPEmQ

FAIL: http://www.spike.com/video/john-parr-st-elmos/2789596



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