by Ryan Hyatt
“You’re priceless,” Joe G. said, squirming in his seat. “I think if this is to work, though, it’ll be best if you disembark from the trunk.”
“Excuse me?” Chuck said.
The CEO of Unitus Productions popped the back seat with his elbow, and it folded down. Siza put down her video game.
“You can’t be serious,” Chuck said, but for once he knew without a doubt his old friend was.
“Don’t forget your sunglasses,” Joe G. said, and he removed his and handed them to Chuck. “You’ll love them. They’re Radicals.”
“Wait, what?” Chuck said. “Did you say they’re radical?”
“They sure are.”
Chuck donned the Radicals just as Siza blew him a kiss and kicked his rear. Out the trunk he went.
CHAPTER 4
Emerging from the trunk was a little like any moment Chuck Shaw woke. All he saw was darkness. Then came the flashing lights, the faces and the products – always the damn products.
Chuck’s unconventional entry into the Exponential proved to be an effective publicity ploy. Standing tall in his white suit and bizarre bifocals, he waved to the throng of techno geeks before him, a middle-aged salesman resembling a space-age auctioneer just shat from the back of a Cadillac starship.
Chuck approached the stage of the main auditorium among pointing cameras and microphones with a furiously fluttering voice and the unpredictable motions of a schizophrenic. The hundreds preparing to sit, watch and listen to the guest speaker might have assumed his odd behavior was his way of expressing anxious enthusiasm for his looming exhibition. Rumors were abuzz that the fairly-known tech blogger was to reveal new marketing technology likely to revolutionize sales techniques that eventually might help set straight the floundering economy. The man they saw before them could hardly contain himself, walking up and down the front row aisles, engaging small crowds, gauging his converts-to-be with his Radicals, rattling off through voice modification-techniques and contradictory movements a litany of buys best suited to these individuals’ backgrounds.
Little did those present know Chuck’s fluctuating tone and wild gesticulations were the result of him trying to master his panic and paranoia, for none but he beheld the world through such bewildering shades of augmented reality. Most of what Chuck saw was beamed to his lenses, brand names and prices clouding his vision, superimposed over every person in the auditorium. The information was transmitted and adjusted based on the movements of his appendages and digits, as well as voice commands and inflections, corresponding to items added and removed from his field of vision.
Chuck waved his hands, sometimes warding, sometimes seizing the influx of blinking icons, bytes and bits demanding his attention. Over the course of his frenetic excitement, he learned how to manage the information displayed before him. Through the motion of his hands before his lenses, he realized how to control and decipher, filter and organize all that was presented to him though this cyberspace overlay, not much different than the way one shuffled the files and icons found on a computer desktop.
The lights in the auditorium dimmed, the audience settled, quieted and observed as a lone spotlight shined on the peculiar but prescient tech hawker.
“Having trouble communicating your sales message to an English-speaking audience?” Chuck said to a coughing, corpulent Asian man stuffed in yellow plaid who stood next to him in the front row. “First, you’ll need to get rid of that cold, preferably with Tap-A-Flu, available online or at a physical pharmacy near you! Made from natural ingredients, it’s a better remedy than most of the artificial, chemically-concocted crap for sale out there nowadays, and to give you a touch of home, you’ll be delighted to know this therapeutic formula is based on compounds long used in Chinese herbal medicine! While you’re shopping, might I suggest you indulge your self-esteem and improve your body image for an American market by losing fifty pounds with the Little Man Lapbelt? It has a safer design and material than anything the competition has to offer and it’s ready for purchase for only one hundred dollars through most real and virtual retailers! Once you’ve returned to your ideal size of a sixteen-inch collar, thirty-four-inch waist and thirty-two-inch pant length, you’ll be ready to ditch your duds and strut your stuff right out of a Barrydale’s Fashion Co-Op wearing a newly-used, silver-sexy Armani suit. Lucky you, it’s on sale for half price now!”
Chuck leaned in on the man’s shoulder, amazed himself how easy it was to sell a variety of products catered to a customer by simply following the prompts and explanations provided by the Radicals.
“With small changes like this, the ladies at least will be more receptive to your sales message,” he said. “However, if after following my suggestions you’re still having trouble getting your point across, might I offer a Cadmium Jugular 3 Voice Cutter, non-intrusive and non-abrasive, available through Radio Hut? They fit nicely around the neck, come in many different skin tones, and judging by the hundreds of reviews, are proven to be great for any translation needs!”
There was a round of applause. Chuck clasped the Asian man on the back, and his face flushed red as he was seated.
Chuck turned to a darkly-clad female seated next to him. The woman stood and prepared to speak, but Chuck gently wrapped his arm around her waist, stared into her eyes and placed his hand on her lips.
“Shush,” he said, and he waited for the murmurs of the audience to subside before he continued.
The retinal scan provided by the Radicals identified the woman through an American immigration services database from her flight into San Francisco International Airport that morning, which then cross-referenced information about her from her native country of France, including the town whereshe was born, the names of her relatives, her current address, the climate there, as well as health information extrapolated from her government’s medical records and consumer demographic data drawn from credit reports, retailers she frequents, even a discount membership card from her local grocery store that tallied details about her food purchases.
All of it Chuck was instantly able to access and use against her, for sales purposes, by a variety of prompts that appeared over her image. The series of product placements first covered her face, and then they quickly populated the entirety of her body.
To keep his sales pitch effective, this time Chuck didn’t bother mentioning the laundry list of ‘green’ makeup, clothes and home improvement items the Radicals suggested he offer. Instead, he tried a back-door approach and demonstrated the power of his knowledge with the hope it led to one solid, honest sale.
“Your name is Rene Mellefont,” Chuck said. “You’re a senior sales professional for C-Tran’s automotive services division, is that correct?”
“Yes,” Mellefont said.
“You are five feet, three inches tall, without heels, but I won’t name your age or weight because you’re female and French and I do not want to come off as some rude American asshole.”
“Okay, thank you,” said Mellefont, blushing, and members of the audience laughed.
“So, you have a four-bedroom house in the town of Mount Blanc, where you were born and have lived most of your life, except when you went away to Paris for college, where you graduated with a business degree from the Sorbonne,” Shaw said. “You live with your 11-year-old son, Jaques, and daughter, Maria, who are fraternal twins through in vitro fertilization. You are single and have never been married, something you regret, as you wish your children had a father, which has been listed among the reasons you take the anti-anxiety medicine Paxil that was prescribed for you three years ago. You also have two Siamese cats, one named Bebe, the other Bobo, both of which are registered with your local pet agency.”
“Wow,” said Mellefont, and Chuck again pressed his fingers to her lips.
“Here’s the really ‘wow’ part, ma’am,” he said. “You don’t own a dog, although your children want one, as evidenced by the leash they bought on your credit card and was cited in an inspector’s report as cau
se for a fire that started in your home over the chimney mantel, where they left the leash dangling for you to notice last Christmas Eve. The damage to your house was paid on an insurance policy which subsequently has increased your rates and has been a source of some discomfort, based on the multiple calls you’ve logged into your sales agent.”
Chuck removed the Radicals, and for a moment he stared at Mellefont through unaugmented eyes.
“So, Ms. Mellefont, after everything I just told you, don’t you think it’s time you give in to your kids’ wishes and let them have that dog they so badly want?” he said. “It’s literally not an issue worth losing your home over, and I’m sure these sunglasses could help me name a few breeds that would work well for you and your family.”
There was laughter and a round of applause.
And the show went on.
And on.
To the crowd, Chuck had become a high priest of high-end wares presenting the latest gospel of mass-produced goods and services, and the crowd was entranced. Chuck spoke for half an hour and became visibly exhausted, panting and sweating. Joe G., seated in the back of the auditorium, waited until Chuck finished reading a Brazilian businessman, and then he strutted to his partner at the front stage and handed him a bottle of water.
“Okay, folks, let’s hear it for my man, Mr. Shaw!” Joe G. said, and there was a final round of applause and standing ovation as the two men embraced.
Chuck removed the Radicals and handed them to Joe G., and then he drank the water provided him.
“I brought Chuck here today to demonstrate for you what we can expect from the next generation of American salespeople,” Joe G. said. “You see, folks, we need to give the public credit. They want what we have to offer. They just don’t know the full scope of what we have to offer yet, and it’s our job to show it to them.”
There was a round of applause, and then one of the nation’s most celebrated entrepreneurs continued to explain his plan for the Radicals.
“Now we have a way of successfully selling to individuals directly, a method which you’ve just seen for yourself that is quite convincing,” Joe G. said, waving his sunglasses. “They say the eyes are the gateway to the soul, but I’m telling you that these Radicals are the gateway to the world’s newest financial frontier. There’s no trickery here, just a great way of reading what people want and providing it for them at the lowest cost. Thanks to this new sales system, we will make that huddled mass out there yearning for freedom from their worries into believers again…we will make them buyers again, buyers into the American Dream. And we’ll do it responsibly, I promise, through company-issued credit cards, layaway plans, work-for-purchase programs, you name it, whatever it takes to make billions of potential customers on this planet happy and satisfied with our service. If you’re ready to be part of the next level of aggressive sales techniques for these tough economic times, then sponsor my man Chuck on the road and watch him make your numbers soar! We’ll get the public where it counts, folks, in their pocketbooks! I will televise Chuck’s successes in a new traveling roadshow as we sell your wares and you watch from the comfort of home while we reap your company profits. What do you say, ladies and gentlemen? Who’s ready for the next level of marketing?
A rush of hands flew into the air, which quickly prompted a bidding war to bring as much money and resources as possible for Joe G.’s latest business proposal. By the end of the day, a major deal was in the works, the details of which soon were divulged to the public.
Chuck was to be ushered forth on a sales tour in the dead of winter to rally his poor countrymen in the nation’s frozen interior on a noble quest to buy a bunch of stuff he was to convince them they wanted and needed and instill in them feelings of warmth, patriotism and hope in their place on the hierarchy of America’s ever-evolving social spectrum. For this effort, Chuck was to be allotted a new electric-powered bus made by Generic Motors, a subsidiary of Rocket & Gamble, the show’s sponsor, filled with the latest eco-friendly gizmos, clothes and accessories. Even the food was to be provided through a new line of organic edibles donated by the Graft Food Company.
In sum, Chuck was informed that he must sell $10 million worth of goods and services during his voyage across America’s heartland, a saga to be chronicled during the worst year of the Greatest Depression and shared with as wide an audience as possible over the Telenet. If Chuck managed to sell all the goods and services by the time his journey ended in Times Square, New York City, the sponsoring companies were to award him a check for $10 million. If he failed, he was not to be paid a penny.
CHAPTER 5
Chuck couldn’t believe it. He had a pounding headache from the Radicals and his voice was shot from talking so much, and he had a harder time than usual speaking up for himself after the expo.
“I just…I just…I just,” he said, over and over again, in his own mind sounding like the supposedly smart dicta-app on his phone he used and that sometimes glitched as he tried to post a tech review into an online catalog.
Although Chuck’s head felt like it was being visited by a demolition crew, it was still impossible for him not to get swept up in Joe G.’s enthusiasm. All around them, people clapped and waved as they exited the Exponential. The limo pulled up to the VIP departure point, but this time Chuck wasn’t allocated to the trunk. He walked out the front door of the auditorium with Joe G. and Siza and down the green carpet, into a comfortable seat, side by side with his employer.
The crowd that besieged them was bigger than it was when the trio arrived. People jockeyed for position, begging for Chuck’s autograph, asking him questions. The lights and microphones and steady stream of faces with their demands seemed endless. Security, in black suits, had a difficult time containing the exuberant crowd.
All the while Joe G. and Siza, with Dali in hand, nodded and waved and enjoyed the hysteria Chuck’s exhibition created.
“I just…I just…I just,” Chuck said, and Joe G. shoved him into the limo.
Once inside, with the doors closed and windows sealed, a bigger discussion ensued.
“You just…what?” Siza said, popping open a bottle of champagne and pouring it down Chuck’s throat. “You just…need a drink?”
Joe G. laughed, and he took the bottle when Chuck finished his gulp.
“No more cheap wine for you, my friend,” he said. “From now on it’s only the deepest, driest, richest bubbly money can buy.”
The champagne cleared Chuck’s throat satisfactorily, and it already lightened his head.
“I just…have a few questions,” he said.
“The man’s going to live the rest of his days in a castle in Scotland or an island in the Bahamas or on top of the Great Pyramid, wherever he wants, and he’s telling me he has a few questions,” Joe G. said. “Gotta love it.”
“I guess,” Siza said, and she grabbed the champagne and took a swig, already on the phone with friends.
“I agree,” Joe G. said, also already talking to someone on the phone. “My man really knows how to rile a crowd, doesn’t he? Just think what he’ll be like on the road! That’s right, a traveling roadshow! Huh, what? You’re not sure you liked the ‘green’ talk? Well, don’t sweat it, Dave, because the investors did. Yes, yes. Of course. I agree. It’s time to assemble the team.”
Joe G. disconnected.
“That was an executive from Rocket & Gamble,” he said to Chuck. “He enjoyed today’s performance. He and his associates are anxious to see the rest. Aren’t we all?”
Chuck took the bottle of bubbly from Siza, and he started to chug it.
“There’s the two-buck Chuck I remember and admire!” Joe G. said. “Bottoms up, pal!”
“I have questions,” Chuck said, handing his employer the empty bottle, having his attention at last.
“Me, too,” Joe G. said. “Like, how did you come up with that tear-jerk tactic with the French lady?”
“Psychology 101,” Chuck said. “Also, she reminded me of a character from a c
hildren’s book.”
“I should have known!” Joe G. said, and his grin revealed every one of his pearly whites.
“I have questions,” Chuck said, not willing to be deterred by his employer’s charm.
“Okay,” Joe G. said. “Fine, I get it. You have questions. I’m listening.”
“You told me I’d be walking away from today’s engagement ready for retirement.”
“I told you you’d be walking away from today’s engagement ready for retirement in a year, and if you play ball, you will.”
“You never mentioned there was even a remote possibility I might not make any money at all.”
“Buck up, pal,” Joe G. said. “You already downed a bottle of the best champagne I have around. What else to you want from me?”
“Assurances,” Chuck said. “I left publishing because I couldn’t stand deferred payments. I don’t work on commission or royalties or anything like that anymore. I need a paycheck yesterday, not in a year from now.”
“This is capitalism,” Joe G. said, lips pursed. “There are no guarantees, only calculated risks.”
“Listen,” Chuck said, leaning forward. “You’re the capitalist, you take the calculated risks. I’m the wage slave. I need an hourly rate…”
It might have been sufficient for Chuck to stop talking at that point, but he spent several minutes ranting about the hypocrisy of sustainable growth and other pie-in-the-sky ideas Joe G. and his Eco-Socialist friends loved to espouse at their cocktail parties, but Chuck’s voice was so diminished from the expo, it sounded more like whining, and it fell on deaf ears.
Finally, Chuck finished talking, and he fell back in his seat in tears. He missed home and his daughter’s smile. Joe G. patted his coat pocket, retrieved the Radicals, and wore them briefly, perhaps to make sure they weren’t broken.
“Okay, buddy,” he said, pocketing the sunglasses once again. He proceeded into the doublespeak of one whose meteoric career rise was based, in part, on carefully crafted rhetoric. For unlike Chuck, who never attended college, Joe G. had degrees in marketing and media, and he actually took psychology courses.
