The quickest way to develop a hatred of humanity was to work in sales. No matter how much you liked people at the beginning, within a week, resentment crept in, and after a month, you wanted to run away to an uninhabited planet.
He used to think working as an apprentice chef was thankless work. It was hot, it was busy, and the hours were long. People complained; they had to wait too long, their beans were overcooked, the dish that they'd requested by altered to suit their taste didn't actually have any taste. Furthermore, senior chefs were inclined to be grumpy pricks, and he'd been blasted more than once for something that was entirely beyond his control.
On the other hand, at least people generally enjoyed eating out. They'd stick their head in the kitchen to thank the chef, or just pass along their appreciation via the wait staff. He also got a free dinner at most of the places he'd worked at, and it made a nice change from the Eastern European fare he received at home.
The best place he worked at offered fantastically cheap cocktails on Thursday nights. This led to women drinking a lot, and, in turn, Val getting offered a lot of sex. He was twenty years old and happy to screw anyone who offered up their pussy.
It all ended when some stupid woman accused him of stealing her purse after they'd had sex. He hadn't, of course, and fuck knows what she'd done with her purse, but it pissed him off, and he quit in a huff. He told the boss he was sick of the hours and the low pay and, in a way, this was true, but it was more hurt pride.
His parents were angry, and after a month, his father found a job for him in Emerald. It was the midst of the mining boom and rather than do the sensible thing and earn a shitload of cash working in a mine, he instead found himself selling heavy machinery.
His job was at a machinery salesyard that catered primarily to miners, but also picked up a decent amount of money selling farming equipment. The managers wanted someone who would deal with what they saw as bothersome tight-arses - farmers - while they sold to the big boys, the mining folks with deep pockets. Val was so wet behind the ears that he couldn't recognise one type of machinery from another, but that didn't earn him any sympathy. He was given a month to prove his worth.
It sucked, but pride prevented him from entertaining the idea of failure. He learned the differences between Mahendra and John Deere machinery. He got the appropriate tickets and licenses, so he could actually demonstrate tractors and combine harvesters. He treated everyone like a big shot. In short, he did so well at his new job that the boss decided the job must be a cinch, and would therefore be the perfect for his completely useless middle son. Val got the boot, moved back to Toowoomba, and started selling earthmoving equipment.
Fifteen years later, he knew he was going to be doing this until he died. It was a horrifying thought. Another thirty years of bargaining, arguing, smiling and fighting with a client to see how badly they could each screw each over.
He'd tried to enter a new industry, but no one had been willing to take him on. Most employers didn't understand why he would want to leave a career he was actually quite successful at. People responded to Val. In a world full of shiny, preened salespeople, he was a real man. He could make conversation. He could lead people to believe he genuinely cared. He had no issues taking big clients out to strip clubs and letting them drink themselves under the table.
Also working against him was his depression. When it hit - and it was hitting now - he would fail to show up for work for days at a time. He wouldn't answer calls. He wouldn't do anything but lay on the couch, get stoned, and wish he was dead.
He couldn't go to work today. He just couldn't. Everything seemed so hard and pointless. He'd thought the weekend with Aimee had gone well. Certainly, she'd seemed happy enough. She'd even lined up another date for the coming weekend. But last night, Thursday night, she'd pulled out, using the excuse that her son was having a bad week and she wanted to spend some time with him.
Val may not have ever lived with his daughter, but it seemed implausible. It was undoubtedly nothing more than a polite 'fuck off, I'm found someone better' text. Rejection always cut deep, more so when the rejection was of him as a person, and he actually liked the person who was rejecting him.
Not one of his partners had ever loved him. It was a fact that he was acutely aware of, and one he found particularly disturbing. He stood in the kitchen and stared at two of his cats as they played a game of rough and tumble together. They left a trail of fur behind them. The weather was warming up and they were shedding their winter coats.
Was this what was wrong with him? The cats? Samara had certainly been quick to remove that from his dating profile. She'd also removed any references to his nationality, his religion, and the fact that he was seeking a wife. He wanted to find someone to love, get married and have a kid. Who would have thought it would be so fucking hard?
His work phone rang. He glanced at it, and immediately recognised the number. It was his boss, probably wanting to bitch to him about the other sales staff.
'Hey mate,' Val said, answering the phone with the swipe of a finger, and putting Gavin on loudspeaker.
'Val, you would not fucking believe who I just ran into. Fucking Linda Camberwell! Mate, that bird is still looking fucking good these days. I'd give that meat sandwich of hers a good pounding...'
Val rolled his eyes and switched on the kettle while his employer launched into a diatribe about all the sexual antics he'd like to engage in with Linda. He opened a jar of Nescafe and tipped two teaspoons of coffee into a mug. The kettle boiled. Gavin continued to talk about Linda's tits while Valery stirred.
'...better than to cream pie that bitch. Anyway, the reason I was calling,' Gavin said, finally getting to the crux of the matter. 'Fucking Steve was supposed to go to the goddamn show today, but the muppet rang me half an hour ago claiming his wife's in labour. Well, fuck that, I said, it's the first kid, just take her to hospital and go by tonight. She'll still be going, and if she isn't, well, fuck that, who needs to see that shit show of blood and gore?'
Val poured milk into his coffee. 'So what you're saying is that you need me to go to the show and take his place?'
'Yeah mate, that'd be ace.'
Val sighed. He didn't want to go to the office, let alone to a conference. Fucking Steven. 'Sure,' he agreed reluctantly. 'Send me the details. I'll be there in half an hour.'
The score was depression = 0, Gavin = 1. Val finished his coffee, read the instructions Gavin had sent through, and changed into a newer, less faded, work uniform, before heading off.
Val had learned that the key to surviving conferences was to network during the day, and drink heavily during the social functions.
He was sticking to this plan when, at the post convention drinks, he came face to face with Linda. Fuck. What was she doing here? Maybe that's what Gavin had mentioned her for this morning - to give him the heads up that she'd be dropping by. He probably should have paid more attention to his boss's sexist ramblings.
Linda smiled sweetly and asked him how he was doing.
'Fine,' he replied shortly.
Val had met Linda when he was twenty-seven and she was forty-two. They'd met at a meet-up for people with sexual interests left of centre. Word had it that she was a bit of a cougar, and word was correct.
She'd taken him home that night and fucked him senseless. She must have liked him, because she called him up the following week, and suggested he invite her to dinner. She even told him where she wanted to go.
It was just a bad coincidence that Linda worked for a chemical company in an executive role, and he worked for machinery one in a sales one. Both of them made regular appearances at farming conventions and the like. Their professional lives couldn't help but converge. In fact, she'd later admitted she'd recognised him from a conference they'd both attended, and that was what had initially led her to bed him. She'd wanted to know what his kinks were.
There was no hiding what was going on between them, either in their own private group, or in their work lives. The industry watched in interest as the two first dated, then cohabited. He moved to Sydney for her, and when she took on a new role at a new company, they headed back to Brisbane. His career suffered. Hers flourished.