'
Troubles come not as single spies but in battalions'
.
I read that somewhere but had forgotten about it until I lost my job at the car dealership. I hadn't worked there long enough to qualify for a severance package so I was already on the back foot when my boyfriend, Brandon, told me I was 'suffocating' him and he walked out (but not before he emptied our joint savings account and posted nude photos of me on a revenge-porn site.)
It was about then that my car had to go into the shop, the sink backed up and flooded the apartment which left me broke and living with mouldy carpets.
There's some cliché about 'when life hands you lemons make lemonade' but that's bullshit, the best you can hope for is a break before life kicks you in the teeth again.
The employment centre was a bust; part-time hamburger flippers or waitressing on minimum wage was all they had to offer but Stuart & Sons (suppliers of fine linen to the hospitality sector) were hiring, apparently all you needed was a car, a clean licence and 'some experience in sales'. Selling Girl Scout Cookies probably didn't count so I brought up my resumé on the computer to see if I could massage my profile without it being too obvious.
At the dealership I'd been a Clerical Assistant in the Sales Department; thoughtfully I deleted the words 'Clerical' and substituted 'Team' for 'Department' and it read much better.
I filled in the application form, attached my resumé and sent it in. About a week later and slightly to my surprise I was invited to go along for an interview. On the day I dressed in my best outfit, not too much make-up, sensible shoes and spent 20 minutes practicing my 'interested and intelligent' expression in the mirror but all I saw was 'confused and desperate'. I sighed and critically examined my reflection; twenty-four, good skin and nice hair (which needed cutting). Attractive in the 'girl-next-door' category but hardly Miss World material, 5' 6" with a good body and excellent teeth but that was about the end of it. Damn, I needed this job, it was either Stuart & Sons or I'd be selling that 'good body' around the bus depot, it was only later I realised that working for SS came down to the same thing.
Peggy-Jo, the office manager and a motherly lady in her sixties interviewed me, I don't think she believed a word of my resumé but must have taken pity on me because I was actually offered the job. She gave me the standard 'welcome aboard' speech and a tour of the building whilst explaining what to expect, she had been a rep herself and had no illusions about what the job entailed.
"You'll be selling to anyone who needs linen and you have to have an edge" she explained "something that makes the clients want to put their business with you". We had stopped in front of the 'Employee of the Month' board where a photo of a young blonde girl with a big bust in a tight sweater, was on display. "Charlene" said Peggy-Jo with a sigh "doesn't have an edge, she has a peak, more precisely two of them" she looked at my more modest endowment. "They do say size doesn't matter, it's what you do with it that counts. You might want to think about that."
Peggy-Jo then showed me a map of my 'patch', it was a big one, which may sound like a positive but it's not, it means your 'marks' are further apart and it takes more time to get from one appointment to the next. Time is important, the basic salary is lousy, to eat you have to earn commission on sales and fewer appointments means fewer sales which means... well, you get the idea.
Peggy-Jo pointed to a hotel on the map. "There's one good thing about your patch, you're going to meet Sally at the Sanctuary" I must have looked blank "It's a hotel that caters exclusively for women" she went on "it was Sally's brainchild, If you see a pair of trousers in that place it's because a woman is wearing them. She gets most of her business from women visiting town who don't want to be hit on."
Stuart & Son buy sheets, pillow cases, table cloths, bathrobes, anything made of cotton, in bulk, and it was my job to sell it retail, mostly to hotels, guesthouses, hospitals and restaurants but hotels are our best customers. You wouldn't believe now much stuff gets spoiled, stained or goes missing, I don't sell to the big chains, they go direct to the mills, but to the small/medium independent outfits who don't have that kind of negotiating muscle.
At first it didn't go well. Oh, I got a lot of appointments, I was new and the Purchasing Managers were keen to see if they could screw a good deal out of me, or if I would agree to being screwed. They were an assorted bunch, mostly male but a few women, some old some young, some nice and some not so much, a cross-section of middle-America. I soon had a few favourites, the ones who would always make time to see me, offer me a coffee and sit down for a chat, even if they didn't put much business my way I was always happy to see their names on my schedule.
Paul Cooper was right at the top of my list, I always over-ran my time when I called on him, Paul managed a small boutique hotel near the park and had a dozen different jobs, one of which involved buying in supplies.
He was a really good-looking guy, always well-dressed, nice body, perfect hair... and married, I thought he was a gentleman until the day he charmed the pants off me and had me on his office carpet. Hell,
he
was the one who should have been in sales. But I wasn't complaining, I liked him and hadn't had sex for weeks, if he was cheating on his wife, well that was his concern and I thought no more about it.
Or I didn't until a week later when I had just finished my sales pitch to the buyer at the Bellavista, he was quiet for a moment, gave me a speculative look and said "Paul tells me your, ah,
personal services
