2727 Words

Nobody Kicks

by

- Amish Gandhi

Karen tossed in bed and pulled the sheets over her head, as two robins frantically

chirped outside. Relenting, she reached for her cell phone and squinted to read the

time ‘11:25 AM, Tuesday April 7 2009’.

She sat up and her toes began their expedition for her slippers. She stood up and

looked at the mirror, and the gaunt face on the thin body looked back at her, her

lips refreshingly red like a cherry on a sundae. She reached for a brush to tame her

wayward blonde hair and glanced at the dusty trophies on her dresser “Detroit 40

Under 40 2002”, “Stellar Sales Target Award 2003”, “Midwest Ford Sales Executive

of the Year 2004”. “Aha”, mumbled the lady in the mirror.

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She escaped to the bathroom, splashed some water on her face, and started the

radio. “The man is an amateur, a dabbler in the sophisticated world of politics with

no wherewithal to lead this nation”, stated Limbaugh.

“Oh, give him a chance”, she retorted, as she switched to her favorite shower

channel, Detroit 955. She took her time in the shower, as she counted the number

of months she had been out of work. “Wow, Sixteen”, she said out loud.

She slipped into her faded Ralph Lauren bathrobe and dried her hair as Tracy

Chapman’s ‘Fast Car’ followed her to the kitchen. She poured some milk into a bowl

of cereal, and a stack of mail joined her for breakfast. She shuffled through it,

immune to the bank overdraft and late fee notices . Her phone rang, a blocked

caller ID, and she ignored it knowing it was a creditor.

As she flipped through her mail, she found a Reader’s Digest subscription addressed

to ‘John Matthews’. She promptly tore it to shreds. John, her non committal fiancé

had evaded the auto industry’s misfortune for an accounting position at Lockheed’s

Maryland headquarters. She would have been less resentful if he hadn’t left her for

another accountant. “Jane from accounting” she murmured and shook her head

“John, you Bastard”.

Karen was in her mid forties and could not imagine leaving Southfield. She grew up

there, and had fond memories of more pleasant times. She looked over to the dusty

and unused living room, where she remembered sitting on her father’s lap “When I

grow up, I want to be the boss of Ford Motors”, she would claim.

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Sometimes she would talk to herself, to break the silence but also to check on her

sanity “I’m Karen Porter, and when fate hands me a lemon, I make myself some

lemonade”. She thought it sounded corny but reasonable and it was one of her

favorite Dale Carnegie quotes. She had heard about the auto industry bailout on the

radio, and knew it was only a matter of time before she would be back in business.

With that happy thought, she opened her laptop and checked her email, routinely

deleting many ‘Thank You for Applying’ emails from companies she applied to the

previous day. One email stood out, addressed directly to her and written by an

actual person rather than a career website email bot.

From: detroitdealmaker@gmail.com

To: karenzoom100@gmail.com

Subject: Business Opportunity around Detroit”

“Karen,

We are very impressed with your resume, and especially your sales record at

Ford. We have a few unique products we are trying to market in your area,

and your vast experience in sales would be invaluable for this position.

If you’re interested, let us know, and we can take it from there.

-Roger”

Karen sat up. “How interesting” she said, and prepared to reply right away.

“Roger,

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Thank you for your email. I am certainly interested in sales positions in the

area. I have several years of auto sales experience, but I am open to any

interesting sales positions.

I look forward to your response.

Regards,

Karen”

She clicked on send, and before she could finish her cereal, saw a reply to her

email.

“Karen,

Thanks for your swift response. Are you available to meet and discuss this

afternoon at 3 PM? I am conducting interviews at Pete’s diner off Main Street.

It would be great if you can make it today, you will not be disappointed.

Let me know, either way.

-Roger”

Karen’s was elevated by some human interaction, and even more by the prospect of

meeting someone at the diner. She typed a quick reply.

“Roger, that sounds great. I will see you at Pete’s at 3 PM today. Please

confirm.

Thanks,

Karen”

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She sent the email and clapped her hands, and as she was washing her bowl of

cereal, saw a new email from Roger.

“Confirmed. I’ll be in the back in a brown suit. See you today at 3 PM”

She skipped to the bedroom to get dressed, thrilled as though she were preparing

for a blind date. “It’s showtime folks!” she exclaimed, but suddenly paused,

realizing how dumb she had been. She hadn’t even asked him what the opportunity

was.

As she put on her makeup, she thought back to when she was sucked into the

Amway rollercoaster of lies. She was approached by a friendly couple at Saks in the

mall. They invited her over to their home for dinner, and then to a gala event at The

Doubletree. She remembered how promising it all felt – the four course meal at the

gala, everyone in black ties and shimmering gowns. The sheer wealth they had

apparently acquired through their activities with Amway was evident, and she paid

three hundred dollars at the door for her ‘Amway Starter Kit’.

She still had the entire kit, except for the one bottle of detergent she had sold to

her sister. “Yup, I won’t have to buy detergent for a few years” Karen said. She

promised she would be careful on this latest occasion, and ensure that Roger wasn’t

one of them. She thought that he didn’t sound like it from his emails.

She set out of her apartment in her business casuals, Ray Bans and stilettos. She

walked down on Meadow Lane, as her footsteps echoed in the caverns of the

foreclosed house nextdoor. She looked down the road, and pictured how healthier it

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looked just two years before. All that stood out on the sidewalk was the dry grass

growing out of cracks and edges, when earlier, it was the neighbors children selling

lemonade and playing hopscotch. Rusty cars with cracked windshields were parked

in some driveways, when earlier, each driveway sported a shiny new Ford or

Chrysler just washed and waxed by a proud owner.

She passed the Robinsons’ house, her favorite couple. They had all been to Hawaii

together once, she, John and them, and a picture of them all at a luau adorned her

fireplace. The Robinsons would travel frequently for work, and Karen would often sit

their pets. The last she heard of them was that Mr. Robinson had got a job at a

coffee shop in Half Moon Bay on the west coast.

As she passed their lawn, she noticed something brown and furry that first looked

like a discarded sack. On closer observation, she was astounded to realize that it

was Bosco, the Robinsons’ pet dog. She realized that Bosco was dead, with his eyes

just holes, his skin infested with flies and a mortal odor emanating from his former

buoyant self. Petrified, she stopped and thought of burying him, but nature had

already begun its process of disintegrating him back to the elements.

The present felt like a nightmare, and she wanted to wake up to the plush reality

that she loved so dearly. She held her breath and focused on the mirage that the

sun had formed where the sidewalks appeared to meet down the long street.

“Today is my chance”, she said, and purposefully strode down towards her

destination.

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She scanned her reflection in the shop window next to the diner, and happy with

how she looked, she checked the time : 2:55 PM. She entered the diner and noticed

how quiet it seemed. It still had the old ceiling fans, but that the family section to

her left had been closed.

She made her way to the rear as instructed. Her head felt light as she looked

towards the corner booth. She saw a sharp featured man in a hat looking down at

some papers. He exuded the air of an advertising executive from the sixties, in his

pin striped suit with thin lapels. As she approached him, he looked up and his stern

lips morphed into a warm smile, “Well hello, you must be Karen”.

“Yes Sir, and you must be Roger”.

The warm grip of a man’s hand felt alien to her, as she held on to it for a couple of

seconds longer than would be considered normal.

“Please, have a seat. Can I order you a coffee or something”?

“Sure, coffee sounds great” she said. His smile disappeared, and she surmised that

he had just asked her as a formality. She regretted agreeing to the offer, as he

called and gestured for coffee to the waitress across the room.

“So Karen, your background really interests me. We are trying to expand our

market in this area, and we need someone with a strong sales background. Could

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you tell me more about why you are a strong candidate?” he asked, his strong voice

reinforcing her own confidence.

“Sure. I have over ten years of experience in sales. I was responsible for the

wholesale of Ford’s Escort and Neon lines in the Midwest. I expanded the client base

from one hundred dealerships to four hundred, and exceeded revenue targets by

two hundred and fifty percent during my tenure”. She felt herself soar as she said

this, the queen over the kingdom of sales at Ford, and nothing could stop her from

conquering the next market.

“Even more impressive than the resume”, he responded enthusiastically, as the

waitress serving Karen her coffee smiled.

Karen was about to speak, when Roger interrupted “I’m sure you’re wondering what

the opportunity is. Well, I represent a business that is expanding distribution of our

merchandise in this area. We are in the profession of selling mood enhancing

dietary supplements. We have just taken over a competitor, and now have access

to their clientele.”

He poured Karen some water, and spoke more softly “We need someone to help

connect with these clients and distribute the goods. It’s a timely job, and you will

find it is highly lucrative too. For every sale you make, you will get ten percent of

cost of goods sold. In this market, we expect about ten sales a week. Karen, that

could mean at least twenty grand a month. The benefit for us is that we need

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someone we can trust with experience and a base in this area. It’s your proverbial

win-win situation!”

She hung on to his every word. She thought of the waiting bills on her table, and at

that very second, her phone rang with a blocked caller ID. Another creditor. It was a

sign. But it all sounded too vague for her liking. “So what exactly am I selling?” she

asked.

Roger hunched forward and whispered “I can’t say it out loud, but it’s the best

mood elevator from Colombia. It’s simple. I will give you a supply for twenty packets

now. You will make the sales calls. People will pick the packets up from you. You

will collect the money. You will keep ten percent. Once a month, I will call you,

collect the money and replenish your supply.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, as the diamonds from Roger’s

glimmering Rolex reassured her of the riches at hand. Resisting, she began to put

her résumé back in her purse and prepared to leave. “It was nice to meet you,

Roger”

“Wait a minute, Karen”, suggested Roger, his tone of voice becoming more stern.

He adjusted his jacket, revealing the leather straps of a potential shoulder gun

holster. Karen immediately resumed her seat.

“Karen, this business makes over seventy billion dollars a year, much more than

Ford ever did, or ever will. It is like any other business, just with higher risk but

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exponential reward. Now, I don’t need to spell it out to you, but desperate times call

for desperate measures” coaxed the super salesman in Roger.

Karen looked at him unresponsively; her forehead oozed beads of sweat. At that

moment she realized that she was already involved.

Roger reached into his briefcase and placed a Fedex Medium Box on the table. “This

contains the merchandise and a list of leads to call. You can start calling today”

Karen reached for the box and stood up. Without saying another word, she put it

under her arm, and walked straight out of the swinging diner doors.

Back in her apartment, she put the box on her dining table next to the stack of bills.

She drew the curtains, and slowly opened the box. Neatly arranged below three

sheets of paper were twenty bars of what looked like small soaps, the type found in

hotel rooms. The first sheet had a list of prospects, with their phone numbers. The

second sheet had instructions about how to store the merchandise, how to interact

with a customer, and how to handle the exchange of goods and money. The last

sheet had instructions of what to do with the merchandise in case of an emergency.

A shudder ran down her spine, and she thought about her next move. She could

report Roger to an anti-narcotic bureau. But she didn’t have his address or phone

number. She thought that Roger was probably not even his real name. She could

just call 911 and report everything that had happened. But how could she prove

anything? She reached for her phone, which lay on the first sheet. The first prospect

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jumped out at her. Jeremy Mulligan – 317-555-1288. In a trance, she found herself

dialing the number. The phone was ringing, and soon a man answered “Hello”.

She turned to page two, and read the instructions “Hi Jeremy, this is Marina with

Cool River. We have your items available”.

“Oh great” responded the voice. It was clearly code language he understood. “I ‘m

available now. Where can I pick up?” She gave him her address.

In less than an hour, a maroon truck pulled up outside her apartment. She watched

a muscular tattooed man in a black vest strut down her walkway onto her porch.

She had memorized page two as she waited for him. She stepped outside onto the

porch. He spoke first, “Greetings lady. This old neighborhood has sure seen better

days.”

“Are you here for the package?” she queried.

“Yes ma’am”.

“That will be five grand”.

“Here you go ma’am”, he replied, as he handed over an envelope. She looked

around to ensure no one was watching. She quickly counted the money and then

retrieved the coveted bar from her coat pocket.

“Here you go sir. Great doing business with you”.

The man inspected the bar, smiled, shook her hand, and walked back to his truck.

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Karen sat at her table and looked at the two piles in front of her – one of hundred

dollar bills, and the other just plain bills. Her gaze moved to the box of merchandise.

She took a bar out and looked at it closely. It had the design of a scorpion printed

on the back, next to a label which read “Colombia Dry Grain 100%”.

She proceeded to tear open the cardboard, which revealed a small plastic bag. She

punched a hole in the bag with her index finger. She stood up, and walked to her

bedroom, instinctively stopping at the bathroom to turn on the radio. Jimi Hendrix

sang ‘Purple Haze’, as Karen stood and looked at herself in the mirror.

“All in a day’s work”, said the lady in the mirror, followed by “Now excuse me, while

I kiss the sky”, in unison with Hendrix. Karen turned towards the dressing table and

twisted the refill off a pen. She had seen this done in movies, and she searched for

a hard flat surface. She tipped over the crystal slab of the “Stellar Sales Target

Award 2003” trophy, and slowly sprinkled on it three rails of the white powder.

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