I am really not a salesperson
I have been scrubbing the same burned pot for three days now.
Last night while I was feeding Sir Shitsalot (forgot about that one! pardon the vulgarity), Jack was having a meeting with his business partner, Gregg, and Gregg turns to me and asks me if I’d like to do the marketing for their company. They have a new business building and renovating houses, and they need someone to go around town and make PowerPoint presentations to architects and whatnot. Gregg says, And we can’t do it — if Jack and I walk into a room full of construction guys they’ll just say, Who’s the tough guy and the fag with green teeth? But if you walk in, they’ll just look at your tits and believe everything you tell them. It’s mercenary and sexist, but it’s also probably true.
I told them that I am really not a salesperson, but Gregg said that’s why I’d be good at it.
After Gregg left, Jack said he had no idea that he was going to pitch that to me. He also said that I don’t have to do it if I don’t want to. I mean, marketing? Me?
Jack and Gregg both have greenish teeth from taking tetracycline as young children (Jack was a very sickly child; now he’s healthy and robust — I don’t know what the deal was for Gregg). You just see the effects of it in their teeth, of course, but Jack says their bones are green, too.