punkwalrus (punkwalrus) wrote,

The biggest asshole of them all

I used to have an assistant named Steve when I was a manager at Cargo Furniture who was kind of cool in a skater-punk sort of way. He was pretty good at sales, but later quit to run a skateboard park (I never found out what happened after that). Being a showroom store, we had a LOT of time sitting around, with nothing to do. He told me about his former employers, one of which was a car dealership on Route 7 near Tysons Corner. I forgot the guy's name, which is probably best, because he scares me. Steve told me about some of the most exaggerated, over-the-top, devil-may-care attitude the sales manager (his direct boss) had. He said this guy was such a dick, it was almost comical. Like it went beyond real, into some ironic realm of self-satire, and went even further than THAT into serious territory again, only to be found later, sputtering, in a pool of its own friction-singed afterbirth. If I had been told these sayings today, I would have pictured Will Ferrell saying them, like tales of "Bill Brasky."

Back when I used to write posts on Crunchland, I made a list of some of the stuff Steve said he overheard, or was directly told in sales meetings. "This guy was such a shark," Steve said, "I lasted less than a month. I wasn't as scared of not making sales as I was of him physically assaulting me. On one hand, everyone respected his bad ass attitude, but I think he was just plain crazy, and everyone was afraid to admit it. We went through several salesguys a week; some quit the same day they were hired after just one meeting with this guy" I saved this list and some gems I shall share with you. I saved these in case I needed this character in a book someday.

You won't make it here unless you can rape your own grandmother while never breaking eye contact.

I am not a racist. I am a realist. And reality makes you realize all races are not created equal, women are weaker than men, and the quicker you get your head out of the rainbow land of your childhood finger painting class, the faster you sell to those wonderful people different than us.

I love money. I have the biggest car, the biggest house, and the sexiest wife. Money got me those. So when I drive my big car to my big house and fuck my sexy wife, I don't want to be distracted by low sales figures. Because then I have to unplug my wet dick from my sexy wife, drive my big car from my big house, and whip you with that wet, unsatisfied dick. Don't make me do that.

What do I have to do to get you to get to work on time? Shoot your dog? Is that it? Is Lassie making you late? And by Lassie, I mean that girlfriend of yours. I will fucking shoot her goddamn brains out if she's the reason you're late again. Splatter then across your new black lacquer furniture, cowboy. [back then black lacquer was common among lower class people as "ritzy"]

Don't get me wrong, I like God. I LOVE GOD. But I like religious people more because their clergy convinces his followers they are sheep. It's all over the Bible, look it up. And what does a shepherd do with a sheep? What is the ultimate purpose of a sheep in a shepherds flock? Sex, food, and skin. We are shepherds. Our flock is our customers. Their skin is money in my wallet.

Your mother called and says you're not her favorite. You're not my favorite today, either. In fact, if you don't make quota ahead of schedule, I'll go to your mom's house, eat her cake and pie, and inherit her belongings she would have left to you in you weren't such a goddamn disappointing employee.

My threats are gifts. They are the gift that keeps on giving. Once I stop threatening you, I really, really don't like you anymore. You don't get gifts from me, you will get something worse than beatings. I will shame you. I will shame you to your wife, your girlfriend, your mom, and your grandmother. When I am through with you, you will beg for a beating. You don't want to see me when I am angry. I'll fuck the fucking Hulk up his ass. I'll eat Jaws for fucking dinner. My threats are gold to you turds, you better respect my gold, turds.

Don't tell me you can't make a sale today. Don't tell me it's snowing 2 inches and hour or nobody buys a fleet of pickups for Christmas. Don't tell me you got the 24 hour Jack Daniels Monday flu. Excuses are for suckers, and if I believe your excuses, I'll believe a customer's excuses why they can't buy. Your excuses weaken this dealership. I give no excuses. I work for a living, and you just suck at my teats, draining my strength with excuses.

I don't give praise for a job well done. It encourages placidity. If any one of you wants me to pat them on the back for doing what I pay you for, I'll fire you on the spot. I just fired a guy for sneezing. He worked here 4 years, and sneezed in my office. And I fired him. How safe do you think your jobs are? I say between none and zero. The only reason you have a job here is I haven't fired you yet.

That clock is a gauge. It is a gauge of time you are losing. I don't want to see that wasted time chatting in the back. Next time I see one of you back there, eating lunch or whatever it is the hell you pussies do in the break room, you better be armed with a $5000 commission check for that day. A $5000 commission check is mutually assured destruction that I won't slam your head into the vending machine like Super Fly. Tick tick SLAM! [Super Fly may have referred to a blaxploitation film of the 70s, or a professional wrestler, Jimmy "Super Fly" Snuka, or both]

You are meat. And like meat, you sit around, do nothing, and rot. This dealership smells like rotten meat and you got the most flies. I couldn't feed what you sell to homeless people. You disgust me, Meat Rot. [he called a lot of employees "Meat Rot" when he was angry with them for that day]

I am so pissed off, I might fucking take a torch to this place. We have been open for two fucking hours and not one of you has sold a goddamn thing. I could burn this place to the ground and make more off the insurance than I could from your souls.

Why did you let them go? What, do you pay a hooker, and then walk out on her as she's naked on the bed? Are you a faggot? I don't like faggots! If you let a deal like that walk out again, I will carve "FAGGOT" in your forehead with my nail clippers.

Don't tell me how to act. I act how I want, when I want, and I'll fucking tell your fucking mom I'll act as I please. I'll call you nigger. I'll call every fucking slave you bred from a nigger. I will make them like the word nigger. I will make them beg me to call them nigger. So next time you pull some civil action bullshit made up from the faggot brains at the Washington Post, I will call my friends there and put you on the front page with your face and just the words STUPID NIGGER. Got that, boy? [apparently he said this to a black employee who had "too many phone calls to his work from his mom"]

I don't hate women, I just don't hire 'em. Women are only good for making more boys. I don't hire them because it keeps them from making more boys. The sooner they pop their cherry, get fat with my seed, and delivery me a baby with a dick, the better. They can't sell cars. They can only make boys. My momma made a boy, and the world was better off than if she tried to sell pink frilly cars for a living.

You know how many men out there want your job? All of them. You must be lucky to be working here, because it sure ain't skill that got you to where you are today.

The only white men who drive Cadillacs are old. The only black men who drive Cadillacs are pimps or drug lords. Both have the same ego weakness; they want to feel like they accomplished something, when really both are close to death at any moment.

I made money today. I squeezed the money from people they said were poorer than stumps. I love financing because it's like a juice press that turned their hard earned blood and sweat into gold. I don't care if they said they couldn't afford it. I told them different. And the best part is once they drove off the lot, they are the bank's problem, not mine. I love my job.

I am not your friend. I will steal money from your pocket. I will steal a customer or a commission right off the very papers you just signed. I will admit I stole from you and admit it in front of the owner. I suggest you watch your damn back. This is the big leagues, and I have the biggest bat.
Someone commented to me, after I posted this, "I bet he's gone through foreclosure by now and lost his sexy wife and had to sell his big car." I doubt he's still alive, Steve had told me that the guy bragged he had several death threats on his head, and that "bare knuckle fistfights in the back lot are lot uncommon" (although Steve never actually witnessed more than a few swings made in anger by salesmen who were fired).

After I posted this, the "bullshit detector" part of me thought, "maybe Steve was exaggerating, or maybe this guy SAID these things, but didn't carry them out. Maybe he was trying to be funny in a harsh sort of way." Maybe so, but Steve often spoke about this guy like one speaks about a lone gunmen who held him hostage.
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