Jocko says “Yes” and I believe him when we talk about the things I say

The offer came later that night. I would be doing sales and after sales service. No cold calls, no quota, six figures before commission and bonuses, and shockingly good benefits package. Admittedly the contract weirded me out a little between the wording on the duration (a minimum of three years of service by the body of the undersigned, barring **** decomposition or debilitating loss of multiple limbs, but retaining a metabolism notwithstanding) and the rather sizable payout for accidental **** or dismemberment (it’s usually in the neighborhood of five grand, and they guaranteed five hundred grand), but that didn’t stop me from signing. I’d basically spent the last quarter century preying on the weakness of the middle class, and this seemed like a vastly more interesting career choice.

“…and that’s the way you enter sales into the software. Take a break, grab something to eat, and we’ll move on to some of the more practical aspects of the job.” Orientation is always kind of boring. I usually have a hard time not falling asleep during any sort of onboarding process, and it didn’t help that I kept eyeing Anwyn’s ass every time she wasn’t lookin’ at me. She was a major distraction. Slight and waifish of build, sharp elfin features, blue-black poker straight hair cut in a tight bob with a thick hard line of bangs hanging to just above her penciled in eyebrows. Her makeup was all but monochromatic; powder that she didn’t need on pale white skin that looked like it had never known the touch of the sun, black razor slash lips and matching eye makeup; it was downright unsettling seeing her tiny pink tongue on the rare occasion that it peeked out. Her outfit, all mesh and lace, covered her entire body up to the neck but hinted at the pale creamy delight to be found between her thighs more than nudity would have and completely tied together the whole Depressive Zombie Nightmare Girl vibe.

Yeah, she was pretty fucking distracting. It had been a while. Sue me. I tucked into my sandwich trying to drown my libido under a pile of meat and cheese.

“Ok, so now we’re going to go and do a service call.”

Service calls are field work. I’m an office monkey at heart and on site visits are usually the purview of adjusters, but apparently Anwyn and I were the only two employees of Ms. Big (whoever the Boss Lady was. I had yet to meet her or even learn her last name. Even the incentive check was signed by a third party), so it was down to us to do it.

My colleague drove us there, behind the wheel of a ten year old Pontiac Montana minivan with the rear bench seats stowed, their space occupied by what looked like Pelican hard cases of the type used for photography equipment. Calling the bucket seats in the front uncomfortable was doing a disservice to the word uncomfortable. I spent the entire ride there with a spring poking into my ass. The silence that seems to radiate from Anwyn was uncomfortable though. At the best of times throughout the two hours of training I’d spent with her, she didn’t seem to use three words when two would suffice to convey her meaning. Most of her speech was pretty much single word statements, being so frugal with her mostly monotone syllables you’d think there was a shortage. If she was like this with the customers, no wonder they’d needed me.

“So… you been working for the company long?”

“Yep.”

“Partner before me?”

“Yep.”

“They move on to a different job?”

“Nope.”

“So…”

“Dead.”

“Ew. I’m so sorry. How did they pass, if you don’t mind my asking…”

“Heart stopped.”

The way she said that seemed to indicate that there was a lot more to the story, and also that she was unwilling to tell me. Odd phrasing ‘heart stopped’, it sent chills down my spine, as I involuntarily recalled a nurse friend of mine saying that technically every **** could be ruled a heart failure.

(Title: “No Sugar Tonight/New Mother Nature” by The Guess Who)