Ted the Salesman
Ted the Salesman bends over his papers, greedily stuffing them back into his giant briefcase. He seems incapable of shutting his mouth and his dry lips frame teeth so large and white I almost think they’re fake except for the spaces in between each of them. His papers are on the floor because I emptied his briefcase when he went to the bathroom. A bathroom that will be sterilized as soon as he leaves.
“Been on the road a long time, eh, Ted?”
“Yes. Indeed. I shur have an ya know whut?”
“I know very little, Ted.”
“People are getting meaner ’n’ ruder all the time.”
“People are bastards, Ted. Hey Ted, guess what?”
“Whut?”
“I knocked your briefcase onto the floor. Dug right in there and pulled out all those papers. I had myself a pretty big time.”
“Now why’d you go ’n’ do that for?”
“Oh, I knew you wouldn’t say anything.”
“Why’d you figger I wouldn’t say nothin’?”
“Because you’re trying to sell me something.”
“Logical, I guess.”
“But guess what else, Ted.”
“Whut?”
“I lied to you. I don’t even own this house. I’m not even supposed to be here.”
“It’s people like you that waste my time.”
“Yeah. But I sure did have fun. If you could have seen me in here, rolling around in all those papers.”
“I woulda whupped yer ass.”
“You know why I did that, Ted?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m one of the dirty bastard people.”
“Figgers.”
Ted finishes gathering up his things and storms out the front door. I watch him speed away, a trail of dust rising up behind his battered car.
