Tuesday, March 15, 2016

Wreath

I arrived in Edinburgh on the back of a six-week tour of Europe. I'd spent almost all my savings from the factory back home and needed work. I had sketchy plans for a bar job but had no real idea. As long as it wasn't hauling bags of infant formula onto a conveyor belt.
After two days, a job on the hostel advertising board caught my attention: Motivated folk with good people skills wanted for a dynamic career in sales and marketing... No experience needed as full training is given.
I was taken by the keywords; the promise of wearing a shirt and tie; of carrying a briefcase. I dialled the number, and, no questions asked, was booked in for an interview later that day. 

The interview was more a casual chat. The boss of Milestone Marketing, Sadie, was a sexy late-20s Glaswegian brunette who had just returned from an Australian holiday.
“I loved the climate, the food... and the men,” she said, a twinkle in her green eyes.
In my mind's eye I could see a classic porn scene developing but I restrained myself. I asked a few questions of the job, she asked why I wanted to get in sales. I said I had career aspirations. She nodded, her eyes always smiling, and then told me to come back for a trial the next day. 

That night most in the common room were playing a game involving vodka and film canisters, but I kept my intake to three beers and two joints, and called it an early night.

The next day I jumped out of my hostel bed, showered, put on my new Marks and Sparks shirt and tie, a pair of Will's pants. Everyone else was asleep, cheap blankets pulled up to their throats. I wrapped a communal scarf around my neck, put on my rain jacket and belted down Dublin Street.
I could hear 1980s disco as, wheezing slightly, I buzzed the front door. Sadie let me in, made a comment about the cold, then took me into a room where groups of suits and skirts were yelling in thick accents over the top of the music. I was introduced to Nicholas, a French bloke with a wide face and jumbled English tongue, and within minutes was following him out the door.
We travelled in his little Datsun to Berwick, about twenty minutes out of Edinburgh. He cranked up the heater and we touched on our backgrounds. He had no intention of going back to France, was going to make it big at Milestone Marketing. 
“It's only been operating six, seven months,” he said. “I made Assistant Manager last week.”
I nodded, rubbing my pants for warmth.
“We'll hit some juicy places today,” he said, wringing a hand for emphasis. 
I nodded again. He continued the sales speak as we drove on. I fingered the top of the cigarette packet in my jacket pocket, considering life's possibilities, reflecting on the tedium of my job back home.

We parked in the town centre and sat there a few minutes while Nicholas showed me what we were selling. There were vegetable cutter sets, wind-proof lighters, and hand-held puppets that made tiger or monkey noises when you threw little balls into their mouth. 
“The balls come free,” he said. “And the lighters are gold.” 
I held one of the Zippos up to the sky. Silver and shiny, they were indeed a nice-looking accessory.
Then we were off. I grabbed one of Nicholas's bags and followed him as he weaved in and out of shops, cafes and pubs. His pitches were direct, yet friendly, and every few shops he'd get a laugh from someone. He was making regular sales. We had lunch at a fish and chip shop then continued, stopping off at the car to drop off Nicholas's empty bag. The Frenchman was in great spirits.
“This is hot street,” he said as we walked up a marbled laneway. “And people better mood Friday.”

By late afternoon he'd emptied the second bag and we were heading back to the office. He seemed very pleased with himself. “I'll ring the bell tonight,” he said. 
I didn't press him on what that meant. It was Friday night and I had my mind on other things. But I'd enjoyed the day, saw that it wasn't rocket science, and considered it a good chance to develop my communication skills and see a bit of Scotland. 
Best of all, as Sadie explained when we got back and she offered me the job, we got paid daily – tax-free. “You get twenty-five percent of the takings. Most of the guys average about 36 pounds per day.”
I did the sums. About 180 quid a week. The hostel was forty. Plenty left over for a few pints each night, groceries. And that was at a minimum. I'd set up an account for savings. I envisaged a warm Mediterranean cruise. 
I had that jittery Friday afternoon feeling. I knew I'd get drunk. I walked back up the hill to the hostel, stopping at a convenience store for a bottle of cheap scotch. When I walked into the common room I noticed everyone drinking tall blue cans – Tennent’s were one pound in the reception bar – and the mood was festive. Will was sitting at one of the tables with a bottle of awful Safeway vodka, already half empty. I settled into a seat beside him, cracked a can, twisted the cap, and fell into delirium.

***

The following Monday I woke up hurting. I coughed and wheezed as I sat upright, watery sleep falling from my eyes. Friday night had merged into Saturday via a nightclub, as did Saturday afternoon's pub crawl into Sunday. The mad fuckers were at it again on Sunday night when I came down after sleeping all day. I had few more drinks, but couldn't get out of second gear. That's the thing about hangovers; you can only chase them away for so long. 
It was the sense of the unknown that got me going. A strong coffee, bacon roll, Panadol, juice and water and I'd be fine. But I was running late, and only had enough money for coffee.  I blew on a Styrofoam cup in the January chill as I passed a bunch of labourers on a construction site on my way to the office.
I was greeted with enthusiasm over the same cheesy music when I walked in at 7.30am. I was introduced to an Asian Pom called Eddie Fu, who I'd walk around with for the day. 
Eddie was friendly, but in no hurry. He and a few others kept looking at the door. I needed another coffee.  That's when I saw four or five guys, white shirts and black ties, standing in a corner. They were huddled together like the group of bonfire crooners in Rocky. 
One of them checked his watch, nodded, and then they all launched into song: “We want it bad / we want it bad / we want it bad / whoa-oh-oh / we all want it bad / so tell us Sadie, baby... Lights, camera, action, huh!”
A brief silence follwed as they stared at each other, open-mouthed, and then: "There she is!”
Sadie appeared, her eyes flashing: “Mornin, guys!” 
“MORNING!”
Sadie sat in a chair and everyone formed a circle around her. “Now, if someone wis offerin ye a special deal, ye'd feel pretty special, wouldn't ye, hmmm?”
“DARN RIGHT, SADIE!”
That group of crooners again. In the same corner of the room, behind everyone else. 
Sadie squeaked, sparkled, implored. I arched my eyebrows to keep my eyes open. My lips were dry. I eyed off the water cooler. 

We took Eddie's sports car to a small town called Dalkeith, just out of Edinburgh. He was an engineer, had done well out of it, but liked the appeal of Milestone Marketing. The idea of building a company from the ground up. He too was an Assistant Manager. 
“There are eight of us now. Makes for a nice, competitive environment, but it's all about the company, really.”  
We started hustling. Eddie's pitches were a little drier than Nicholas's, but no scenario daunted him.
“This would be great for an early Easter present, and eggs aren't cheap these days,” he said to a thick-set publican who was having an early-doors pint with a local.
“You look an opportunist type. The kind that enjoys bargains,” he told an old woman at a pet shop who held her bony hands up to an electric heater for warmth. 
It was a slow morning, though. Eddie was working hard for little return. After lunch he told me to walk around by myself for a couple of hours. Get some practice in. The first shop shooed me away. The next bought a tiger and a monkey. A cafe took a vegetable cutter set. People could tell I was fresh. I got a few sympathy purchases. But I soon got past the stuttering and into an enthusiastic groove. It was enough for me to feel I could make something of the job. 

Later I met up with Eddie in a pub and we had a purple patch, selling lighters to punters. I wanted a pint but Eddie said we had to get back.

In the car Eddie counted up his takings. “Well, not enough for the bell, but not bad for a Monday.” 
I looked at the cash in his hand. He put it back in his pouch, which he threw into the glovebox. He started the car and we were on our way back to Edinburgh.
“You know how the bell works, yeah?” he said.
“No.”
“Well, if you make forty quid or more for the day, you get to ring it. We'll see if anyone does when we get back to the office.”
It was dark when we pulled in. The music was vibrating the floorboards as we walked inside. People were immediately in our faces, asking how we'd fared. I was tired and in need of a drink. Eddie pointed out the bell in the corner. No one had rang it yet. Then Nicholas walked in, his big round face beaming. He marched over and rang it. Everyone clapped. A round of backslaps followed. 
Juicy day,” he said to me. 
“Well done,” I said. 
Eddie high-fived Nicholas and wrapped an arm around me. “You did well today. Tomorrow you go by yourself.” 
Nicholas smiled, nodding. “You be good.” 
They both stood there, grinning, prodding me. “Just remember to follow the Eight-and-Five Steps,” Eddie said. 
Sadie had explained these during my interview. It follows the principle that five out of every eight people will show some sort of interest. The success of the salesman depends on how many of these bites convert into a sale. 
“Do whatever you can to get that sale,” Eddie said. “There's been many a day I've made stuff-all at 3pm but ended up ringing the bell.”
I nodded, checked my watch. It was 6.30pm. No one was leaving. I told Eddie I had to go. He looked a little surprised.
“So soon?”
“Yeah. Meeting up with some friends.”
He held his look of bewilderment for a few seconds longer, and then said: “Alright then. Good luck tomorrow. Remember: the Eight-and-Five Steps.”
I nodded, walked out. A last glance and everyone was flocking to Sadie, who had come out of her office. 
Outside, the chill hit me quickly. My ears were pink when I arrived back at the hostel. I knocked the top off a Tennent’s, drained half, then sat down. I was knackered, and hadn't earned any money yet.

***

The next morning, after the crooners welcomed Sadie in and she'd sat down on her chair, she called me into the circle.  
“It's Bevan's first day oan his own today! He'll huv—”
The crooners cut in. “SWEATY PALMS!”
Sadie: “And he'll huv—”
“KNOCKING KNEES!”
“AND... he'll HUV—” 
“MARBLES IN HIS MOUTH!”
Each response came with the corresponding actions: shaking hands, spasmodic knee movements, fingers wriggling around mouths. And all before 8am. I smiled a thin smile.

When Nicholas dropped me off on Leith Walk I felt alone. I needed a coffee and cigarette to get going. A cafe let me leave one of my bags there, but didn't want to buy anything. Neither did the one next door. After an hour I'd made just one sale. First proper day on the job and I was already fighting it, that feeling of doing something I knew wasn't me. 
My bag was tearing at the seams. I'd pointed it out to Nicholas earlier. He'd just shrugged and suggested buying two of my own, at six pounds each. 
“You have to pay for your own bags?” I asked.
“Of course,” he'd said. ”And lose any stock you pay for it. So check sometimes.”

I noticed a pub was opening. I followed two old blokes wearing chequered flat caps inside. I had planned on a coffee but there was something about the assured way the old boys ordered their pints and whiskey chasers that changed my mind. 
“A pint of Guinness,” I said to the publican. 
He filled my glass three-quarters then put it on the bar to settle. Picking the sleep out of his eyes and rolling it in his fingers, he nodded at my bag. 
“Awright, what ye got?”
I paused for a second, then opened it up to him. “I've got three specials today—”
He topped up my pint and then placed it in front of me. “Nae spiel, pal, jus if there's anythin worth buyin.”
I pulled out a vegetable cutter set. “Maybe you could use this in the kitchen,” I said.
He laughed. The old boys were watching on now. “I could. It'd go nicely wi the other set I bought a few weeks back.”
“Yeah? Well, they're only—”
“I'm kiddin', pal. It broke oan me. First fuckin carrot I tried tae grate. It's in the bin now.”
I stood there, reddening. 
“What else,” he said in monotone.
A little monkey stared up at me. I considered asking if he was a grandfather, but decided against it. I pulled out a lighter. He looked interested. 
“Windproof,” I said, handing it over. 
He flicked it. A blue-red flame shot up. “No bad,” he said, raising his eyebrows at the old boys. They took in turns lighting it, holding the flame to eye level. 
We walked out the front, where a wind had kicked up, blowing a chill off the North Sea. He put a cigarette in his mouth and backed into the doorway to light it. No flame. He tried again. Nothing. 
“Might be out of gas,” I said.
“It worked fine in there.”
I pulled out another and went to light it. Same result. I dug out another. I silently pleaded with it to work. No chance.
“Sorry pal.” He handed me back the first lighter, and walked back inside. I sighed, following him. 
He eyed me off as I grabbed my pint off the bar and sat down at a table. “I wis in sales once. Tough gig. I only lasted a week.”
I drank from my pint. It was a little rough. 

***

I made twenty-five quid that day, and thirty-nine the next day. 
That second day I spent in Murrayfield, an affluent part of Edinburgh. It meant more sales, but more condescending treatment. One lady in a sandwich shop laughed at me when I walked inside; a guy in a milk bar just wanted to talk about Neighbours. Despite this, I knew I'd had a good day, and when Brian, a senior assistant manager with a light Scottish accent, finished the stock check he looked up at me.
“You're close. Would be a grand effort on your second day to ring the bell,” he said.
I looked down at my watch. It was 6.30pm. 
“Come on,” he said, getting up. “Let's hit a few nearby pubs, sell some lighters, get you that last pound.”
“Nah, it's okay. I had ten hours at it. Maybe I'll get there tomorrow.”
Again I copped that look; the same one Eddie gave me when I said I was heading home on Monday night.

***

On the Wednesday I pounded the pavement around Leith and inner Edinburgh. It pelted with rain all morning. I walked into a chippy, threw my still-full bag on the ground and sat down at a table. The water dripped off me and on to the floor. I shivered and wheezed, my feet damp.  The lady behind the counter turned on an electric heater and took my order. A battered sausage and a large serving of chips. I held my hand over the steaming chips before wolfing it all down. I drank a can of Irn-Bru. 
When I finished, she bought a monkey and tiger. “Fir me grandchildren. Gin tae the coffee shop up the way,” she said. “Hen there'll buy some.”
I walked out a little drier. The woman at the next coffee shop bought one of everything, and then I had a one-hour burst that emptied my first bag. I picked up my other bag, made a couple more sales, then sat down on a bench for a cigarette, and to tally up my takings against my remaining stock. 
A gust of chilled wind took my breath away when I realised I was short. I sat there for a minute or so, head down, very still. People walked past me. It started spitting again. I put the money back in my pouch, and slowly got to my feet.

***

I spent the next few hours forcing myself in and out of shops, cafes and pubs. I had two drinks mid-afternoon to keep me going. I was still getting sympathy purchases, but more common was the dismissive wave of the hand before I opened my mouth. Then there were those who would hear me out, only to say, in thick Scottish brogue: 
“Aw, I'm a wee bit skint. Come back next week.”
“We hud someone in yesterday.”
“I've nae money on me.”
I made around twenty-five quid again – after my losses – and got back to the office at 7pm. It was dead dark and I was starving. I went straight to Brian's office and got my cash. Someone rang the bell when I was in there. Brian was trying to make small talk. I told him I had to go. I hurried along through the main room. I sensed Eddie watching me. I pointed to my watch and mouthed that I had to go. Then I ran. 
When I got back to the hostel I realised it was Australia Day. Flags were draped over the windows and somebody had brought a few slabs of VB. It got us started, and then we spent the night at an Aussie-themed pub in The Grassmarket. When we got home, at 4.30am, I left an uneven message on the office voice mail that I was sick and wouldn't be in. 

***

I slept most of that Thursday.

***

When I walked in on the Friday, feeling a little renewed, Sadie smiled and asked how my Australia Day celebrations were. I paused, then told her a half-truth. After all, I didn't get paid for not going in; it was my loss.
“They were okay. Had a few beers, but had a stomach bug yesterday. Must have been the meat pies on Wednesday night.”
She nodded, touched my shoulder and then walked back to her office.
That day I spent at Portobello, a coastal suburb of Edinburgh. When I got off the bus I felt like turning around and going back. The coastline was full of grey rocks. The people inside the tacky arcades weren't biting. After a couple of rejections I sat on my bag out front of the arcade with a cup of coffee and smoked a cigarette. I sat there looking up at the grey sky, wishing I had a beanie to cover my ears. We weren't allowed to wear them.
I tried the main street. The rejections kept coming. Then it started to really piss down. I retreated into a small pub where the beer pumps were golden and the pint glasses were gleaming in a dish rack. An open fire roared. I sat next to it and drank a pint of Guinness. Then another. As I swallowed the last of my second one I considered starting up again. But then rain got heavier. I could hear it on the roof, against the windows. It turned to hail. I ordered another pint, lit a cigarette and held my hands up against the flames.   

***

I knew I'd fucked up when I walked out into the light again, five pints to the good, with a full bag of stock. My guilt, mixed with drunken confidence, propelled me into action and I made a few sales. I walked into an insurance office where a smiling blonde said there might be a few people interested. She walked through the door behind her and came back with two people. I demonstrated the puppets and they laughed. They both purchased a puppet and a lighter. An older man came through and bought two puppets. 
Then a burly suit came out and asked me what I was doing.
“Just selling a few things,” I said meekly. 
“No here, ye're not,” he said, tightening the knot of his tie. 
“Okay,” I said. And then, in a drunken rush: “It's your loss.”
He laughed, lightly elbowing the receptionist to join him. She smiled awkwardly. I stood there with the door ajar. I wanted to scream a million things at him, but couldn't think of one. My words were tied up in a stunned stupor. 
“Close the door, pal, it's freezing. An get a real job.”
As much as I hated the condescending cunt, he was right. Nothing about the job was real. I slid into another pub with the intention of selling a few lighters, knowing that I wouldn't open my bag for the rest of the day.

***

I was drunk when I got back to the office. It was just on five so I was the first salesman back. 
Sadie eyed me suspiciously. “Rough day?”
“Yeah.”
“Did ye take refuge in a pub?” she asked.
“It rained most of the afternoon,” I said. 
She nodded, her eyelids fluttering, waiting for me to say something. Then I told her I wanted to quit. 
“Did ye get loats of negative responses?”
“Yes.”
“Do ye think you've hud enough training?”
“Yes.”
“Did ye find the work demanding?”
“Yes.... too much pain for too little gain,” I said, pleased with my poise.
She sat back on her chair, considering me. 
I shrugged my shoulders. “It's not my scene,” I said. “I'm not enjoying it.”
She continued sitting there, waiting for me to say more. 
“And that's it.”
There was silence for a few moments. Then there was a knock on the door and Brian walked in. Sadie smiled at him.
“Bevan's quitting,” she said, calmly. 
Brian's jaw dropped. He looked at me as if I were a ghost. 
“That's right,” I said. I stood up and handed my bag over to Sadie. “I made bugger-all today. Don't worry about paying me.”
Brian sat down in a chair next to Sadie. He brought his fingers to his lips. They both looked at me, saying nothing.
“Well... thanks for the job,” I said. “Give my regards to Nicholas and Eddie.”
Brian snorted. “I'm sure those regards won't be very well received, after all the time they put into you.”
Now it was my turn to be stunned. “Time? They trained me for one day each. And took the earnings of any sales I made.” 
“That's the standard—”
I shook my head and walked out into the misty rain. The street lights smudged in my vision. I started walking, a little unsure about things. Then I remembered it was Friday night. I sensed anticipation in the air. I flipped up my jacket hood and started up the hill, stopping at the bottle shop for some scotch and Coke, and two packets of cigarettes. 
I took my time as I continued on up the hill, the wind rattling the plastic bag. The beer was rising off my breath, my chest heaving. Office workers held coats over their heads as they crossed roads. I could see tradies through pub windows, settled at tables, rolling cigarettes with grimy fingers. It warmed me on the inside.  
People shouted my name when I walked into the hostel common room. I nodded at them. Then I sat down next to Will and told him I'd quit. We toasted the news. He told me about the job he'd started that day at a mushroom farm. They were crying out for people, he said. Easy money, too. I poured some scotch into a glass, then some coke. Just like sales, I knew labouring wasn't my thing. But what was? 
I said I'd give it some thought. After the weekend.


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