“And so I said to the guy, ‘You’d be crazy not to go for this deal’. He ended up shaking my hand and walking away with a beaut new Ferrari,” said Gary. “Hey, love, I’ll have a dry martini and my friend will have the same.”
Gary is your classic alpha male, slimy salesman. He wears gold rings on his fingers, his hair is in a perpetual state of greasy slickness and his pencil thin moustache gives all who meet him the unquenchable urge to take a scalding hot shower.
“I’m surprised anyone can bear to touch that ham fist of yours,” Peter, Gary’s colleague at the dealership, thought to himself. He said, however, “Gary, mate, how do you do it? I have never met anyone who can sell a car like you can.”
“It’s all in the body language, buddy. I pat their shoulder, keep my body open to them and follow their physical queues. It’s as simple as taking a dump when the customers are rich kids with more money than sense.” Gary always liked to boast loudly so that even strangers couldn’t help knowing how amazing he was.
“Just the thought of him touching my shoulder makes me sick,” thought Peter, “I hope he chokes on that martini when it gets here.”
“Finally, I see our drinks coming our way. Mm-mm that waitress is a tasty piece. I bet you a thousand bucks I’ll be banging her tonight.”
“Haha, you’re on, mate,” said Peter. “You’re the most chauvinistic pig bastard I’ve ever met and I wouldn’t be surprised if she dumps that martini all over you.”
“Here are your martinis gentlemen.”
“Thanks, love, say why don’t you sit down for a minute and… OH MY GOD! WHAT THE F*** IS THAT THING IN MY DRINK!”