My Korean Deli_ Risking It All for a Convenience Store - Ben Ryder Howe [72]
I interrupt him. “George, it’s kind of busy at the fair right now. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Well, I should like to know how it’s going,” he says, changing his tone.
“How it’s going?” I look around our booth, trying to come up with the best way of describing the catastrophe I am witnessing. It is busy at the fair, to be sure; there are certainly plenty of people. But if they are paying attention to us, it’s generally to mock us with questions like whether we have any freedom fries or when the last time we showered was.
“It’s going great, George,” I blurt out. “People here seem … really excited to see us.”
“Marvelous,” cries George. “May I ask how many subscriptions you’ve sold?”
I try to avoid telling him, but he presses. “Twenty? Fifty? One hundred? Just give me a number.”
“Really, George, I can’t say. I haven’t counted.”
“Well, you don’t have to give an exact figure, but surely it’s more than twenty-five, is it not? This is Chicago, one of the greatest cities in the world, and you’ve been there all morning! There must be twenty-five people in Chicago who enjoy a good read.”
“Yes, George, I’m sure you’re right. I don’t know how many subscriptions we’ve sold, but it must be more than twenty-five.” And then, to deepen the hole I’m in, I promise to bring home double that.
Brigid’s eyes widen while she mouths the words “Are you crazy?!”
“SPLENDID! That’s the attitude. I shall eagerly await your return. Bravo, bravo!”
Click.
When I hang up, Brigid practically has her head in her hands.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take the blame,” I tell her. “When he blows up, you can tell him I lost the envelope with the subscriptions in it or something.”
“It’s not that I’m worried about. He’ll be crushed, not angry. Lately he’s been depressed. He gets hung up on any little bit of bad news.”
We go back to reading manuscripts and wait for the fair to end. What a farce, I think. As if coming all the way out here, not selling anything and being taunted by Dan Brown fans all day wasn’t ridiculous enough, now we have to justify our failure to George upon our return.
It isn’t right. We’re here to please George. Why should we fear his response if the results aren’t what he hoped for? Suddenly I begin to feel frustrated and angry instead of dejected and miserable. The heavy-headedness I’ve been struggling with since we arrived is wearing off, and I have this compulsion to do something, if only to shake things up and not be so passive.
So I decide to get up from my seat, get out of our booth and sell. After all, do I not stand at a counter every day at our deli selling things? So what if selling is embarrassing? My life is a series of bizarre and embarrassing interactions with strangers, and I’m going to make these people buy issues whether they report me to Homeland Security for suspicious Europhilic tendencies or not.
“Excuse me!” I say to a passing woman, after stepping out of the booth. “Who’s your favorite author?” She looks surprised at first—I just wanted to use the Porta Potty! her expression says—but then she actually stands there. She says her favorite writer is Ian McEwan—bingo! McEwan was the lead interview in one of our recent issues, which I place in her hand.
“Hmm,” she says. “I’d buy that.”
“How about a one-year subscription,” I say, “and I’ll give you that issue for free?”
“Deal!” she says. And just like that we’ve sold a subscription! It was easy. And she wasn’t even an editor for a literary magazine. (I know because I ask.)
After that exchange I’m energized to sell some more, which takes some girding of the loins. Selling is practically hardwired into my brain as a no-no, because when you sell you show desire. It’s like being naked, standing there with your needs exposed (“Buy this—please!