Free A Thousand Tiny Failures : Memoirs of a Pickup Artist by Tony D

He was probably listening in, Orwellian like.
    “Well, I, I never thought of it that way,” she said meekly. “There is no problem with my age? I am getting quite…”
    I cut her off. “ Noo Maaam ! It’s no problem. If you would just answer a few quick payment questions…” I filled her in, pushed past her final objections, then sent her to collections. Sometimes you just get lucky.
    It’s all a numbers game they say, but I have talent. Old ladies are the easiest to sell. They want to believe there’s still good in the world and that someone is actually looking out for them. I didn’t tell grandma that the coverage will only cover one bone. She could break a dozen but we would only pay for one measly bone. I’m a bad, bad man. But I’m a bad man with a job. This is how your trip to hell begins, with one little justification.
    “Good work Sebastian! I heard that one. Good job! Put Sebastian on the board!” the fat man yelled with a fist pump and a slam of Coca-Cola.
    I watched the blubbery bastard and wondered how much money he made off every sale. “You see this everyone? Sebastian’s first sale was his first call! He’s a natural! Be like him. Ryan, get on the board this morning! Christine quit doing your makeup…”
    I looked at the girls legs beside me and felt a looming erection. They were superb, like a silken waterslide of….
    “Sebastian!” He yelled. “Keep going!”
    Shit.
    I re-started the queue, and the phone connected once more to another victim.
    “Hello?” The man’s gruff voice answered.
    “Hello Mr. Atkinson?”
    “Yes?”
    “This is operator one-one-nine from Visa Card Services….”
    “I paid my bill.”
    “Yes I understand. I am not a debt collector, sir. I’m with…”
    “Then what do you want?”
    “Did you know that for just two dollars a day you can be protected for up to one hundred percent protection on every bone in your body?”
    A cat meowed in the background. Mr. Atkinson scolded it.
    “Look, I lost my job three years ago.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that, sir. We all have unfortunate events in our life. Now more than ever, wouldn’t you want your loved ones to be protected, as well?”
    “Protected from what?”
    “From injuries, sir.”
    “I live alone. I’m divorced for fuck’s sake. My wife left me last year. My kids don’t speak with me. I’m an alcoholic.”
    I took a breath and glanced over my shoulder at the fat man. He was eating a Subway sandwich and laughing about something on his cell phone. I looked at the girl’s legs, and down to her feet. She had a ring on her toe… and an ankle bracelet, holy shit, that’s hot. I adjusted my crotch and then my microphone.
    “Sir. How do you do it?”
    “Do what?”
    “Get on with it, without a job?”
    “What else is there to do? I drink and read books. Sometimes I golf,” he said.
    “What about money?”
    “What about money?”
    “ Hmmmm .”
    I left that last comment hanging for a moment. “Sir. Between you and me, you don’t need this service. It’s bullshit. They only protect one bone. You could break twenty bones but they only pay for one. It’s a total scam.”
    “Really?”
    “Yeah, really.”
    I heard the cat meow again, then screech.
    “Operator… thanks for telling me this. I was considering buying it, just because I liked your voice.”
    “Really?”
    “No.”
    We both laughed.
    I looked back at the fat man, and he was staring at me again, sweating more than usual.
    “Sir. You have yourself a good day,” I said, panicking. I hoped he wasn’t listening in. I needed this job to buy cool clothes, and eat, and pay rent.
    “Yeah buddy, you too.”
    I thought I heard the crack of a beer before he hung up. I felt slightly better. This was a good call. I’m filling my karma bank.
    The fat man was still staring at me.
    The girl was chewing gum and looking at her nails. Her hands were smooth and pretty.
    “Hi, I’m Sebastian…”
    “Hey,” she said, hardly looking at