“‘It's a real piece-a-shit!’ I snarled, and then I noticed a big white freezer box on the back on the truck. ‘What the f**k is that, Penguin? It looks like a coffin!’ I saw a trail of gray dry-ice smoke rising up from out of one of the corners of the box. ‘And what the f**k is that?’ I said, pointing to the smoke.
“Elliot flashed me a knowing smile, then he held up an index finger and said, ‘Here! I'll show you,’ and he went waddling over to the passenger side and opened the lid of the freezer box. ‘Check out the food,’ he chirped proudly, and he started pulling out boxes, one by one, and showing me the food. Each box was the size of an attaché case, and it had a different cut of meat in it or a different type of fish. And there was everything—filet mignon, shrimp, lobster tails, lamb chops, pork chops, veal chops, fillet of sole, salmon steaks, crab legs. He even had prepared foods, like chicken Kiev and chicken cordon bleu. I'd never seen anything like it.
“By the time he was done, we were literally surrounded by more than two dozen boxes, and I was more confused than ever. There was something bothering me, but I couldn't place my finger on it. ‘How do we get the restaurants to buy from us?’ I asked. ‘Are our prices cheaper? Do we have better food?’
“The Penguin looked at me deadpan and said, ‘Who said anything about selling to restaurants?’”
I looked at the Bastard and shook my head. With a hint of a chuckle, I said, “I think I knew everything right then and there, and all that came afterward was merely incidental. When I didn't run back upstairs and reapply to dental school, I sealed my fate.” I shrugged. “The next decade of my life—meaning, the very insanity of Stratton Oakmont—was now a foregone conclusion.”
The Bastard leaned forward in his seat, obviously intrigued. “What makes you say that?” he asked.
I thought for a moment. “Well, let's just say that, right then and there, I knew what I was getting myself involved in. I knew it was a”—I avoided using the word scam, not only because the meat-and-seafood business wasn't an outright scam but also because I didn't want my captors thinking of me as a career scam artist. Better they should view Stratton as a blip in an otherwise semi-law-abiding life—”bit of a hustle,” I said carefully. “Or maybe even more than a bit. But I figured, since the food was so good, how much harm could I cause?”
I shrugged at my own rationalization. “Anyway, it was about a twenty-minute ride to the warehouse, and on the way Elliot explained the ins and outs to me. Everything was being sold door to door, either to homes or to businesses but never to restaurants. The food wasn't priced that way. ‘We sell at retail, not wholesale,’ the Penguin informed me. And while he didn't come right out and say it, he inferred that our prices weren't cheap. ‘It's all about convenience,’ he kept chirping. ‘We deliver restaurant-quality food right to their door. And we'll even pack their freezers for them!’ He kept repeating the last part, even called himself a professional freezer packer, as if that made up for the fact that he was overcharging everyone.
“Whether it did or didn't, by the time we reached the warehouse I had a pretty good idea of what was going on at Great American Meat and Seafood: There were no territories, no brochures, no existing customers to service, no salary of any kind; it was straight commission. ‘We're cold-calling machines,’ he chirped, as we pulled into the warehouse. ‘That's why we make so much money.’
“My job interview took place inside a ramshackle office at the front of the warehouse. It lasted eight and a half seconds, at which point I was hired. I hadn't heard of the mirror test back then, so I just assumed that I'd gotten the job because I was a friend of Elliot's. I didn't know they'd hire anyone with a pulse.” I shrugged innocently. “And then came the training program, which consisted of two days in a truck with Elliot. I sat in the passenger seat, observing, as he drove around aimlessly, knocking on people's doors, trying to sell the food. The rap he used was that he was a truck driver who had an overorder on his truck, and he couldn't get back to the freezer; so he was willing to sell everything at cost, lest the food thaw out and he lose everything.
“And, to support his claim, each box had an inflated price marked on it. As he was selling, he would point to the prices and say, ‘I'll take fifteen dollars off this box, and fifteen dollars off that box…’ and then he'd smile at his customer and add, ‘Hey, I'd rather sell everything at cost than let the food thaw out, right?’”
“He was outright lying to his customers!” snapped the Witch.
I smiled inwardly. “Yes, Michele, he was outright lying to his customers. And I'll tell you that it definitely shocked me at first. It seemed totally sleazy, what he was doing. Totally slimy. But, of course, the Penguin had a rationalization for it. In fact, he had rationalizations for everything.
“We were somewhere on the South Shore of Long Island when I broached the subject with him. Elliot was behind the wheel, searching for ‘virgin territory,’ which was Penguinspeak for a neighborhood where no one had heard the pitch before. It was early afternoon, and I'd seen him do his spiel about half a dozen times so far, although he hadn't sold a box yet. I said to him, ‘I can't believe what a scam this is, Elliot. Are you sure this is even legal?’
“Elliot looked at me as if I'd just fallen off a turnip truck and said, ‘Look who's talking, you f**king hypocrite! Aren't you the guy who used to pinch the bottom of the ices cup to get extra scoops out of the barrel?’ And he expelled a gust of air. ‘This is no different, pal. Besides, people can't even get this food in the supermarket.’
“I shook my head and said, ‘Yeah, yeah, I understand that the food is great and everything, and I'm really happy about that, but it doesn't change the fact that you're a lying sack of shit!’ I paused for a moment, then added, ‘And as far as my pinching the bottom of the ices cup, I only did it because the cups were stacked upside down. So when I picked one up, it got pinched automatically.’
“ ‘Yeah, sure,’ chirped the Penguin. ‘It was all an accident. You could've stacked the cups right side up. No?’ He rolled his eyes at me. ‘Anyway, what I'm doing with the prices goes on everywhere. Seriously. Just walk into any jewelry store or electronics store and check it out yourself. Everyone does this shit.’”
I paused, letting Elliot's words hang in the air. Then I said, “There's no denying that he had a point. You see it in jewelry stores all the time: They inflate their price tags and then mark things down right in front of you so you think you're getting a good deal.” I paused again, then: “And all this business about an overorder isn't much different than all those stores you see advertising ‘ going-out-of-business sales.’ Most of them have been advertising the same going-out-of-business sale for the last ten years, and in ten more years they'll still be going out of business!”
I took a deep breath and continued: “Anyway, we spent most of the first day working middle-class neighborhoods, knocking on people's doors and ringing their bells. And the rejection was absolutely staggering. Doors were being slammed in our faces left and right, with people telling us to basically drop dead. By two o'clock, Elliot was getting negative. He started whining to me, ‘Nobody wants the food today.’” I shook my head and let out a few chuckles. “It was sad to see. I mean, the poor bastard was on the verge of tears! At the beach, everyone loved us; we were almost like celebrities there. But here we were being treated like lepers.
“Still, the Penguin somehow managed to unload twelve boxes that day, and the next day he unloaded sixteen.” I nodded slowly, still impressed at his persistence. “One thing I can tell you about the Penguin is that he's a relentless bastard. He kept waddling from door to door, knocking and knocking until his knuckles were bleeding, even as he snuffled back the tears. But he was averaging three hundred dollars a day in commission, so it was worth a few tears. I mean, that was a lot of money back then, especially to a kid who'd just dropped out of dental school. So, f**k it, I thought. In spite of knowing it was a little bit of a hustle, I figured I'd give it a whirl.”
I paused and looked at OCD. “You wanna guess what happened next?”
OCD smiled and shook his head a few times. “I could only imagine.”
“Actually,” I said, “you probably couldn't, because no one at the Great American could. You see, since price seemed to be everyone's biggest objection, I figured, why not try selling to rich people? Or, better yet, to rich people I knew. The problem was that I didn't really know any rich people—except for the father of my girlfriend from college, David Russell. But that was a sticky situation, because he and his wife had just gotten separated and I didn't know where he was living. She, I knew, was still living in the mansion up in Westchester, but I couldn't just go knocking on her door. She never really liked me, although I can't imagine why.” I looked at the Witch and said, “What's not to like, Michele, right?”
The Witch didn't speak or smile; she simply raised her thin left eyebrow high on her forehead, as if to say, “Are you f**king kidding me?” I shrugged and said, “Well, I guess she had her reasons. But, that aside, I did the next best thing and went to her next-door neighbor.” I nodded a single time, implying the righteousness of my decision. “Yes,” I said proudly, “I pulled my Toyota pickup truck right up to her neighbor's enormous front door and hopped out and started knocking. I remember it like it was yesterday. The house was an enormous white colonial with forest-green shutters; and the front door was bigger than the one that led into the Emerald City. It was painted barn red and had a thousand coats of lacquer on it. And I kept rapping on it until, finally, after a minute, a kind-looking sixtyish woman, with gray hair and granny glasses, came to the door and said, ‘Can I help you, young man?’
“I offered her a sad smile and said, ‘Maybe you can, ma'am. My name is Jordan, and I deliver meat and seafood to some of your neighbors in the area. I have an overorder on my truck today, and I can't get back to the freezer. I'm willing to sell you everything at cost.’ I flashed her my big blue puppy-dog eyes and added, ‘Is there any way you can help me out, ma'am?’
“She stared at me for a few seconds, and then, in a tone ripe with skepticism, she said, ‘Which neighbors do you deliver to?’ Without missing a beat I answered, ‘To the Russells next door.’ Suddenly it occurred to me that she might actually call over there, so I quickly added, ‘Actually, it was to Mr. Russell—to David, as he liked to be called,’ and then I compressed my lips and nodded sadly. ‘But, you know, with all that's going on over there with the divorce, they haven't been buying much meat lately.’
“The woman was very sympathetic to that, so her tone immediately softened. ‘I can only imagine,’ she said sadly. ‘It's a terrible thing, divorce.’ Then, suddenly, she perked up and asked, ‘Well, what do you have on the truck today?’ I lifted an index finger and said, ‘Hold on, I'll be right back,’ and I ran out to the truck, grabbed one of everything, and came lumbering back with a dozen boxes. I had them stacked twelve high, towering a foot over my head.
“When I reached the front door, the woman said, ‘It's freezing outside; why don't you bring those into the foyer?’ She motioned toward a gray marble foyer that was big enough to land a plane in. ‘Uh, um, thank you,’ I said, letting out a couple of obvious grunts and groans. ‘These boxes are really heavy.’ Then, as I walked past her, I added, ‘You're right about it being freezing outside; it's absolutely brutal!’ And I dropped down to my knees and let the boxes hit the gray marble floor with an exaggerated thud.” I paused and took a moment to regard my captors.
They seemed shocked more than disgusted over the wonderful string of fibs I had told this kind old woman. What they had no idea of, though, was that the greatest fibs were yet to come. Of course, I knew I shouldn't plunge into the gory details of how I had convinced this kind old woman to buy all forty boxes of meat on the truck. This wasn't the sort of thing that my captors would respect, but I just couldn't seem to stop myself. I was getting an irrational joy by flashing back to the days when I was still a budding salesman. Besides, while I was busy talking about the past, I had no time to focus on the present, which is to say, the grim reality that had become my life. So I soldiered on, with relish.
“Well, I gotta tell you,” I said with a bit of cockiness slipping out around the edges, “there are only a handful of defining moments in a young man's life, moments where something so extraordinary happens that he knows things will never be the same again.” I paused for effect. “And this was one of them. I'd hustled ices on the beach before, but that wasn't really selling; it was more about working hard and having the desire to succeed. And even my little auction at dental school wasn't really salesmanship, although it was definitely one step closer.
“But when I looked up at this kind woman's smiling face, well”—I added a hint of the supernatural to my tone—”a strange feeling washed over me, almost magical, in fact. It was as if I knew exactly what this woman needed to hear—or, better yet, exactly what I needed to say to her to convince her to buy everything.
“I opened the first box and raised my palm toward twelve beautiful filet mignons, each individually wrapped in clear plastic. ‘Black Angus filet mignons,’ I said proudly, ‘inch and a half thick. They've been flash-frozen and Cryovac-ed to near perfection; they'll last up to twelve months in your freezer, ma'am.’ I nodded proudly, shocked at how easily the bullshit was rolling off my tongue. ‘Restaurants broil these for seven minutes on each side and then serve them with béarnaise sauce.’ Then I looked her right in the eye and said with the utmost conviction, ‘They're so tender you can cut them with a plastic fork.’ Then I moved the box to the side and went on to the next one. ‘South African lobster tails,’ I declared. ‘Split them down the back, brush them with butter and garlic, and twenty minutes later you got yourself a surf and turf
“And I went on and on, spitting out a little rap about each product and then saying I had three of these on the truck or four of those on the truck. Finally, when all the boxes were open and we were literally surrounded by meat and fish, I pointed to the prices and said, ‘I'll take fifteen dollars off each box, which is my absolute cost. Believe me, you can't even get this food in the supermarket! That's how good it is.’
“After a few moments she said, ‘Well, I'd love to help you. I mean, you seem like such a nice young boy. But it's only my husband and me. I wouldn't have use for so much food.’ She thought for a second then said, ‘Besides, I hardly have any room in my freezer.’ She shrugged sadly. ‘I'm very sorry.’
“I looked up at her and nodded slowly. ‘I totally understand that, but let me say this: I happen to be a professional freezer packer, and I'm willing to bet I can shuffle things around a bit, maybe even clean things up in the process. And not only will I pack your freezer for you, but I'm also willing to walk your dog and mop your floor and mow your front lawn and paint your house’—I raised both my palms toward her—‘not that it needs it or anything, but what I'm trying to say is that I'll do whatever it takes to sell the food today.’ I compressed my lips for effect. ‘See, if my food ends up thawing out, I might lose my job, and I can't afford for that to happen. I'm trying to put myself through college.’ Suddenly a wonderful thought came bubbling up into my brain. I bit my lower lip and said, ‘Do you have grandchildren, by any chance?’
“Well, the woman fairly beamed at the question. I think I made her day, in fact. ‘Oh, yes,’ she answered with a smile. ‘I have five of them; they're very wonderful.’ I smiled and said, ‘I'm sure they're very precious. So why not throw a great big barbecue for them? It would be a terrific excuse to get the whole family together. And then you can tell everyone about this nice young boy who came by and sold you all this wonderful food! You can even give them doggie bags to bring home.’ I raised my eyebrows and nodded eagerly. ‘In fact, I'll even deliver the food to them! Just call me back, and I'll come by with my truck.’
“She mulled it over for a few seconds, then said, ‘Okay; I have an extra freezer in the garage. You can put it in there.’
“ ‘Oh, my God,’ I declared. ‘Thank you so much, ma'am. You saved my life! What would you like? I have all sorts of prepared foods too. I have chicken Kiev, chicken cordon bleu, crab thermidor, which happens to be especially delicious,’ and it also happens to be my highest markup item, I thought.
“The woman smiled at me and said, ‘I guess I'll take everything. I mean, I wouldn't want you to lose your job, right?’”
I paused and leaned back in my seat and stared at the Bastard. “And that's how simple it was. She bought the whole f**king truck from me right on the spot!” I shrugged my shoulders. “Of course, I felt a bit guilty about having lied to the woman, but the food, well, it was top-notch, not to mention the fact that I'd single-handedly inspired her to throw a family reunion. So it was all good, right?”
“Yeah, it was all good,” snarled the Bastard.
I ignored his sarcasm. “Right, it was all good. In fact, it was so good that my first week on the job I sold two hundred and forty boxes—which was more than twice the company record. And that was how it started. From there, a bizarre chain of events led me into the stock market and then to Stratton. Let me take them in order.”
The Bastard nodded a single time. “Please do.”
I nodded back. “It started with the Great American office. It was as if the entire sales force suddenly caught fire. Everyone's production doubled, some even tripled. It was as if I'd raised the bar or opened a new realm of possibility as to how much money could be made if you worked hard and sold the right way. Within a week, the manager came to me and asked if I'd help train the new salesmen. The manager was P. J. Cammarata. He kept saying, ‘You pumped up the office, Jordan. It's pumped beyond belief now…’ and blah, blah, blah. He kept going on about how the pump was everything.” I paused, shocked at how clear my memory of this was. “In retrospect, it was the only intelligent thing he ever said. See, the pump is crucial; without it, a sales force withers away and dies quicker than you can imagine.”