Steve Part 1

Gregg and Bill picked us up for the next sales meeting. They came by the Epps’ house Saturday night. Gregg ran up to our room and jumped on my bed. He patted the sheet and gave me come hither look, and asked if I would join him. I laughed it off, and he got out of my bed.

Later that evening, when it became apparent that Bill and Gregg had no place to sleep, we shared our beds with them. Great, just great I thought. Bill was in Mary’s bed, Gregg in mine. At first Gregg was the perfect gentleman. Totally clothed, we spooned just to fit on the twin bed. He began breathing in my ear. His breath was warm, close, intoxicating. I turned to him and we kissed. The kisses were shallow at first, just soft lips, and then grew a bit deeper. I stifled a moan, since Mary and Bill were just across the room, as Gregg’s hands caressed my body through my clothes in a sensual way. My breathing grew deeper. He began to open my top jean button and then lower the zipper. He slid his hand in and found me wet. One of his fingers entered me and he whispered, “You are so tight.” I moved his hand away and he stopped immediately. I realized that I was lonely both for someone to talk to and to sleep with. We spooned again and drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, I wore my New York Yankees hat to the meeting for the first time. My shoulder length hair was tucked into it. That week, my sales had not been all that bad; good enough that I did not fear being ostracized, and low enough that I would not be called on to make a success testimonial. That suited me just fine. Mary and I strode into the lobby of the hotel in Marietta.

One of the guys, Steve, who’s territory was Northern Oconee County (just to the South of mine), came right up to me and put his arms around me. Out of the blue, he gave me a big wet kiss on the neck. He let me go and resumed walking past me. I was unaccustomed to so much attention from guys at home.

During the meeting, a contest was announced. Each person was assigned another to compete with during the following week. The two peoples’ sales for that week would be compared head to head. Results of the competition would be announced at next week’s meeting, and the winner would get to throw a pie into the face of the loser. Every one was paired. At first I thought that Mary and I would be paired. I would lose, as her sales were usually much better than mine, but I could live with the idea of her throwing a pie into my face.

To my surprise, I was paired with Brian, a second year salesman who was in a slump. Robbie announced the pairing something like this, “Sue and Brian are paired because Sue had a pretty good week, but we think she has potential to do much better. Being paired against Brian, who has had really big sales in the past, should motivate her to her best week of the summer. Brian was one of our top sales people last year, but is in a slump. We thought that the insult of being paired against a first year girl ought to motivate him.”

Just lovely, I thought. That is how much they thought of women on the bookfield; that being paired against a girl was insult enough to break a slump. And I was worried. There was no way that even if motivated I had any where near the sales talents that Brian had. I was already doing the best I could. I looked at Brian, but he did not look back. He had his game face on. He had been publicly insulted.

I couldn’t believe that the company would completely humiliate half of its sales people, the losers, for the benefit of the other half, the winners. The bottom line, however, was the company’s bottom line. Everyone would be motivated to avoid a terrible public humiliation, and the company would reap the profits. Disgusting.

I considered quitting at that point. I had made a commitment to see the summer through, though. So I looked at the whole situation unemotionally, which wasn’t easy. The pie in the face wouldn’t physically hurt me, and I would be in plenty of company. I didn’t really care what these people thought of me anyhow. Mary was enthusiastic about the contest.

Steve Part 2

I decided to unwind by swimming in the hotel pool after the meeting. It was crowded with Parchment people. When I jumped in the three foot deep end, a splashing contest ensued. I really wasn’t into it, having never really liked splashing, so I tried to move away. Steve was in front of me, splashing.

His arm flew out, I thought to splash me, but instead he grabbed my arm and pulled me toward him. I gave him a stern look and he pushed my head under the water. Unfortunately, I had begun to inhale just as he did and I held what was left of the air in my lungs while I went under. I tried to get up quickly, but I couldn’t. I began to struggle to get up. He held me firmly, and eventually I found that I was on my hands and knees on the bottom, unable to budge. Now, I was synchronized swimmer in high school, so I can hold my breath, but I had not been able to get a good breath when I was forced under. Soon, my need for another breath outweighed my desire to struggle. I panicked. I began to punch Steve under the water, and still he did not let me up. I had to inhale; it was becoming an involuntary action. I inhaled water. I thought I was going to die. Just then, he pulled me up.

I tried to inhale and ended up just gasping, because the water in my wind pipe prevented the air from coming in. I could have used some help to the side, but everyone was standing there laughing at me. I made it to the side and threw my arms onto the concrete for support. I began coughing up the water I had inhaled. It was painful. One of the guys looked at my face and realized that I was in trouble. They helped me out of the pool. I continued coughing for about half an hour. Steve came over and said that he had known I was a strong swimmer and that the dunking was just a joke.

I kind of kept to myself for the rest of the day. To this day, I fight not to panic if someone touches me while I am in the water. I suppose I could have bit him; hindsight is twenty-twenty.

(Man splashing water photo credit to Aron Thanks!)

Steve Part 3

The week went by too quickly. I gave it my best shot, but I had a typical sales week for me. I could only avoid the pie ordeal if Brian had a really crappy week. Mary had her best week yet of the summer. Before we knew it, it was Sunday.

Back at the hotel in Marietta, it seemed as if we had never left. Gossip was sweeping our group. Steve had quit. The gossip was that he had faked all of his sales on his expense report, and the pie contest forced him to admit it. He could not bear to fake the results so that someone else would get the pie. I couldn’t say that I would miss him. Then, unexpected good news: I inherited his territory, the Northern part of Oconee County, since it bordered on mine. It was too late in the summer to assign a new sales person to it, and Robbie was aware that I was running out of territory.

The meeting began and results were announced. Mary had won her match. I had lost to Brian, who had his best week ever. I was busy trying to prepare myself for the pie humiliation, when Brian came up to me. “You know”, he said, “I’m not looking forward to doing this to you. Yes, I tried to out sell you to avoid getting the pie myself, but I am not going to enjoy this. I don’t think the contest is a good idea. If there is any way I can make this easier for you, please let me know.”

I asked that he not get pie in my hair. It made me feel better that he was sympathetic. We all went outside for the pie throwing. The fifty or so pies were stacked on conference tables at the pool side. We losers lined up for the humiliation, with our respective winners next to us, so that they would be in the right place for their turn to ‘pie’ us.

So many people got pies in the face, that when it came my turn, almost nobody was watching. There was humiliation overload, and it no longer amused anyone. When my turn came, Brian asked me to select a flavor, and I chose lemon. A lemon facial, I thought to myself. Brian stood to my left with the pie in both of his hands. He held the pie under my chin and raised it slowly until my chin was in the pie. He looked me in the eyes, and when I nodded and closed my eyes, he slowly covered the rest of my face in the pie, up to my eyebrows. The pie felt very nice, actually. It was a hot day as usual, and the icy coolness of the pie was refreshing. The lemon smelled nice to. Someone handed me some paper towels and I wiped most of the pie from my face. I thanked Brian for not getting any in my hair.

Most of the folks who received pies jumped straight into the pool to rinse off. I was avoiding the pool that day, after last week’s disaster, so I went into the hotel’s ladies room to wash off. I took a look at the pool at the end of the day. Meringue floated everywhere. It clogged the pool filters, and from then on we were barred from using the pool at that hotel.