Today Jeff was fired from his job at the car dealership. He’s laying on his bed with a bottle of vodka in his hand. From time to time he takes a swig of the clear alcohol. It goes down harshly, not at all smoothly. He doesn’t like it, but he keeps drinking because it numbs the pain of being fired.
Okay, he admits to himself, I wasn’t cut out for selling cars. It wasn’t for me.
Jeff realizes he enjoys looking at cars, enjoys driving them, but when it comes to selling them, not so much. Customers frustrated him. They asked a lot of dumb questions.
It probably was my attitude, Jeff admits.
The dealership wanted results. I wasn’t getting them.
It wasn’t particularly painful to admit that. The truth had been coming clear or awhile. The sign his job was in jeopardy was right in front of him.
The dealership ranked all of the salespeople and posted it as a notice in the staff breakroom. Jeff had been ranked right at the bottom for the last three months. That made him feel desperate. Customers — and the rest of the sales staff — sensed it.
He had a mortgage and a car payment to pay. While he could go see them back at the restaurant about getting his old job back, that would still make it tight going.
“What am I going to do now? I’m a no good fuck up!”
It’s going to be all right.
The voice and feeling come out of nowhere, soothing him. Jeff feels like he’s being hugged, comforted like he’s a child.
The young man cries.