i had set a goal - a goal to sell four more fans. and guess what? That very day I sold some. How many, you ask? Well, that'd be four--- wait for it--- teen. FOUR FUCKING TEEN. FOURTEEN MOTHER FUCKING FANS!
i only had 2 clients.
one being my room mate, phoebe, who had been off gallivanting in Canada for the whole summer, leaving me all alone to deal with all of the people who buzz our buzzer and ask if we are the super. i'm still not convinced that phoebe is not the super. there is always a flash of guilt on her face when she replies "wrong apartment" and I found a tool belt underneath her mattress, with her initials engraved on a hammer and a piece of red construction paper with sharpie writing on it that reads "If found - please return to the super, Phoebe."
Butever. Her being gone gave me loads of extra room for my 8.4 drillion unsold fans.
I don't know if she was staring at my blog constantly hitting refresh or what, but pretty much as soon as I hit PUBLISH on that last post, Phoebe asked if she could buy 4 fans.
For those of you who can't find a calculator, that is 12 dollars. That's a meal at Texas Rotisserie OR 4 cans of tennis balls if there's no tax.
Cha ching!
So then that night I went to a birthday party at a bar, no fans in hand, and a friend of mine named Max sat on a couch away from the party.
"What's wrong, slugger?" I asked with a heart of concern and a tone of confusion.
"I'm fine. No nothing."
He slumped in his seat. I knew there was more to this story.
"Now don't lie to Mr. Paul. What's wrong Max?"
His arms crossed tighter. His teeth clenched harder.
"Max..."
And then - with an outburst - socially unacceptable but still probably very therapeutic - he yelled -
"I WANTED A FAN!!!!!"
"Oh - well buddy - I didn't bring any."
"Everyone else had fans this summer. I didn't even have ONE!"
"Well why not?"
"YOU DIDN'T GIVE ME ONE!"
"Did you ask for one?"
He looked at me, saddened but also relieved.
"No..."
"So what have we learned?"
A stare.
"Maaaax?"
His eyes welled up. A smile across his face. A weight off his shoulders and some air in his lungs. He opened his mouth. He revealed the answer. The answer he knew all along.
"Ask and ye shall receive."
[Max - if you read this - I know this is not at all how this happened - but I just wanted any publishing companies that stumbled across this blog to realize it could be a kids book too. And If I throw in a few more "ye"s, I bet we can get in in the CUSTOMERS WHO LIKED THIS BOOK ALSO PURCHASED list when people do an amazon.com search for the bible - the best selling book in the world.]
In reality, Max wanted to buy some fans for his nieces and nephews. So what happened? He gave me thirty bucks and requested ten fans. thirty dollars. shall i count that for you?
1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18,19,20,21,22,23,24,25,26,27,28,29,30,31,32,33,34
I went to 34 cause I knew that 4 of them would probably break immediately since I'm a first class pawn shop selling total pieces of grade busted plastic shit.
And then, kids, the adventure came to a close. For 2010, that is. I've got no house in the hamptons. But what I've done is built an excellent foundation for 2011. These three months were used to get people to stop thinking "that dude is fucking nuts" and start thinking - "I could use a fan. where the hell is paul?"
and i've done that.
AND - on top of it all. I broke even.
So for next year, I'm thinking about upgrading. To non shit-grade fans. Something a little more durable. Something a bit more like this.
Cause let's face it. Nothing is more refreshing than a fan blowing right in your face. Right guys?
Thought so.
This is Paul. And I'll sell you my fan. :-)
