Dear Citizen

“Dear citizen, we are calling you because there has been suspicious activity related to your social security number.” The droning, robotic voice warns.

I hang up the phone, frustrated. The only reason I answered is that any call coming in could be someone responding to one of the thousands of cold emails that I send out per week, trying to sell software to employees of large, important companies. It's been a tough year, people aren’t buying much of anything. I’m trying to stay optimistic.

“We’ve frozen all spending.”

“We’re cutting back our budget by 20%”

I am ripe to be scammed by robocalls, answering the phone earnestly every time someone, anyone, calls me.

“Hello, this is Dave.”

I wonder if the robots on the other end can hear the hope in my voice, I wonder if they think I’m pathetic. Maybe they laugh at me on their lunch breaks, maybe they feel bad for me.

I haven’t made a sale in eight months. Not too long ago, I was a hero at my company. A young American hero. Now, I’m a nobody. The layoffs are coming, I can feel it. They are creeping up on me.

The small, black notebook that I use to keep track of my activities and take notes during sales calls is sitting open on my desk next to my keyboard, staring at me. The page has a few scribbled notes in it, all of which are not actually written on the lines, erratically penned at erroneous angles.

“Process improvement”

“Streamline”

“All-in-one solution”

Notes from a sales call with a toy manufacturing company. Toy manufacturing is a serious business. Not to be taken lightly. I have become utterly disgusted with myself. I don’t even like what I do, I was just doing it because I was supposed to be good at it. Was that ever true, or did I just tell people that?

Dear citizen…

I want the robots to come get me, I want to work with them. I want to try to get in touch with people about the extended warranty on their vehicle. I want to call from Visa and Mastercard services, simultaneously. Give me that script. I want that sweet release.

I know that I wrote something down in my notebook about what to do next week. I open my Outlook calendar and it is completely blank. I am meeting with my boss in 25 minutes and my calendar is completely blank. What in god’s name am I going to tell him that I am working on?

I flip through my notebook and furiously try to find something that will help me, written on one of the pages, in scribbled print, “reach out to retail companies.”

Okay, that'll work. That has to work. So, very quickly, I come up with a new email campaign, a three-pronged attack, one main message, and two follow-ups, targeted at retail companies. I open the link to the meeting with my boss and I turn on my famous, young American hero charm.

“Hey Dave, how was the week?’ He asks, expectantly.

I just need to give this guy something to chew on. It doesn’t have to be substantial, it just has to be something. Like a burglar throwing a guard dog a steak.

“Hey man, the week was pretty good. I was able to get in touch with a few people.” I say.

“The call with Southend Toys went pretty well, I would say that we could provide the solution they are looking for. They are looking to streamline and improve all of their processes with an all-in-one solution.”

My boss just stares at me, does not respond. That is my cue to just press on, at least we’ll get this over with quickly.

“I’m working to get in touch with the rest of the opportunities in my pipeline.”

“Do you think that’s going to happen?” He asks.

“Aside from these toy people, you’ve been working on the same opportunities for months. I don’t see any difference from last week or several weeks back. Do you honestly think any of these opportunities can close?” He stares at me.

“Well, yes, I just think things are slow right now. But I have a plan for next week. I have noticed we have some traction in the retail vertical, so I made a new campaign to reach out to retail companies.”

Now he is starting to perk up. I feel like a hero again, if only for a moment.

“Okay, that sounds good. It’s up to you to find new opportunities, you know how to do it, I’ve seen you do it before.”

Now he is remembering my successes. I can’t help but smile. My plan is working flawlessly. We spend the rest of the call talking about innocuous nonsense. I am cracking jokes, he is laughing, he is forgetting that I haven’t made a sale in eight months, I can tell. I don’t know how long I can keep this up. I know he likes me, but he will axe me eventually, I know it.

I’m pretending to care about this conversation but really I’m thinking about how I need to go to the store and buy q-tips and triple-A batteries. I have one set of triple-A batteries that I have been switching between remotes when necessary, and my ears are clogged to the brim. I guess Emily used to buy the q-tips and batteries, I suppose I took that for granted.

Dear Citizen, it has come to our attention that you haven't made a sale in eight months, your girlfriend left you, and now you pick up two different remotes to feel which one has batteries in it, based on the weight. Your ears are apparently filthy, can you hear me alright?

***

Today is Monday, a brand new week. I stare at my blank calendar when I start working this morning at eight. When I was a hero, this thing was chock full. I visualize the nice blue blocks that used to fill up little half hour rectangles. Sometimes even an entire hour would be blocked out. An entire hour to discuss the integrations, user licenses, support subscriptions, hosting fees, maintenance, and upgrades. I’d kill to have to call a client and shake them down for some money.

Email subjects might read, “Unpaid Invoices— Please Call me to Discuss.”

Vaguely threatening, as it’s meant to be.

I go back to the mindless slog of sending out emails, I’m targeting retail companies. I’m asking people the tough questions. If you work in corporate America you’ve seen these emails. I’m the guy sitting around sending them. I’m the man behind the curtain. Subject lines reading, “Sarah, I have a question for you.”

Vaguely inviting, as it’s meant to be. I’m going to try using the subject line, “Dear Citizen.”

Suddenly, there is a little orange envelope that appears on my toolbar. I have received an email. Correspondence. I have made contact. I start to sweat, my clogged ears are popping as if I am driving into the mountains. This email could be anything, Dave, don’t get too excited.

“Dave—

I have reviewed your company’s website and I am interested in finding out more.

I have time Thursday morning ET.

Does that work for you?”

Thursday morning! I think my blank calendar can handle that! I look over at the little black notebook sitting on my desk. I focus on the scribbled note that says, “reach out to retail companies.”

Sometimes I amaze myself. I don’t even remember writing that. My brain is a duopoly. Two main companies dominate the market share of my thoughts. One company is a hopeless coward, the other a delusional megalomaniac. One good thing happening can turn the megalomaniac into the dominant market force on any given day. I feel my breath filling up my chest. I feel strong. My nostrils flare, my eyes open wider.

I grab my keys and head out the door. I come back twenty minutes later with q-tips and triple-A batteries.

***

After a month of negotiations, we have reached an agreement with what turned out to be a rare earth metals mining corporation. Not exactly a model of environmental or social justice causes, but I haven’t made a sale in nine months. Additionally, this organization somehow made it into my list of retail companies. So truly this was a complete coincidence and arguably an outright mistake on my part. The guy must not have even read my email, because it was completely catered to retail-specific needs. I guess he clicked the link to our website and responded based on that. This little detail of how the deal came to be will never be shared with my boss. In fact, I’m not really going to recognize the utterly random nature of this relationship starting, because I need to feel like this was my doing. I am responsible for this success.

Not only will this sale save my job, it is the biggest sale of my young career. They are going to spend over $200,000 per year. A drop in the hat for them, but a big deal for me.

I have become dangerously unhinged since news of this deal crossing the finish line has reached my desk. I have been waking up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and talking to myself in the mirror. I look down on others. I have achieved success at a young age. I am powerful. I am superior. I have decided to pin the page from my notebook on the wall.

“Reach out to retail companies,” scribbled in the corner.

I have cleaned my ears vigorously, and both of my remotes are heavy with batteries.

I have been obsessively trying to calculate the exact number of the commission bonus that I will make from this deal. I am factoring in what the final price of what the subscription will cost the mining company, then I have to subtract some third-party fees and account for taxes.

After everything, I’ll be getting a bonus of over $20,000 directly deposited into my bank account. I might just buy a Rolex, expensive liquor, and a motorcycle. I have no idea what I’m going to buy, but I want it to be impulsive, dangerous, and rapidly depreciating in value. I know my boss was sharpening the axe right before this deal came in. I would have been done for sure. I would have been laid off with nothing, no prospects, no job.

I need to call Emily and tell her how fantastically successful I have become, I want to call her and tell her thank you for always buying things like triple-A batteries and q-tips. I want to call her and tell her that I didn’t appreciate her enough, that I was too focused on my job, or not focused enough, I don’t know, I’ll blame my job somehow. Then I’ll slip in that I just made a big sale. That I created a new campaign and it was a ridiculous success. I’ll tell her I’m a young American hero again. She’ll remember what that was like.

I puff out my chest and stare at the number that is displayed on my laptop’s built-in calculator, the number that is going to change my life.

I call Emily.

The phone rings for a long time, and I’m about to hang up when she picks up.

“Hello, this is Emily,” I’m confused.

So I say back,” Yeah I know who it is.”

I hear a long, almost painful exhale.

“Oh, hi Dave.” She trails off.

Then it dawns on me all at once. She doesn’t have my number saved. I try to picture her, but I can’t. I stare back at the number on my screen, my mind is utterly and completely blank.

I hang up the phone.

Dear citizen...