Looking for a Position as a “Fluffer” (Non-Porn)

I think I’ve found the perfect job for myself. The issue now becomes finding out whether it exists in the real world. I’ve been told since college by people in all walks of life; relatives, friends, old people, young people, corporate people, even a few strangers, that I should go into sales. Owing I suppose to my ease in talking to all sorts of people about most subjects, coupled with a lack of fear of public speaking. I wish it were that easy. If it were I’d be cruising the town in a sweet assed Sebring and talking to everyone on an even sweeter blue tooth ear clip device. If I went into hard sales my family would maybe not starve today, but they would a few months from now. I can’t stand bothering people. It makes my molars hurt.

“Hi, I see you use widgets. We’ve got widgets. How many can I put you down for?”
“Get the fuck out of here.”
“Okay, no widgets for you. They told me back at headquarters that I could take you out for dinner and beers. I don’t want to not use that money. So you want to go grab some beers? I promise I won’t ask about widgets anymore.”

I’m too nice or too much of a pussy, however you prefer to phrase it, and I take things too personally, to succeed in such an endeavor. Here is what I have, you want some? No. Okay cool, have a good day. KILLER instinct. If coffee is for closers, I’m obviously going to be tired all the time. This brings me to the title of this post, the idea that I think I’ve found the perfect job for myself in sales, though at this point I’m unsure if it actually exists. I could be the Fluffer on a sales team. To set the record straight I do NOT want a job which actually entails giving hand jobs off set, but rather metaphorically “work people up” before it is time to bang, er I mean sell. I stroll into your office, look at a few photos and maybe see the book you are reading for pleasure on the desk, make a few inferences, and start a little convo. Bit of back and forth. However long it takes to get you from limp to turgid, we’ll get it done. You feel it? You feel that rapport (not to be confused with Michael Rappaport, who ROX) we’re developing here? I can feel it, the air hangs thick with our rapport. I’m not about to cheapen what we have together by trying to sell you something and put money in my pocket. But this fuckin’ guy will…..

Like a manager who knows his starting pitcher is completely out of bullets I make a two-finger double-tap on my forearm, the bullpen doors open and in strides the sales closer. “You like pussy? Well you’re going to be swimming in it as soon as you drive off the lot with this Mustang! Ignore that sticker on the windshield, we put it there for suckers and I can tell by that rager my colleague Mr. Z here has helped you to work up, that you are not a sucker. Now let’s talk extended warranty.” You’re so high on rapport at this point that you don’t even realize you’ve been lowered into the tank with a great white. A mark isn’t always ready to bang right through the door. They need a little wine and dine, some stimulating conversation, a rub-and-tug, whatever the case. I can do that, in spades. Now I need someone to find me that job because I don’t know what it is called. And don’t come back with anything that requires cold-calling, fuck that. I’d be out in the woods with a shotgun and a The Cure album after one week of that shit.

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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One Response to Looking for a Position as a “Fluffer” (Non-Porn)

  1. Dustin says:

    The fact that you have never tried sales is a shame, you must be a puss (puss with an orangutan kettle bell? WTF?) Besides, closing the sale or “snappin necks and cashin checks”, there is a part of sales that you will never get to experience from the bench as a fluffer, The reverse rejection. This is when someone tells you to go fuck off, instead of letting this get you down, you get to use your asshole instincts and reverse it. “I’m sorry, we aren’t interested” “Ok great maam, take care, brush your hair, douche down there.” “Yeah- you guys probably can’t afford it anyway.” I have had people call me back pissed off that I was such as asshole to them, fuck it, better them feel disrespected than me feeling up set. After all, I have “smiling and dialing to do”

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