The Typical Sales Guy

Michelle and I went to a tequila bar in New Haven after dinner one fall night.   The cliental here is usually middle-aged professional white-collar men but not tonight.  There was some sporting event on all of the TVs and the suit wearing men were replaced with young guys wearing tight fitted tee shirts.  I rolled my eyes at Michelle as we searched for a quite area away from the obnoxiously loud jackasses.

We finally found a spot in the back of the bar near a group of guys who looked closer to our age.  I looked over the men and spotted him, The Typical Sales Guy. 

He was sitting on a bar stool but I could tell he was tall and well dressed.  His wavy light brown hair and sharp blue eyes were hard to ignore but I wasn’t sure how cute he really was. I needed to find out.  

“Just push your way in there.  He is blocking us from the bartender.”  Michelle suggested knowing I was plotting my next move.  

“Wait, Is he cute?  I can’t tell.”  I asked.

“I think so.  Get a better look and get us a drink while you’re at it.”  She suggested slightly pushing me in his direction. 

I excused myself before leaning on the bar next to him.

“Hello.  I’m Phil.”  He said extending his hand.

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you.”  I said while shaking his hand.

“I figured I might as well introduce myself since we’re so close to each other.”  He said with a huge smile, he was really cute.

I let out a flirty giggle and the standard bar banter took place.  Within minutes, he went in for the kill.

 “Can I have your number?”  He asked. 

“That was quick.  I don’t know if I want you to have my number yet.”  I replied.  It was a stupid line but I was serious.  Other than being a hot guy, I didn’t know anything about him.

   “Are you single?”  I asked

   “Yup.”  He replied immediately.  I wasn’t going to accept his quick response that easily. 

   “Let me rephrase that question.  Are you married? Engaged? Dating? Have a friend with benefits? Hanging out with a woman who thinks you are dating?”  I asked waiting for a response.

“I didn’t know there were so many levels of being single.”  He said.

“Neither did I but apparently there are.” I explained.

 The look of horror that appeared on Michelle’s was priceless.  A few seconds after I asked Phil my ridiculous question Michelle mouthed, “You blew it.” 

He didn’t say a word so we just stood there, in silence.  Michelle might have been right; it looked like I blew it.

“You are a no bullshit kind of girl, I like that.  I don’t fall into any of those categories.  Now, can I have your number?”  He said breaking the silence.

I gave him my number.

    After multiple telephone conversations we made plans to go out to dinner.  He arrived at my condo on time and with a box of Italian pastries.  I invited him in and thanked him for the box of goodies.   He made himself comfortable on my couch as I went into the kitchen to put the pastries in my fridge and poured us a glass of wine.  I handed him a glass and the date officially started.

    He told me he was in sales the night we met but that was all he said about his career.  During our conversation tonight I learned that he worked for his family’s business selling special tools. 

  “I’m the best salesman anyone has ever seen.  I could sell anything to anyone.”  He said then listed all of his accomplishments.  “My territory is the entire Northeast and I own it.”  He said confidently.

I didn’t interrupt him as he bragged about himself but I did want him to shut up.  

   I really wanted this to work out.  He was age appropriate, geographically desirable and attractive.  Not to mention the fact that he was financially stable.  He was perfect on paper; I just wish he would stop talking.  He was ruining a perfectly good potential relationship.  I stayed focused on his pretty face and tuned him out but it was difficult.

“I have a condo in Florida and my family owns a house in Italy.”  He said which was a game changer.  I pictured myself vacationing in Italy while he kept on saying stupid shit.

 “So, are you packing?”  He asked.  It took me a while for that question to register.  I thought he was talking about my imaginary trip to Italy but then he patted his pocket.  I still wasn’t sure what he was referring to so I just looked at him.  He must of known I was confused because he raised his hand and pointed his fingers like a gun.

 “I’m sorry, are you asking me if I carry a gun?”  I asked trying to clarify the question.

“Yeah, a gun.  You know, us sales people have to protect ourselves.”  He explained. 

“From what?”  I asked wondering if he brought a gun into my home. 

“What do you mean from what?  From other people.  I’m a member of NRA and you should be too.”  He said standing up.  

  The next ten minutes consisted of Phil quoting some Politian and building a case for everyone to carry guns.  I wish I did have a gun at this point so I could have shot him.

“I don’t think I want a gun” I started to explain as I stood up to walk into my kitchen but he interrupted me.

“Ahhhhhh mannnnn.  You are all legs.  Take off those kickers.  I want to see how tall you really are.” 

For those of you who don’t know what “kickers” are, they are shoes.  I assure you that my sling back open toe stilettos are not “kickers.”  

“Are you serious?”  I asked him in disbelief.  

I wondered where the well-spoken, normal guy I met in the bar went and how this crass man got into my home.

“Yeah I’m serious.  At least take off one shoe.”   He asked as his creep factor grew. I took off one shoe and for a second pictured myself ramming the heel into his eye. 

“Yuuuummmm….you are one tall drink of water.”  He said while licking his lips and shaking his head.  I immediately put my shoe back on.  I felt like I was walking through a construction site in my own living room!

  “Ok, ready to go?”  I asked grabbing my handbag and guiding him out the front door. 
At the risk of sounding desperate, I really wanted this to work out so I ignored his stupid comments.  After all, they were complements, right?  Ok so the gun thing was a little strange but I don’t have to agree with everything he says.

He started to apologize for his comments on our ride to the restaurant but then he went into a sales pitch.

“Look. We both have charisma, charm and the appeal most people dream of having.  I noticed you as soon as you walked into the bar last week and I know you noticed me.  I like you so far.  I think we have something good here.”  He said.    

I wasn’t sure if he was complementing himself or me.  Either way, I guess he was saying all of the right things.  I needed to stay positive.

“So what do you think?  Are you in? Let’s make heads turn together.”  He said as if he was closing a deal.  

I didn’t answer him instead I decided to ignore his stupid comments the rest of the night.  Maybe to him they weren’t stupid comments.  Maybe I was just being a bitch.  I reminded myself to STAY POSITIVE!

   The restaurant he took me was very cool.   He started to act normal again and I thought that this just might work out.  How could I be upset with him?  He was just expressing himself in the only way he knew how.  He wasn’t that bad, a little rough around the edges but not a bad person. Once I convinced myself into staying positive, I started to really enjoying myself.    

We left the restaurant and headed home.  Once we got on the highway he asked if he could stop at a liquor store for some beer.  

“I’m tired of drinking wine.  I’d like to switch to beers for the rest of the night.”  He explained as he got off the next exit.

“Ah, Ok I guess.”  I said. 

“I know where all of the liquor stores are in the state of Connecticut.”   He said proudly. 

I was not impressed.  I was actually a little concerned.   He pulled into a parking stall and ran into the store.  I whispered; “Stay positive” over and over again while he was gone.

 After a few minutes, he emerged from the door with a twelve pack of Budweiser.  My positive thoughts quickly shifted to loud warning sirens. 

“What are you going to do with all of that beer?”  I asked as he opened the back car door and threw it on the seat. 

“Drink it.  It’s only twelve beers.  I assume I could crash at your place if I need to.”  He said while pulling a bottle out of the case and opened it. 

“Are you going to drink that now?”  I asked.

 “Yes I am.”  He said before taking a huge gulp. 

“You do know that it’s illegal to drink and drive, right?”  I said sounding like his mother. 

“It’s only illegal if you get caught.”  He said smiling then gave me a wink. 

I wanted to punch him repeatedly and scream; “You are ruining everything! We could have had something here!” But I didn’t say a word.  Mostly because I knew I would have suggested that he drives directly to an Alcoholic Anonymous meeting.

 He pulled into my driveway, turned off the engine and jumped out of the car.  He opened the door to his back seat and pulled the twelve-pack out of the car.  He threw the beer over his left shoulder and walked towards my front door.   

“I guess you want to come in.”  I said unlocking the door. 

 He walked into my home and put the beer in my fridge.  He grabbed another bottle from the cardboard box and then looked at me.  I could tell he was going to try to kiss me.  I couldn’t let that happen.  I grabbed the refrigerator door and pulled out the box of pastry he brought over earlier. 

“I can’t wait to eat one of these things.” I said struggling to open the white box. 

“Yeah, I can’t wait either.”  He said still staring at me. 

The ride home was a deal breaker.  No positive thought or a kiss was going to change my mind! It's OVER!

I finally got the box open and pulled out a powder sugar covered cannoli and shoved it into my mouth. 

“This is so good!”  I proclaimed with a mouth full of ricotta filling.   

He waited patiently while I finished the entire cannoli then leaned in for a kiss.  I dodged his attempts and seized another pastry. 

“These are amazing!” I said while chomping on another creamed filled treat.  

“I’m really full and tired.  Thank you for dinner.  Maybe we can do this again.”  I said as I started to walk out of the kitchen.

 “Seriously?”  He asked me. 

“Yeah, I’m sorry.  It’s getting late.”  I said noticing 9:30 pm on the  microwave oven clock.

  Again he asked, “Seriously?”  I responded with a flirty “Yes, I’m sorry.”  

“I’ll just leave the beer here so it’ll be here when I come over again.”  He said walking towards the door.  “No, why don’t you just take it.  I don’t have room for it here.”  I said running back into the kitchen to pull the twelve-pack out of the refrigerator.  He reluctantly took the case from me and walked out of my condo.   

He sent me a text about an hour later.  I read it while eating another cannoli and drinking a glass of wine.  He apologized for being so forward.  I thanked him for an entertaining evening.  I never saw him again.