strangers were the only ones who paid him any attention.
It made little sense to him that they could hear him when those around him could not, but by this point Donovan didn’t care. He was happy to have some form of interaction, whether they were shouting, screaming, crying, or simply talking to him. Even in their hatred for an annoying sales rep, Donovan found some kind of hope in their frustrations. He welcomed them.
In an effort to connect with his audience, if only for a few moments, Donovan abandoned the standard Identinel sales script. Instead he interacted with his potential customers, engaging them in all manner of conversation. What else did he have to lose?
All topics were fair game. If he connected with the right person, the conversation could last for up to an hour. One call went to a woman in Iowa named Eileen Carmike. For forty-seven minutes and fifty-three seconds, she and Donovan held a conversation about philosophy and the proper way to bake a turkey. Another call went to an elderly gentleman in Oregon named Zachary Rosen who had a passion for old cars and The Grateful Dead.
Though he enjoyed these conversations, Donovan grew increasingly depressed as he realized what he was missing from life. Here were people living their lives, with their own quirks and faults, and yet they were still somehow perfectly content. After a call with young Jimmy Frank, and their strange conversation about the nature of first and last names, Donovan removed the headset and checked his watch.
It was 4:30. He had time for one more call before braving traffic for another silent night at home. He rubbed his eyes, yawned, and put on the headset. The automated dialer generated a new phone number with a single keystroke.
Click. Beep.
A sharp hiss of static surged through the earphone. He cringed. It reminded him of an old dial-up modem. The surge devolved into the normal series of rings, followed by an abrupt connection. No one spoke on the other end.
Donovan paused. The monitor revealed no name or address. All information fields were blank.
“Hello? Anyone there?”
More electronic interference shot through the line and took shape as a man’s voice. It was a steady voice, confident but soft-spoken. A whine of digital noise hung in the background.
“Hello. Who is this?”
Donovan cleared his throat. “My name is Donovan Candle, and I’m a sales rep for Identinel Security Services. You may have seen our commercials—”
“I have not. What is the nature of your business?”
“We offer identity theft protection. Do you mind if I give you a sales pitch?”
“I find it ironic that a man of little identity is offering to protect the identity of others. How ...
noble.
”
Donovan said nothing. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that.
“In lieu of a sales pitch,” said the nameless man, “I would not mind hearing a life pitch from you.”
A life pitch?
“I’m sorry,” Donovan said, “but I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
“Please forgive my poor manners. You just sound like a man who is not getting all he wants out of life. Tell me, Mr. Candle, what do you want out of your life?”
His mouth was parched. It was rare a customer turned the tables on him so effectively. He had years of experience in dealing with this sort of thing. There were ways to direct a conversation back on track, but Donovan suddenly found he lacked the desire. Something about the man unnerved him, but his curiosity pushed him to answer.
“It’s not every day I’m asked that question. Let’s see ...”
“You do not have to answer that now, Mr. Candle. It was rhetorical.”
“No, sir, it’s perfectly fine. My life has taken a strange turn these last few days. To be honest, I’m not really sure what I want out of life anymore. Today, after talking to other folks like yourself, I’ve realized just how much I’m missing.”
“Missing?”
“In life. There’s not much that defines me anymore. I guess if
It made little sense to him that they could hear him when those around him could not, but by this point Donovan didn’t care. He was happy to have some form of interaction, whether they were shouting, screaming, crying, or simply talking to him. Even in their hatred for an annoying sales rep, Donovan found some kind of hope in their frustrations. He welcomed them.
In an effort to connect with his audience, if only for a few moments, Donovan abandoned the standard Identinel sales script. Instead he interacted with his potential customers, engaging them in all manner of conversation. What else did he have to lose?
All topics were fair game. If he connected with the right person, the conversation could last for up to an hour. One call went to a woman in Iowa named Eileen Carmike. For forty-seven minutes and fifty-three seconds, she and Donovan held a conversation about philosophy and the proper way to bake a turkey. Another call went to an elderly gentleman in Oregon named Zachary Rosen who had a passion for old cars and The Grateful Dead.
Though he enjoyed these conversations, Donovan grew increasingly depressed as he realized what he was missing from life. Here were people living their lives, with their own quirks and faults, and yet they were still somehow perfectly content. After a call with young Jimmy Frank, and their strange conversation about the nature of first and last names, Donovan removed the headset and checked his watch.
It was 4:30. He had time for one more call before braving traffic for another silent night at home. He rubbed his eyes, yawned, and put on the headset. The automated dialer generated a new phone number with a single keystroke.
Click. Beep.
A sharp hiss of static surged through the earphone. He cringed. It reminded him of an old dial-up modem. The surge devolved into the normal series of rings, followed by an abrupt connection. No one spoke on the other end.
Donovan paused. The monitor revealed no name or address. All information fields were blank.
“Hello? Anyone there?”
More electronic interference shot through the line and took shape as a man’s voice. It was a steady voice, confident but soft-spoken. A whine of digital noise hung in the background.
“Hello. Who is this?”
Donovan cleared his throat. “My name is Donovan Candle, and I’m a sales rep for Identinel Security Services. You may have seen our commercials—”
“I have not. What is the nature of your business?”
“We offer identity theft protection. Do you mind if I give you a sales pitch?”
“I find it ironic that a man of little identity is offering to protect the identity of others. How ...
noble.
”
Donovan said nothing. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that.
“In lieu of a sales pitch,” said the nameless man, “I would not mind hearing a life pitch from you.”
A life pitch?
“I’m sorry,” Donovan said, “but I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
“Please forgive my poor manners. You just sound like a man who is not getting all he wants out of life. Tell me, Mr. Candle, what do you want out of your life?”
His mouth was parched. It was rare a customer turned the tables on him so effectively. He had years of experience in dealing with this sort of thing. There were ways to direct a conversation back on track, but Donovan suddenly found he lacked the desire. Something about the man unnerved him, but his curiosity pushed him to answer.
“It’s not every day I’m asked that question. Let’s see ...”
“You do not have to answer that now, Mr. Candle. It was rhetorical.”
“No, sir, it’s perfectly fine. My life has taken a strange turn these last few days. To be honest, I’m not really sure what I want out of life anymore. Today, after talking to other folks like yourself, I’ve realized just how much I’m missing.”
“Missing?”
“In life. There’s not much that defines me anymore. I guess if
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