Hard Feelings by Jason Starr Page A

you have a problem with it, you can talk to him, but I’d be happy to help out.”
    “Whatever,” I said.
    “Great. Just come by my office to pick me up when you’re ready to rock and roll.”
    This was all I needed—if I didn’t have enough hints that my head was on the chopping block, now Bob was sending Steve to baby-sit me in a sales meeting.
    The appointment was with Jim Turner, the MIS manager at Loomis & Caldwell, a midsized ad agency on Sixth Avenue. They were converting their system from Windows NT to Linux with a nice chunk of hardware and consulting involved, and the company had potential to turn into a six-figure client. My phone conversation with Jim had gone great and he was very eager to meet with me.
    The Loomis & Caldwell office was only a few blocks away so Steve and I walked there. Steve was going on and on about cars and vacation spots and I tried to pay as little attention as possible.
    The secretary said that Jim Turner would see us right away—a good sign, because it was about fifteen minutes before the scheduled time for the meeting. It was the first time I’d met Jim in person and I got good vibes from our handshake. I introduced Steve as “a colleague of mine,” then I went right into my pitch. It couldn’t have gone better. Jim said he was extremely unhappy with his current consulting company and that he was eager to start a new relationship. He was impressed with our client list and credentials and he wanted to start talking specifics. Then Steve cut in. With his usual used-car-salesman persona, talking fast out of the side of his mouth, he bragged about how our company was the “best” consulting firm in the city and how our clients were always “one-hundred-and-ten-percent” satisfied. I could tell that Jim was put off by Steve’s grating personality, that he was the type of client who didn’t need to be sold, who was going to make up his own mind. But Steve had no clue what was going on. A few times, I wanted to yell “Shut up!” or, better yet, tackle him to the floor and beat him senseless. But I just sat there, watching Jim check his watch and grind his teeth, obviously trying to restrain his own frustration.
    Finally, Steve shut up. I took over, trying to go over some specifics, but Jim suggested that I just take the request-for-proposal back to the office and send him a bid. Obviously, Steve’s monologue had killed the deal. Jim had said that one of his major gripes about his current consulting firm was that they were “too pushy,” and Steve’s personality had definitely raised a red flag.
    Jim walked us out to the lobby. His goodbye handshake was much weaker than his hello handshake, and although he insisted that he was “eager” to see our quote, I knew this was just polite bullshit; there was no way in hell he was going to use our services.
    Waiting for the elevator with Steve, I was fuming. The receptionist was within earshot so I figured I’d wait until we were alone to say something. But as soon as the elevator doors closed, Steve beat me to it, saying, “Can I give you some constructive criticism?”
    “ You want to give me criticism?”
    “Yeah, I noticed you didn’t discuss pricing right away. Next time you might want to—”
    “Will you just shut the fuck up?”
    Steve stared at me. Then he said, “What the hell’s the matter with you?”
    “You totally fucked up the sale, you stupid asshole, that’s what’s the matter with me. He was interested, he wanted to talk specifics, but you had to open your big fat mouth.”
    “Hey, I think you should watch the way—”
    “Fuck you.”
    “I was just doing what Bob told me to do. I was supposed to demonstrate how I close business—”
    “No, you were supposed to sit in on the meeting—not take over the meeting. I know how to close sales. I’m a thousand-times-better closer than you’ll ever be and I don’t need an idiot like you fucking my shit up.”
    The elevator opened at the lobby and I