approached the first guy as he left the serving line. “Hi, I’m Jill Morgan Storm. I was wondering if you could help me?”
I stuck out my hand for him to shake and he cooperated after moving his food-laden plate into his left hand. “I’d be happy to help.”
He looked proud and pleased to be asked. This was going to be easier than I’d imagined. “I’m thinking of a career change. Are you an easel salesman?”
He nodded.
“Do you like it?”
“Love it. Are you in sales?”
“Sort of. I work for the hotel.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a sous chef.” I searched for something to say that would get him to start talking in longer sentences. “I never realized there were so many easel salesmen. Who do you sell easels to?”
“Just about everyone. My company sells a full line of presentation and display easels to distributors, office supply companies, advertising and marketing companies, hotel conference centers, and even artist supply companies.”
“Wow.” That was so much more than I wanted to know.
“We also sell other items, such as dry-erase boards, interactive marker boards, chalkboards.”
“I see.” I did see. As he continued yammering about different presentation products, my eyes began to glaze and I saw that he was a total bore and the only thing more boring I could think of was to actually work as an easel salesman.
But if I only had to tolerate him coming home once a week, maybe I could deal with it? Maybe I could change the subject? “So, are you a Las Vegas native?”
“Nah, I’m from Omaha. Here for the convention and to get in a little slot machine action. How about you?”
“Oh, I don’t gamble.” I especially didn’t gamble on the easel salesmen all living out of state. How was I going to date them? “Don’t any of you guys live in Las Vegas?”
“Yeah. There are sales reps from all over. In fact, the number-one salesperson from this region is standing over there by the bar.”
I turned my head where he indicated, and happy days, It was my second choice easel sales rep, Mr. James Bond look-alike. Maybe he’d be more interesting than this guy. “Thanks,” I said as I headed toward my next victim … er … possible.
Feeling much more brave this time, I walked up to him and said, “Hi. I hear you’re from Vegas.”
“That’s right. How’d you know?” He smiled and I rather liked the way his eyes seemed to smile, as well.
“A guy over there said you were. I’m Jill Morgan Storm and I wonder if you can help me?”
“Nice to meet you, Jill. I’m Anthony Winston. I’d love to help, but first, can I get you a drink?”
This was more like it. “What are you having?”
“Oh, this is just a Coke,” he said. “I don’t drink much.”
Better and better.
We chatted for a while and it went according to plan. He hadn’t launched into a spiel about his products. And he seemed genuinely interested when I mentioned I was the hotel sous chef.
“Do you have any specialties—” he was asking when another easel boy joined us. “Hey, Tony. Who you chatting with?”
I automatically checked for the matrimonial evidence and a thin gold band flashed, not eligible .
“This joker works at 5N with me. Jerry, meet Jill,” replied Tony. “She’s the chef.”
“Here to look after us salesmen?”
“You could say that,” I replied. “I like to make sure all our patrons are well fed.” I wanted to get back to my tête-à-tête with Tony and turned away, but Jerry didn’t seem to take a hint.
“The appetizers are great. I really liked those little pinwheel thingies. Did you make them?”
“It was my recipe.”
“They’re good.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Go away .
“Tony, you were going to tell me about selling easels.”
“You asked the right guy,” interrupted Jerry who punched Tony on the arm. “He’s the region’s best.”
“Really.” I looked at Tony through my lashes. “I always did like the best.”
Tony
I stuck out my hand for him to shake and he cooperated after moving his food-laden plate into his left hand. “I’d be happy to help.”
He looked proud and pleased to be asked. This was going to be easier than I’d imagined. “I’m thinking of a career change. Are you an easel salesman?”
He nodded.
“Do you like it?”
“Love it. Are you in sales?”
“Sort of. I work for the hotel.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a sous chef.” I searched for something to say that would get him to start talking in longer sentences. “I never realized there were so many easel salesmen. Who do you sell easels to?”
“Just about everyone. My company sells a full line of presentation and display easels to distributors, office supply companies, advertising and marketing companies, hotel conference centers, and even artist supply companies.”
“Wow.” That was so much more than I wanted to know.
“We also sell other items, such as dry-erase boards, interactive marker boards, chalkboards.”
“I see.” I did see. As he continued yammering about different presentation products, my eyes began to glaze and I saw that he was a total bore and the only thing more boring I could think of was to actually work as an easel salesman.
But if I only had to tolerate him coming home once a week, maybe I could deal with it? Maybe I could change the subject? “So, are you a Las Vegas native?”
“Nah, I’m from Omaha. Here for the convention and to get in a little slot machine action. How about you?”
“Oh, I don’t gamble.” I especially didn’t gamble on the easel salesmen all living out of state. How was I going to date them? “Don’t any of you guys live in Las Vegas?”
“Yeah. There are sales reps from all over. In fact, the number-one salesperson from this region is standing over there by the bar.”
I turned my head where he indicated, and happy days, It was my second choice easel sales rep, Mr. James Bond look-alike. Maybe he’d be more interesting than this guy. “Thanks,” I said as I headed toward my next victim … er … possible.
Feeling much more brave this time, I walked up to him and said, “Hi. I hear you’re from Vegas.”
“That’s right. How’d you know?” He smiled and I rather liked the way his eyes seemed to smile, as well.
“A guy over there said you were. I’m Jill Morgan Storm and I wonder if you can help me?”
“Nice to meet you, Jill. I’m Anthony Winston. I’d love to help, but first, can I get you a drink?”
This was more like it. “What are you having?”
“Oh, this is just a Coke,” he said. “I don’t drink much.”
Better and better.
We chatted for a while and it went according to plan. He hadn’t launched into a spiel about his products. And he seemed genuinely interested when I mentioned I was the hotel sous chef.
“Do you have any specialties—” he was asking when another easel boy joined us. “Hey, Tony. Who you chatting with?”
I automatically checked for the matrimonial evidence and a thin gold band flashed, not eligible .
“This joker works at 5N with me. Jerry, meet Jill,” replied Tony. “She’s the chef.”
“Here to look after us salesmen?”
“You could say that,” I replied. “I like to make sure all our patrons are well fed.” I wanted to get back to my tête-à-tête with Tony and turned away, but Jerry didn’t seem to take a hint.
“The appetizers are great. I really liked those little pinwheel thingies. Did you make them?”
“It was my recipe.”
“They’re good.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Go away .
“Tony, you were going to tell me about selling easels.”
“You asked the right guy,” interrupted Jerry who punched Tony on the arm. “He’s the region’s best.”
“Really.” I looked at Tony through my lashes. “I always did like the best.”
Tony
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