For those who do not have access to my novels via Amazon Kindle, Kindle for PC, or simply don't want to take their valuable time to read a lengthy novel, below is a link to one of my early short stories.
It's called Council of One and it is a funny, inspirational, satire about a sad sack loner who lands a job for which he is not qualified, meets a person who adjusts his attitude and comes out smelling like _____ (insert your favorite flower or excrement here).
Please let me know if you like this story and would like to read more of my short stories. As usual any and all feedback, good or otherwise, is much appreciated.
A Council of One
Carter Revo had
seen better days. Recently hired to a position that had not previously existed,
having no training or prior experience and knowing absolutely no one in the
city, he was now standing in the cavernous hall of the Baltimore Convention
Center wondering what to do next.
He recalled that
his particular corporate mantra was to “foster the advancement, needs and usage
of mustard through industry experts who can provide strategic guidance and
feedback on tactical implementations”…whatever the fuck that meant.
Carter had spent
most of his inaugural week memorizing this corporate anthem and meditating upon
it and now he had some shadowy vague
understanding that his Association of Mustard Makers wanted him to find new and
creative ways to simply sell more mustard.
Actually Carter
had not seen better days. A quiet bachelor of 37, after high school had
immediately enlisted in the US Army, spent his time stateside in a supply
depot, and after contemplating an army career decided that military life was
not his cup of tea and opted for GI financial help to attend the Metro Business
College in St. Louis.
Carter graduated
at 36 and armed with his degree he began sending out cover letters and resumes
nationally. As luck would have it, the Association of Mustard Makers had been
contemplating a marketing department hire that could represent mustard side by
side with the legions of other product councils, guilds, charters and
associations.
Whereas nearly
every national product council employed a bevy of competent, well paid
representatives, the Mustard people had limited funds and low priorities when
it came to staffing for this position. They decided to contract the hiring out
to an executive search firm in Boston. Since the budget and proposed salary
were on the low edge of the spectrum, the search firm turned the recruitment
over to a very junior account executive.
Since no one at
the Mustard Association deemed the position particularly important, no job
duties or job description was circulated to the search agency. All the
executive search firm knew was that the Mustard Association wanted a marketing
generalist for very little money.
Since Carter had
no idea of the details of the job he was interviewing for, he jumped all over
the lot with his answers, thereby qualifying himself as a true marketing
generalist. Because Carter had not worked since graduating Metro Business
College he was ravenous for any employment and did not press the low salary or
that he had no idea of what the job entailed. Carter was hired without a second
interview and was immediately sent every research study and paper ever written
regarding mustard plus a case of every domestic mustard ever manufactured. Bon
appétit.
Since the
Association of Mustard Makers had no central offices Carter was directed to
work out of his small and cheerless apartment. His primary professional connection was by internet where he had access
to expansive consumer opinion studies on mustard covering everything from taste
and texture preferences to medicinal cure-alls. He was emailed a company travel
expense policy and confirmation numbers for his flight and hotel in Baltimore.
If he had a direct supervisor he was unaware of that person. He was treated
more like an outside contractor than an employee.
Over the past
three weeks Carter had poured himself into the world of mustard. It was a
fascinating culture with a rich past dating back to ancient Romans and a loyal
culture of fans. He learned that mustard plasters had been a cure-all in the
late 19th century and that mustard gas was a lethal WMD used in WWI.
Neither of these parts of the history of mustard portended to be of any useful
fodder for his inevitable cocktail party conversation.
________________________
Carter’s neck craned upward to view
the vast enormity of the Convention Center and his vague assignment and he
thought for a moment about turning around and traveling home, but on second
thought, the logical thing was to find the registration area. A giant banner spanning
the cavernous hall announced the registration area for the 2009 National
Products Council Convention or NPCC.
This convention is
a showcase for any consumer food and beverage product association in nearly every
category. Without these associations of counsel members there might never had
been a ham and eggs, peanut butter and jelly, lox and bagels or Abbott and
Costello.
The larger
associations or councils maintained enormous showcase booths plus meeting rooms
on the convention floor. The smaller councils merely walked the floor or
attended the many seminars, speeches, parties and impromptu meetings. The first
day of the show were dedicated to keynote speeches and council members getting
back in touch at a mixture of booth parties and invitation only festivities.
Day two was devoted to how to seminars,
while days three and four, Saturday and Sunday, were booth days and open to the
general public.
Carter made his
way to the reception area and waited his turn in line to register. He was
dreaming of meeting big wig contemporaries at gala cocktail parties when he was
greeted with a piercing nasal tone: “Next in line!”
A bespectacled and
beleaguered woman asked Carter for his business card without making eye
contact. For this act Carter was completely prepared, for in the art of product
associations and lobbies one is virtually naked without a business card. Not
just a plain run of the mill card but one that will introduce you in the style
and class of your power and position. Since Carter had attained neither power
nor position in his three weeks of reading mustard focus group results, his
cards were printed on mustard-colored card stock the night before at Kinko’s.
Again without
looking up at Carter the registration expert asked, “where’s the rest of your
council and when will they be registering?”
“Just me,” claimed
Carter apologetically.
“Alone? You alone?
She smirked behind incredibly limited makeup.
“Guess so … little
ol me.” Carter grinned beginning to worry that he had broken some hard-wired
loner council law.
“Here’s your badge
and your convention kit, Mr. Revo. Have fun by yourself.”
Carter wandered
the huge reception area searching for a place to sit and scour the program
materials. The coffee and bagel line wrapped around the hall and every table
was taken by minions of mirthful council people who hugged and kissed as if
they had been apart for eons.
Carter had
surmised by his reception at registration that it was highly unusual for a
product category to be represented by a lone – make that lonely – male.
After several
sweeps of the reception hall, Carter finally found a round table having several
spaces available due to its previous tenant spilling her coffee and moving to
dryer ground. Carter had no more than opened his convention kit when five fellow
NPCC attendees asked him if he wouldn’t mind some company. He said of course he
didn’t mind and stood up and introduced himself to what turned out to be the
Wine Market Council.
Carter was happy
to see that there were only five representatives in attendance for a product as
vast and popular as wine until Andre Phillips, sitting on Carter’s immediate
right, began looking around and voicing his concern as to the missing members
of his council.
“How many in your
group?” ventured Carter.
“Seventeen, if I’m
not mistaken. Most of them are getting our booth ready for the start of the
convention. It’s hell trying to keep track of our members. Here’s my card.”
Carter dug into
his coat pocket and pulled out one of his virgin business cards and made the
exchange with a slight bow of respect.
Andre studied the
card and smirked at Carter. “I’m sorry my friend but mustard is not a suitable
condiment for our products. We already gave you people Dijon by diverting some
of our less expensive white and burgundy wines and I think you may be wasting
your time at our table.”
But I was here first, Carter was
thinking as he gathered his conference kit and left the Wine Market Council
behind.
So this is what this conference is about –
making contact with other product councils in order to expand the use and
acceptance of your core products. How quaint. It struck Carter that to be
successful he needed to sort through the list of attendees and target only
those product councils that could benefit from a cross-pollination of usage.
Once he identified
his target councils he then needed to create or identify some product ideas
that would be mutually beneficial to both parties. What the heck, he thought, what
was wrong with mustard and wine? Could there be a cultural superciliousness at
work here? Is mustard not effete enough for the Wine Market Council?
At that moment
Carter decided to boycott wine during the convention and down only hard liquor
and beer for the next four days. Does it really take 17 members to thoroughly
offend the many commoner product categories like mustard, dairy and wool?
At that moment
Carter yearned that he had developed a slogan for mustard that he could have
printed on his business cards for this convention. Something like Mustard, the Seed of Life or something
romantic like Mustard, Spice up
Everything, or even something direct and hard hitting like Mustard: Sinus Purifier. Well, maybe we’re better off without a
slogan he thought.
According to the
research fresh in his mind, mustard is often used at the table as a condiment on meat. It is also used as an
ingredient in mayonnaise, vinaigrette, marinades and barbecue sauce. It can
also be used as a base for salad dressing when combined with vinegar and/or
olive oil or with honey. Mustard is a popular accompaniment to hot dogs,
pretzels, and Bratwurst. Was there a Bratwurst Council he wondered?
Bratwurst council or not, this was a place to
start and Carter found a renewed energy toward his new position as he opened
the directory of attendees’ magazine located in his convention kit. What might Mustard Cola be like, he
thought? It was time to cut the mustard
so to speak.
Day one turned out to be a total washout. Cater
missed the keynote speech while he was wandering the hall searching for a place
to do his homework. He did not receive, hear about nor was he offered a ticket
to one of the many cocktail parties. Carter left the convention early and
walked the streets adjacent to the Convention Center looking for any hint of
mustard product displays in the shop windows. Perhaps he could find a
mustard-colored sports coat before the next convention—also good to wear when
eating hot dogs, he though.
__________________________________
By day two realities had landed heavily upon Carter’s military crew cut
pate. Certainly he had done his homework and identified the top candidates for
his hit list, but finding the right time or opportune opening to introduce
himself was becoming problematic.
He was beginning to understand why other councils
had contingencies of manpower and travelled in herds. After all, he was but one
lone neophyte gladiator in a sea of experienced warriors. In 24 hours he had
not yet met nor heard of another lone wolf council person. In fact, the
smallest contingency, the National Hot Dog Council, had no less than
five members that he could identify – and still he was unable to make direct
contact with such a smallish group. That was
a product he could get excited about, already imagining two-foot long hot dogs
for families, or hot dogs that actually looked like dogs, with tiny feet that
jutted out and a pointed snout at one end. He was beginning to realize he had a
gift for marketing.
He passed the time
attending seminars on everything from the National Safety Council, controlling dangerous and toxic toys from China,
to the Pathology Council on extensive
hospital de-regulation. Carter certainly had limited interest in these
councils and topics and only wanted to find a place to sit and think about
solutions to his mustard problems.
Never a gregarious
type Carter was particularly unsure of his product and his environment within
this industry comprised essentially of people and personalities. Carter wasn’t
sure he actually possessed the proper personality and made a written note to develop
a new one that suited this new position as soon as possible.
Following his
third seminar on marketing products to Children under Five audience. This left
Carter to consider marketing Mustard to Children Under Five” and he thinks now
about mustard in baby foods, mustard colored diapers, mustard Fruit Loops, and
mustard-flavored children’s vitamins.
Carter made one
last ditch attempt to make just one business contact on the show floor. Since
the first two days were primarily meet
and greet there were thousands of other council members milling around the
exhibits, eating insipid canapés and consuming inexpensive champagne. Carter
never got close enough to read their nametags and determine if their companies
were on his target list. This sea of classic business suits and imposing business
cards seemed impenetrable to one lone, introverted and unknown conventioneer.
Carter left the
NPCC Convention early again and dined in his hotel room on apathetic clam
chowder and wilted salad covered at least in honey-mustard dressing. To make
matters worse, he watched local TV news and the close proximity to Washington
DC prompted in-depth coverage on the trial of several federal lobbyists who
were charged with six counts of extortion, two counts of money laundering and a
lack of personality and high-level connections.
Carter recognized
that these Baltimore NPCC associations, consoles and boards were the minor
leagues compared to big time Washington lobbyists, and if his analogy was
correct, the Association of Mustard Makers was equivalent to baseball’s Rookie League.
Surely the minions of power hungry people he witnessed at the convention center
had dreams and aspirations of the money and power attached to a Washington
lobbyist identity. As for Carter his ambition ran toward getting away from
Baltimore and checking to see if the Army might take him back at his old rank
and and tenure.
Morning comes as
it always does to downtown Baltimore. After a pretty rough evening of late
night TV, digesting his meal and restless sleep, Carter emerged from his budget
suite accommodations with a renewed vitality and a go to it attitude. This meant that he had decided to go through the
motions of locating potential contacts until noon and then check out an Orioles
game at Camden Yards.
Carter had an
early start that day and arrived at the convention center in time to get a
bagel and coffee and find an empty table to review his notes and plans to meet
and greet his peers and contemporaries. While deeply focused on his notes he
failed to observe the attractive brunette who had joined his large round table
and was sitting directly in across from him.
“Good morning,
you’re up early today,” she said breaking some ice and shattering Carter’s
concentration.
Carter emerged
from his notes to reply to her friendly greeting when he was stopped dead in
his tracks by her eyes and smile. She was quite attractive and her gaze and
expression indicated that she was actually interested in her fellow early riser’s
activity.
Being a man of
great complexity and gifted of conversation he replied, “Hi, how are you?”
“Quite well, thank
you. It’s a beautiful day for this time of year. You from around here?”
Carter could only
look at her and stare. She was so stunning and attractive he thought that he
had never before had a conversation with an adult woman like her. She was a
tall brunette with black piercing eyes and a $3,000 business suit that announced
success. Being the trooper that he was Carter managed the mental where-with-all
to reply, “Nope, not a local. How ‘bout you?”
“I should probably
introduce myself. Wendy Mott of the National Ketchup Council. And you are…?”
“Amazed.”
“Really? and Mr.
Amazed, who do you represent?”
“No, what I meant
was that it was amazing that you represent one of the councils on my target,
er, contact list. I’ve been looking for you for three days.”
“Really, is this a
joke or a come on, Mr. Amazed?”
“No, I’m all
business and my name is Carter Revo.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to
hear that Mr. Revo. It must be rather sad to be all business all the time.”
Carter knew that
she was having fun at his expense but she was so attractive that it didn’t
matter. He stood, smiled and said, “I’m Carter Revo and I represent the National
Mustard Council and I’m very happy and honored to meet you, Ms. Mott.”
“It’s Miss Mott
since you asked and no I’m not loose or available for convention quickies, Mr.
Revo.” She smiled to ease potential sexual tension.
“Good, because I’m
just three weeks on this job and sex is the last thing I need on my mind.”
“Well, if you’re
doing it with your mind you do have a problem. So you said that you wanted to
meet with me. So what’s on your mind and where’s your business card?”
They exchanged
cards and Carter began to outline concepts and programs that could mutually
benefit mustard and ketchup. Since this was his first presentation he was rough
and jumped all over the place. Since Wendy had already successfully busted his
chops, she decided to allow him to complete his thoughts and be as kind as
possible. After about ten minutes she changed her mind and interrupted.
“I have to ask,
besides being on this job for three weeks, have you ever had experience working
in a council, association or lobby?”
“It shows?”
“Well yeah. You
have some energy and a few good ideas but you are really, and I emphasize the
word really, raw.”
“Yeah, and to make
matters worse, I’m completely bereft of a personality.”
“Nonsense, that’s
poppycock, you’re just unsure of yourself. You have a nice genuine quality –
kind of like a hamster.”
“Oh thanks, that
gives my ego just the shot of hopefulness it needed.”
“Lighten up,
cowboy. If you can’t laugh at yourself you won’t last in this business. Besides, who are you going to laugh
at – me? I don’t think so.”
“But I’m all alone
and you and all of the other councils are big and powerful. How can I deal with
those odds?”
“Oh boohoo, poor
little Carter is all alone and the big bad councils are going to swallow him
whole and spit him out into teeny weenie pieces. Hogwash!”
“Oh yeah, tell me
then how large a support staff do you and the National Ketchup Council have?”
“Just me and
that’s it, Mr. Revo. What do you say to that piece of news?”
Wow thought Carter, this woman is a pistol. “You’re kidding, right? No staff, no
cronies? How do you get things done? How do you break through?”
Wendy rolled her
almond-shaped black eyes skyward and Carter leaned closer to make sure they
weren’t brown. “Did you ever stop to think of the advantages of being the
primary contact and chief negotiator and decision-maker for your council?”
“Not really?”
Carter replied waiting for another lecture on self-assurance in the 21st
century.
“Those other teams
are only part of yet another committee who meet to bless or more often kill the
work of their underlings. But in your case, you are the committee, the broker,
the council and the king of mustard. Your domain is completely under your
control as long as you produce results and remain on budget.”
“Sounds simple.
How do I crack the veneer of those powerful clans?”
“Just man-up,
stand tall and give them your best five minutes. That’s all the time you can
expect and if you can’t excite them in five minutes you’ll never close a deal.”
They spent the
next half hour fine tuning Carter’s five minutes on the ketchup/mustard
alliance. Wendy said that if he can get just
one presentation right he can use that as a model for all others to come. Wendy
then looked at her Blackberry and noted that she had a meeting on the
convention floor in 15 minutes. In the light of this massive convention center
and with the apparent possibility of never crossing paths again, Carter wasted
no time and asked Wendy if they could meet after the convention for dinner and
candidly discuss a business relationship between mustard and ketchup.
“Are you trying to
get into my knickers, Mr. Revo?”
With his newly
found confidence instilled by Miss Mott, Carter replied, “Well yes, that too.”
“I admire honesty.
Call me at the Radisson Plaza and let me know how you fare today. I prefer to
dine with successful people, Mr. Revo.”
Buoyed with newly
found confidence and the provisional title of King of Mustard, Carter appeared ten minutes later on the
convention floor at the National Cattleman’s Beef Association booth and
inquired at the reception area who was the chief decision-maker for their
Association.
“That would be
Lawrence Zaria, but he’s in a meeting right now. Who can I say is waiting?”
asked the booth babe in the black leotards with a t-shirt of a cow silk
screened across her ample chest.
Placing his business card in her hand as if it was manna, he
said, “Just tell him it’s the key decision-maker from the National Mustard
Council and he will surely benefit
from listening to my five minute presentation.”
That night he and
Wendy dined at Sotto Sopra, restaurant and celebrated his new found success.
Not only had Cater closed a deal with the National Cattleman’s Association, he
also hit a home run with the National Pretzel Council – there would be mustard
pretzels in every bar and airline in six months.
Wendy was as sexy
as the Italian food and she kept her promises about only dining with winners.
As much as he
loved baseball, Carter never attended an Orioles baseball game.
