Doing Business

I was very impressed with the wallet my father gave me for my ninth birthday. It was leather; not just leather, but calf leather. And while I tried not to think about the poor animal it used to belong to, every now and again I imagine that the beast is out there still, going cold because I need a place to put my credit card. If I'd known that my father was to give me no less than four wallets in five years I might not have been so grateful, but that day I was pleased with myself, although a little frustrated that for the rest of my life I would have to sit leaning ever so slightly to the left.

Yesterday morning, early, maybe about six-thirty, I was asked for it by an enterprising young man outside the twenty-four hour convenience store near my house. He knew I had it with me because he had seen me pull it out to pay for the milk, cat food and coffee. I just can't get my day started without coffee and the cat can't get his day started without breakfast.

I've always been an early riser. I can stay up until most of the channels I get go off the air, but my eyes spring open with the dawn, no matter how tired I am. I'm one of those people who always thinks that something fun is going on without me and that if I don't get up and take a look around I might miss out. For thirty years I've been disappointed.

I can understand why the prostitute that works that convenience store is up. I'd hate her hours. I'd have to sleep all day, get up around seven in the evening, spend a few minutes trying to decide between the leather thong and nothing at all, ingest whatever drugs will push my dreams of becoming the youngest beauty technician at the Mac counter to the back of my mind and be out the door by dark. One of the truths about commerce is you have to go where the customers are.

I don't want you to think I'm a prude. I've spent a fair part of my life caterwauling up and down the darkened streets of this city, hustling and being hustled, but it seems to me that thieves, these days, are losing sight of an important aspect of their craft. The 'don't get caught' part. Standing outside a convenience store in the middle of the night might be a good idea, although I have an argument for that, too, but to hang around for one more mark, long enough for the sun to come up, doesn't seem like a wise career move. I think he was working two jobs, though, maybe three. Let me see. Pimping, selling hot laptops, and as a last resort stealing wallets. Yeah, that's three.

Honestly, I think the stealing the wallet thing was something he made up on the spot. As soon as his girlfriend figured out what he was up to, she decided she'd been up too long and went home to get some sleep.

"Hey , man. Want to buy a laptop? Still in the plastic. Pentium 4, 256mb of Ram, 160g hard drive. Only $80." he said as I was getting into the car.
"You work for MDG, don't you?" I said, suspiciously.
"What?"
"No, I don't want a laptop. Have a nice morning."
"O.K. $50. It's brand new, man. Never been used." he countered.
"Look," I said, "You don't need to say 'never been used' right after you say 'brand new'. Have a little faith in your customer."
"What are you talking about, man? Do you want to buy or not?"
"I've already said 'no'. Now you should ask me why I don't think I need one and work on some examples of how it could positively influence my life to buy one anyway." I used to work in sales and I hate sloppy patter.
"Hey, no problem. What about a ride on my girl?"
"The girl who just left? Do I have to imagine her too? How can you sell something without advertising? You're not very good at this are you?" and I closed the car door.
He motioned me to roll down my window, which I did, just to see if he was going to take any of my advice.
"Gimme your wallet."
"No. I like this one but I've got three more just like it at home. Why don't I go get you one and meet you back here in, say, ten minutes. My dad's been dead for years, now, so I don't think he'll care. Actually I don't think he ever realized that he gave me four wallets inside of five years. Sometimes it's a good idea to write down what you give someone on their birthday so that you don't repeat the gift the next year."
"What?"
"Man, this is what I'm talking about. You have to listen to your customers. You drop the price of the computer the first time I say 'no', you're trying to sell me a girl who's probably at home and in bed by now, and you haven't listened to a thing I've been saying. On top of that, it's light out and you're trying to conduct shady business in the full light of the sun. Have you never wondered why they call it 'shady business'?" I started the car at that point. I was done trying to help this guy out.
"Hey, I said gimme your wallet. Gimme your money."
"Oh, brother." I said as I backed the car up, with him trotting along side the whole time. "Do you want my money or my wallet? The first rule of business is to develop a feasible plan and then stick to it. Do you even know what you want out of this little enterprise?"
I put the car in gear and eased it toward the road, at which point my young protege began to yell, "Gimme your wallet. Gimme your wallet." as he ran behind the car.
I leaned out the window and looked back at him, standing, alone now, in the parking lot of the all night convenience store, without a plan, or even an idea about how to make a living and I felt kind of sorry for him. Rules are rules, however, and I went home to make myself a cup of coffee and feed the cat.

I was thinking, though, that it might be a nice idea to put the three extra wallets I have in the glovebox of the car. I don't believe in making things easy for people, especially people who hope to make it big in business, because it's important to learn that sales can be tough. On the other hand, sometimes it's nice to be able to help people out, sometimes.
And like I said, as far as I know, my father never had the faintest idea that he gave me the same present four out of five years.