It was my first day at work, and this time I wasn’t going to be using either a shovel or test tubes. Just my brain! I was entering a completely different world, and I had to make a good impression.

So, around a quarter to nine, I went into a bar near my workplace and had a shot of vodka, to calm my nerves and keep my hands from shaking.

I arrived at my brand-new job chewing mint gum. It was my first day. I couldn’t stink.

I looked at my hands again. I was shaking even worse! I felt like a high school kid on his first date, waiting with a flower in his hand.

I can’t be shaking! I told myself anxiously.

I reached into my pocket and took one of Mom’s pills. I chewed it up quickly as I climbed the stairs to the third floor.

The telemarketing center was just one long shitty room with about thirty snot-nosed kids, boys and girls, crammed into it. Each one sold their own product, spoke their own language, and had their own desk.

The big boss handed me over to a smaller boss, a guy about my age. He was supposed to train me, so I kept my mouth shut and my ears open. But there was no need. What he was telling me was very simple. Apparently, for the time being, I didn’t need a computer. He handed me a folder full of lists. Each list had five hundred phone numbers on it. I called, made the offer, and that was it—the person had to buy. Still, if I ran into some cranky guy who didn’t want to buy, I had to convince him.

If I managed to convince him, I had to quickly write down the customer’s information and how much they ordered. If not, I crossed out the phone number in red pen and moved on.

There was a computer on my desk, but it was mostly for decoration. I didn’t even have to plug it in.

All I used was the holy pen and those piles of paper.

“Come on, dial the first number!” he told me kindly.

I put on the headset, moved the microphone a little closer to my lips, and dialed the first number on the list.

He stayed beside me for a few more minutes, then said with a smile, “That’s good! You’re doing better than I did on my first day! Keep going!”

It wasn’t hard. I didn’t even have to think! I had a sales pitch written on a little piece of paper and read it quickly, like a parrot. The person answered; I started reading and... that was it.

“Good morning, ma’am! Please give me one minute of your time! I’d like to tell you about the most revolutionary anti-rheumatic product...” CLICK! “Damn it, she hung up on me!”

“Good morning, sir... Vogel anti-rheumatic cream is made from a traditional, high-quality German formula...” CLICK!

“Good morning! Did you know that...” CLICK! “Jesus Christ! What rude people!”

“Hello! Good morning! With active ingredients derived entirely from carefully selected plants...” CLICK!

“Good morning, ma’am! Could you spare me a second? Yes? Is that possible? Thank you! You may not know this, but Vogel anti-rheumatic cream is recommended for its beneficial effects and, above all, for...” CLICK! “Motherfucker! You said you’d listen to me!”

By around 11, I had about two hundred clicks and not a single sale. Sweat was pouring off me.

And to think that at this hour I used to be loafing around at the water-pumping station! I told myself angrily. Mia, you whore! Look what you’ve done to me!

I secretly took another one of those pills and kept going.

By around 12:30 I didn’t need the paper anymore; I already knew the pitch by heart. I hadn’t made a single sale, but at least I knew what I was selling.

I went out on break and smoked a cigarette, then ran over to the bar and had another shot of vodka. The business world was tough.

At exactly 1:00, I was taking my third pill and, somehow, I was starting to like this job. I felt like I was salesman material, and a sense of satisfaction filled the entire room. The buzz of the operators’ voices never stopped for a second, but I didn’t even notice it anymore. It was just background noise.

The big boss came over and looked over my shoulder.

“How’s it going, junior?” he asked, stroking one sideburn.

“Good!”

“You like it? You have to like it! It’s the greatest job in the world. Selling. You like it?”

“Yeah.”

“Got any orders? Sold anything?”

“No.”

“Don’t worry, young man, don’t get discouraged! It’s only your first day. I’ve got a feeling you’re going to become a real professional!”

And he left. Good thing he did! That sideburned boss of mine was starting to get on my nerves.

It wasn’t good to get worked up. A sales professional never gets angry. That’s what it said in that brochure. I had to calm down fast, so I took another pill. Which one was that? Who the fuck cared?

By around 2:00, I was feeling really good. The people I called weren’t my customers anymore; they were my slaves. They were my puppets. I could make them do whatever I wanted. They weren’t hanging up on me anymore. I hung up on them. Because I was a professional. You can spot a professional on his very first day on the job. That was the secret: you had to be tough!

Around a quarter past two, I was struck by a brilliant idea! I secretly wrote it down on a little piece of paper and quickly slipped it into my breast pocket, right next to my heart.

That idea was pure gold! It was going to revolutionize the art of telephone sales, and it went something like this:

If every 67th call has to be a sale, then...

CONTINUE READING

Hi everyone,

I’d be grateful for some honest literary feedback on this excerpt, particularly on the narrator’s voice, the pacing, and whether the dark humor works.

The narrator is deliberately unreliable.

Because the full excerpt is quite long, I’ve posted only part of it here and added a Continue reading link at the end.

Thank you for taking the time to read it.

=======================

A Psychopath’s Lustful Prayer to God

Dark humor • Strong language • For mature readers

You know, that idiot Alfredo was right! I thought. There’s nothing in this world more pleasing to the eye than a pious woman kneeling before the altar, before an icon!

I badly needed a woman, and I was thirty-three—the age Jesus had been when He was crucified.

For about six months, ever since I’d made peace with God, I’d been looking for—and had found—a new confessor. He was the very monk who had once led me to my former confessor’s grave. The man was blessed with grace, and he had a gentle gaze. His voice was soothing. He reminded me of my psychiatrist!

One by one, I had confessed all my sins to him, and he had neither damned me nor recoiled in horror. So I took heart and began treading the path of salvation with greater zeal. I stopped slacking off. During the day, I went to work—I had found another construction site—and I spent my afternoons studying the Bible and other holy books.

At my new job, I didn’t swear at anyone anymore, so no one fired me. The time had come to keep my mouth shut and bow my head a little, as befits any humble Christian. I got along famously with my foreman and always minded my own business.

I no longer searched for pornography on the internet, but for spiritual guidance. I prayed in the morning, the moment I jumped out of bed. I prayed fervently before sitting down to eat. I prayed fearfully at night while staring at my bed. And, most importantly, I never missed the Holy and Divine Liturgy on Sundays.

I had no more doubts: I had rediscovered the Way, the Truth, and the Life!

Still, something was missing. I needed a woman as pure and pious as I was. I could walk the Path holding her hand, couldn’t I? What kind of happiness is it if you don’t share it?

And then I had a genuine revelation! It was a Sunday, I was in church, and this was what I said to myself:

Yeah, Alfredo was right! There’s nothing more beautiful and pure in this world than a woman kneeling in church before an icon.

I needed a shy woman, pure as an angel—not some painted-up whore from the internet.

You don’t find a real woman in a nightclub! You don’t find her in a disco where Satan roars and bellows! You don’t find her flaunting her tits on a poolside lounger! A thousand times no!

I looked around wide-eyed at the saints on the walls and up at the ceiling. God had brought me to exactly the right place, and the miracle was about to happen: I was going to find HER! It was the will of the Lord, so I shuddered, fell to my knees, and thought with a thrill:

I’ll be damned if I don’t marry the first chick who walks through the church door!

An old crone of about seventy came in, wearing a long headscarf and dressed all in black.

Except for this one, Lord! She’s the same age as my mother!

Then a little girl of about nine came in.

Continue reading

I’d just walked out of a bar after two vodkas and was proudly admiring my brand-new car.

That white paint was incredible! The car wasn’t just beautiful—it was a genuine magnet. Everybody noticed it.

Holy shit, I thought. This car looks amazing! It’s absolutely gorgeous. Mesmerizing!

Hey, how the hell did I not think of this before? I could use it as some kind of… chick vacuum! I’ll drive around downtown right now and see what kind of women I can pick up with it. The hottest of the hot!

I’m gonna be unstoppable!

As so often happens in life, the solution had been right under my nose the whole time.

I jumped into the car and headed downtown with a grin on my face. The women were waiting for me, and I was about to become their god!

***

Parking downtown is a nightmare.

After circling a few times, I found a spot, but it wasn’t exactly generous. I knew how to drive in reverse, of course, but I hadn’t yet mastered that bizarre maneuver known as backing into a parking space.

I got out and inspected the car carefully, then slapped myself on the forehead. I’d scratched the rear bumper!

Not much. Barely a hair. A microscopic speck of white paint was gone.

My heart started pounding, and something stabbed me in the chest.

Shit, I’m gonna have a panic attack! I thought in terror.

Having a panic attack would not be good, so I walked into the first bar I saw and ordered a double vodka.

You miserable idiot, how can you be so irresponsible? I asked myself mournfully. The scratch may look tiny now, but sooner or later rainwater will get in there and then comes the rust! First thing tomorrow morning, this car is going straight to the body shop! And I really need to learn how to back into a parking space once and for all. Did I set the parking brake?

I ordered another vodka, knocked it back, and walked outside with my head hanging like a man on his way to the electric chair.

I stared through the window, trembling.

Victory!

I had set the parking brake!

Everything was fine!

***

I whistled at the first young woman I saw somewhere around the Opera district. Naturally, I hadn’t whistled to insult her. I’d merely wanted to get her attention.

I hate men who whistle at women.

“Hey, hi! I don’t mean to bother you, but I just wanted to ask you something. What do you think of my car? Pretty good, huh?”

“Pretty good,” the girl said after looking at both the car and me. “Why are you asking? Are you conducting a survey?”

“Oh, no! I was just thinking maybe we could… take it for a spin. Come on, hop in! The interior looks amazing!”

“No, thank you.”

“You sure? I could drive you home if you want. What do you say?”

“Yeah. Bye.”

I approached the second woman, who had just come out of a store, much more efficiently.

“What do you think of my car? Be honest!”

“What do you think of mine?” she shot back without even looking at me.

She pulled her keys from her purse and unlocked the doors. Her car went beep-beep! and flashed its turn signals prettily.

It was a red sports car.

Yes.

Fire-engine red.

“Why so quiet?” she asked, putting on her sunglasses. “You like it or not?”

“Doesn’t matter anymore,” I said, scratching my head.

“I’m serious!” she insisted, flashing every tooth she had.

“Yeah. Bye.”

She had actually managed to piss me off.

I revved the engine viciously and shot away.

Be a little more selective, man, I told myself. Why waste your time on all these stuck-up bitches?

From that moment on, I chose them very carefully.

“Hi! Would you like to—”

“Get lost, asshole!”

“Hi! Would you like to—”

“Fuck off, you creep!”

“Hi! Would you like to—”

“Hey, dickhead! You hitting on my girlfriend?”

Half an hour later, I was beginning to have serious doubts about my car.

Then suddenly I saw her.

She was standing calmly beside a lamppost, checking her watch.

Perseverance, I reminded myself, was an essential quality in a man.

It was worth another try.

The woman looked fantastic!

She was holding a tiny white dog on a leash. A poodle.

Even the poodle looked fantastic.

“Hi! Would you like to—”

“To what?” she said, lazily turning her head toward me.

Holy Mother of God, I thought, my mouth falling open. This is the finest female specimen I have ever seen in my life. I need to be delicate with this one. She is the ultimate woman! The immaculate woman!

She really did look beyond imagination.

God had probably gotten bored during His lunch break one day and said to Himself:

Oh, Me, I’m bored! What should I do? I know! I’ll make… the perfect woman!

Yes.

This was her.

And she was standing right there in front of me, gently tugging on her little dog’s leash.

For a moment I wished I were her dog and she were tugging me around on a leash.

Then the poodle turned around and I realized it wasn’t a male dog but a female.

I quickly dismissed the thought.

Damn shame about the makeup, I thought. It should be a crime to have a face that beautiful and put makeup on it! But fine. This time I’m willing to make an exception.

In my mind, the exemption was proposed, reviewed, and granted in less than a second.

“If you wanted me to what?” God’s creature repeated.

“Uh… well… to…”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Swallow your tongue? Or did you forget your lines?”

“What lines?” I said with a smile. “Ohhh, you thought I was trying to pick you up? Not my style! I just wanted to ask whether you like my car. That’s all!”

“The car looks okay,” she chirped, “but somebody’s driving it wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“The driver’s backward.”

“What?”

“Oh, sorry! My mistake. That was your face.”

“Listen here!” I growled. “I don’t appreciate that kind of… hic… joke! I don’t see anything funny!”

“Probably because you haven’t looked in a mirror, Ass-Face!” she giggled, batting her long eyelashes.

She was a woman.

And she was laughing at me.

A man.

I saw red.

All right, if it has to be done, it has to be done, I decided, accepting my fate. I’ll kill her and get it over with. She goes to the cemetery, I go to prison, and the poodle goes to the animal shelter. I just need to lure her into the car. The rest will take care of itself.

Then I remembered that I’d sworn to my mother I would never hit a woman, and a deep sadness came over me.

Wait a minute, I thought. Killing a woman isn’t the same thing as beating her! Not necessarily! There are more humane methods. I could strangle her, for example. Where’s the beating? There is no beating! Mom can sleep peacefully, I preserve my honor, everybody wins!

“Listen, why don’t you get in the car for a minute?” I asked in a friendly tone. “Come on, hop in! We can examine the dashboard, I’ll let you play with the buttons, stuff like that. I think we could talk much more comfortably in here. Bring the dog too! I’ve got dog treats.”

Like hell I did.

The truth was, I’d changed my mind.

Whether I liked it or not, the poodle would have to disappear too. I couldn’t afford to leave witnesses.

Besides, animal shelters were overcrowded.

Still, killing a dog really isn’t okay, I thought in horror. I’ll go to hell for that! Nnn… no. I’m not killing the dog. That would just be pointless cruelty! I’ll put it in the glove compartment so it doesn’t have to watch…

“What exactly would we talk about?” she drawled, looking at her watch again. “What would I possibly have to talk about with you?”

“Absolutely anything! You choose the subject. I’m extremely well-read, so we can discuss anything you like: dogs, forensic medicine, science, religion. Speaking of religion, do you believe in the afterlife? Have you met Jesus?”

“Why do you ask?” she said, clearly even more amused. “Are you one of those nuts who walks around handing out pamphlets and magazines?”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t really have the face of a Jehovah’s Witness, but you never know. What are you, sweetheart? Baptist? Adventist? Pentecostal?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you want us to have Bible study in your car?”

“Extremely biblical,” I said, grinding my teeth in the friendliest way possible until I heard something crack in my mouth and tasted salt on my tongue. “We can even analyze the Gospel of Judas if you want.”

“Can my boyfriend join us?” she asked, laughing. “Look, here he comes now.”

“What boyfriend?”

“That gorgeous male specimen with the broad shoulders and muscular arms. So what do you think now, Bible Boy? Like his pecs?”

I stared at him for a while and had to admit to myself that I did not like his pecs.

Or his deltoids.

Or his biceps.

The guy looked like a refrigerator on two legs.

What the hell was there to like?

Just looking at the bastard was giving me a headache.

“You know something?” I asked her contemptuously. “You don’t deserve to meet Jesus at all! You’re not behaving like a Christian! In fact, you’ve got a filthy mouth, so go fuck yourself!”

I started the car and drove away victorious.

It was time to find another bar.

I desperately needed one.

Too bad she wasn’t more cooperative, I thought a few minutes later as I ordered another vodka. She had a sharp tongue, sure, but she looked fantastic! Face it, man—perfect women don’t exist! Stop looking for them. Lower your standards!

You saw her. That woman had a perfect body, but she ruined the whole effect every time she opened her mouth. Thank God her refrigerator of a boyfriend showed up. Otherwise who knows what I might have done to that poodle!

A big television was mounted on the bar wall, tuned to some fishing program.

A bearded Frenchman was explaining interesting things about fishing in freshwater mountain lakes.

Just as I was about to order another vodka, my ears suddenly perked up.

I listened very carefully.

Then I broke into a huge smile.

That’s it! I thought triumphantly. This bearded guy isn’t stupid at all! He’s absolutely right: if the fish aren’t biting in the middle of the lake, you move to the edge of the lake! Elementary!

I paid my bill and staggered outside.

Which vodka had that been?

God only knew.

I walked like Jesus crossing the Sea of Galilee, but eventually I managed to reach my car and somehow open the door.

Once I was in the driver’s seat, I felt myself swaying and spinning at the same time.

I nearly fell asleep, but I refused to surrender. I used my fingers to pry my eyelids open.

Everybody knows eyesight is important when it comes to driving.

There’s a reason they make you take all those eye tests before you get a driver’s license.

Anyway.

The time had come to move my fishing rod to the edge of the lake.

I put on my sunglasses and roared toward the outskirts of town.

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