My Friend The Salesman

I’d known Johnny since college. We’d been in the same lecture but I’ll be damned if I can remember what it was now. That was Johnny’s fault. I knew he was trouble from the moment he sat next to me and started rating girls on their fuckability. He was the kind of guy that pulls you into his orbit, messes with your gravitational spin then spits you out into your own personal black hole. He was a rebel and a radical thinker; he was a real modern-day pirate.

Johnny and I kept in touch after college. Occasionally, we’d meet up for a night out and paint the town cherry-red. The next morning would hurt but always in a good way. Johnny made me feel like I was rolling with the big dogs and I loved every minute of it.

Johnny was fit but he never tried too hard and that was part of his charm. At college, we’d made fun of those muscle-headed morons who lived on raw eggs and whey. We were from a world where reps were about respect and spotting was an accident that happened in girls knickers.

That’s why it was a big surprise when he became cut and I’m not talking just a few muscles. The man had guns. He was jacked and pumped and all iron. I hate to admit it, but watching someone I’d consider a good friend become a Himbo made me feel powerless. It was almost like he’d moved on from an era that had just belonged to us.

“Johnny,” I’d said when I couldn’t hold back any longer. “What’s happened to you?”

“What d’ya mean, man?” Johnny had been flirting up a storm with a young blonde. She was a real peach, that girl, so I knew Johnny was taking me seriously when he gave her the cold shoulder. “What d’ya mean, what’s happened to me?”

“Look at you. What are you on? Is it steroids?”

“You want in?” He’d asked. I’ll admit that I’d considered it but in the end I shook my head and Johnny had laughed so hard he ended up clutching the bar for support. “Boy,” he’d said. “If I was on steroids I’d be so pumped I would’ve punched your head in for even asking. Nah, this is something else. An experiment, I guess.”

Turned out Johnny had been eating what he called ‘power foods’. Blueberries and broccoli. Walnuts and bananas. Pears and carrots and even dark chocolate. He’d asked if I wanted in. Again, I’d considered it and again I’d said no, knowing that any other answer would be a lie because there was no way I could stick to that diet. He seemed strangely delighted at that; he’d even slapped me on the back and bought me a beer.

A couple of weeks later, I’d discovered why he was so pleased. I was taking a sick day, watching TV and idly wondering why more channels equals even fewer watchable shows when Johnny popped up. It gave me a bit of a shock to see my friend in glorious technicolour. I had to admit, with that shit-eating grin and snake-oil charm, he made a very good salesman.

He was talking about power foods and how they made him buff. He asked the audience if they could live on power foods and, just like me, they answered with a resounding no. That’s when he showed them The Pill. It was packed full of power foods, he told them, and the best thing about it was that they could have it in addition to their daily calorie intake and still loose weight while gaining muscle.

Well, just like millions of other Americans, I'd trusted Johnny. I got straight on the phone. I ordered my pills. I took three a day, just like the label said. They were expensive but I didn’t ask for a discount because I didn’t want Johnny to know. I guess I wanted to surprise him and boy, I sure did when I rolled up for drinks at his new McMansion a few months later.

He'd opened the door and his jaw had dropped. I know he tried to hide it but Johnny was an upfront kind of guy and hadn’t had too much practice lying, at least not on the spot. We’d sat out by his new pool. A girl had bought us a bottle of whiskey, real expensive brand name stuff. He'd shooed her inside and I’d congratulated him on his success.

“Yeah,” he’d said. “And you know what the best thing is? I’m taking money off people who deserve to loose it. The people who aren’t willing to work for what they want. Everything’s got to be about magic pills. Do you know people really think they can loose weight by eating the same old shit and taking a pill? They’re crazy! We’ve known since the dawn of time that the only way to drop pounds is to eat less and exercise more. That’s too simple for the instant gratification crowd, I guess. But that’s not the brilliant part.”

I sat quietly with my hands between my legs. By then, I’d figured out the ‘brilliant’ part but I sure did want to hear it straight from Johnny’s shit-eating mouth.

“Those pills make people fatter. So they buy even more pills, get even fatter, and the cycle continues while I make shitloads of cash. It’s brilli-“

When he heard my tape recorder click, things fell into place. He tried to stop me as I heaved myself out of his deck chair but my sheer bulk was just too much for him. Ignoring my painful chafing and the way my heart was hammering under subterranean layers of lard, I waddled furiously out of Johnny’s house.

I had an important message for the instant gratification crowd, straight from the horse’s mouth.



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