Robert E. Brown. Robert vs. Traffic

No matter what city you live in, people complain about drivers. There seems to be a true cliched belief that every city can proudly claim the most reckless and incompetent. So I'm not going to say Philly has the worst drivers, but my experience with them has always been tense. Especially since I don't drive any more. My feet are my main mode of transportation and being a pedestrian, I feel like I am literally at war with those who sit behind a wheel. The main battle ground- stop signs. The drivers in Philly seem to resent the idea of a stop sign. It's a suggestion, or a warning that they may have to slow down, just a little. But I'm stubborn and always in a rush. Constantly screaming, "Pedestrians have the right of way" at people who see the ton of metal backing them up as proof otherwise. The result has been my being clipped by cars rolling through the streets on a near regular basis. I have learned not to jay walk after cutting through gridlocked traffic once, only to get laid out by a bicyclist zipping along the jam of cars. But walking to the corner doesn't guarantee anything. After a dozen grazings, my reconditioning from polite south westerner (polite only by east coast standards) to transplanted south Philly resident has escalated me into a walking public altercation, always ready to scream obscenities, kick fenders and punch doors as I limp away from the car that's rolled me onto it's hood.

Now one would say that my irrational, even violent knee jerk responses are inappropriate, certainly one could say that I should just stop and wait and let the cars blast through the stop signs and stop playing a game of chicken that only has my life at steak. But at this point it's almost a vendetta against the drivers of this city. I think the grudge stems from the fact that out of the ten times I've been clipped at a stop sign, never once has anyone stopped and politely said, "I'm sorry." Now I freak out and menace the cars who hit me with mixed and comic results.

There was the suit in center city who was talking on his cell phone and literally bent me over his hood as he was rolling along. I slammed my fist and screamed, "What the fuck??" He looked up with a terrified expression on his face, then dove down into the passenger side. I mean, he just disappeared. I brushed myself off and walked around the car. He was gone. I peered into the window and he was hiding like some urban possum who thought that if he just crouched down, I would think he was gone. He looked at me with a panicked expression. Then sat up and threw the car in reverse and tore down the block backwards, leaving me shocked with laughter.

Then there was the mini van that turned a corner and grazed me, bouncing me back on the sidewalk, popping the lid off my fresh cup of coffee and half the contents onto my jacket. Two fat south philly house wives screamed out a warning, preventing a far worse impact. The mini van stopped a few feet past me. The women were off their stoop bellowing insults at him and waving their fists in my defense. Two asian tottlers were in the back seat with their hands and faces pressed against the glass, staring with wonder at the spectacle outside. The car sat there for a moment, and at the women's behest, I winged my coffee against the window. The children didn't flinch at the impact but the van tore off while the women continued to scream. I think they just needed an excuse.

Strangely, the meat heads and tough guys never seem to respond with more than a "fuck off" or giving me the finger. Chest beating is a way of life and everyone does it. They're more likely to fuck with you if you don't respond like they would. The one altercation that nearly went violent was from an old woman. She was rolling through a sign with her head turned away from me to look for traffic down a one way street. She rolled so close to me that I literally fell into her open window. I screamed "Jesus Christ" inches from her face and she looked up terrified like her car was being invaded. She never let off the gas. As she coasted across the intersection I screamed "moron" at the top of my lungs. She screeched to halt as I started to walk down the street. I turned back and the 65 year old woman was our of her car, banging a baseball bat on the street and waving it over her head. She was screaming the most amazing string of obscenities at me and challenging me to come over and get some. I thought it best to keep walking.

My wife says I'm going to get shot someday. Maybe I will. I should probably buy a bus pass.


My Company

Robert E. Brown. Robert Brown Number 1 Success

Part III. Work will set you free

And so, the sales madness began. Or perhaps, the lack of madness began. Employees of the Small Accounts Division made their bonus' based on the size of the phone bills of the accounts they got. But since you have to wait for the bills to come in, they offered large starting bonus' to get employees through the first couple of months. But I knew I was only going to be there for two more months. Being the smartest man working for the Sprint Corporation, I came to the logical conclusion that there just wasn't any profit in making new sales. And seriously, everyone hates telemarketers. People are fucking mean. Every beaten down secretary and soul crushed administrative assistant relished the chance to finally tell someone to go fuck themselves on the phone. I was just passing through, a tourist looking for a fast paycheck and no headaches.

So I mastered the art of wasting time. It wasn't that hard to do. There was a half hour meeting at the beginning of the day, a half hour meeting at the end, an hour after lunch. Two hours dedicated to maintaining accounts in the morning, an hour in the afternoon. That only left me with three hours to get hung up on and fake calls. I would photocopy chapters of Bukowski novels and shuffle them in with my paper work so I could read without being obvious, I would disconnect my brain and flip through folders or endlessly scroll through billing records while in a blank meditative state. Eventually I just openly fucked off, drawing cartoons of my team members or making paper airplanes that didn't fly.
"I've given everyone new names. You are no longer Jo Jo Jackson. You are now "the Captain" because you have pirates in your pants" I said to the old black dude in the cubical next to me as I pinned a scribbled sign to his grey wall over his name tag.
"What the fuck?" he said laughing and shaking his head. "You know, eventually they're going to expect you to do some work around here."
"Don't question my genius" I laughed.

For a full month June didn't question my genius at all. After all, I was practically super human in her book, a superior to everyone around me, including her. The fact that my name on the board had a zero next to it was not of consequence because it was only a matter of time before I overwhelmed the center with my greatness. By the end of my second month she was starting to get a little nervous and started calling me into her office for pep-talks.

"Robert, I know you are super success, but I worry about your slow progress."
"I made this for you June" I said changing the subject. "It's an origami of a storm cloud." I placed a crumpled, balled up sheet of paper on her desk."
"Uh, I am honored" she said looking nervous. "It is a magnificent origami. I cherish your gift." she said, delicately placing the paper wad on her book shelf. "But your progress..."
"Don't worry June. I've got like, 6 accounts almost in the bag. Huge accounts. You know you can't rush these guys. I'm working them slow so that I don't chase them away."
"I apologize for questioning your strategy Robert. I know you are going to be great winner."

But there were no big accounts and I started hiding, literally. Because the managers made so much noise with their whistles and noise makers, the sales reps had developed a technique to get some quiet while talking to their clients. Sitting under the desks. I however, just laid under there and read. Then I started a new project. I laid on my back and made a collage mural on the bottom underside of my desk, cutting out photos and text from the Sprint Corporate newsletter. I defaced photos of Sprint executives and placed slogans next to them. Slogans like "Work will set you free" and "Down with Capitalist Stooges" spliced together with tape like a ransom note. A Shrine to Robert number 1 left behind for the next beaten down sales rep to find after I split for the east coast.

By the end of the third month June was very worried about her star recruit. It was clear she had failed to motivate me and unlock the genius that my test score showed. Sprint bussed the whole office to the mountains for a day of team building and barbecue. The day was spent at a camp ground and June latched on to me, forcing me to stand on picnic benches and recite positive self affirmations. She was convinced that my self esteem was the issue. I just needed the confidence to utilize my super human IQ.
"You are a winner!"
"I am a winner!"
"You are the greatest sales rep at Sprint!"
"I am the greatest sales rep at Sprint!
"You are the greatest sales rep in the world!"
"I am the greatest sales rep in the world!"


I put in my notice the next day. June was almost in tears. "No, no, you won't give up. I will not let you quit Robert, you are number 1." I didn't have the heart to tell her that I had planned to move to Philly long before I started the job. I told her Christianne's mother had just been diagnosed with colon cancer and we had to move there to care for her. "I understand Robert, you are a good man" she said. She picked up the wadded up piece of paper she had on display on her bookshelf. I will always keep your unusual origami and think fondly of the great Robert Brown, super success.


My Company