Day 4

Start writing a story that…

Step 1: starts with this dialogue: Who took this photo?

Step 2: add this word: persian

Step 3: include a dialogue that begins with: I don't wanna go to work
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"Who took this photo?" the girl asks as she wanders over to my booth. "Is that really her?"

Amateur. I turn to her but don't move away from my spot near the front of the booth, near the main aisle.

"Yep, it's Madonna, " I say, adjusting my tie and shifting my jacket into power position. Never too early to freak out the competition. "Our executive director was having drinks with her to celebrate the book release and they took that selfie with the first edition. Pretty rad."

"Wow, that's intense. My company doesn't have anyone that major on the author list. Well, good luck with your pitch." She smiles and walks back to her booth. When she gets there she turns back, thinking she's caught me watching her walk away and that I'll be embarrassed. But I nod toward her and wink, then turn back to the front of my booth. Power, man. Power.

I have to admit, I'm not psyched to be stuck at this educational publishing convention on a June Saturday. You'd think a Comic Con would be the dorkiest place to push stuff. But those actually get celebrities, if the event is big enough, and the girls doing cosplay give you something to look at. But this place is where the nerds who weren't cool enough to read comics wind up. I thought it'd be more like that old Van Halen song "Hot for Teacher," but it's more boring that the DMV. Nobody's even shouting here.

But that's where I come in. Bringing something less traditional, less boring to the table. The publisher I work for is small. We get a tiny booth toward the back end of the convention center, far away from the massive 500+ sq. foot areas that the big publishers cover in carpet and displays. But we've got the coolest shit this place has ever seen. Case in point, we published Madonna's latest book, Persian Pussy: A Celebration of Iranian Cats, and I just know that the sad, lonely women who come to these things must love cats.

I can see that the teachers have been let into the convention center, and I watch them begin wandering into the back section. I flash the smile and wait to call out to the sheep that get separated from the pack. When they approach my booth, I can see their eyes light up at the poster, but then their gaze lands on the book and they keep walking. Prudes.

"I don't wanna go to work," a voice says. "I actually hate sales."

It's the girl from the neighboring booth, back in my space.

"Don't you hate the false smiling?" she continues. "And pushing teachers into spending the few dollars they've been budgeted for supplies on our crap? Neither of us is selling anything they really need."

"I don't know about that," I say, then increase my volume. "I think they could really enjoy this amazing book from Madonna!"

"I bet they could," she said. "But they don't really need it, right?"

"I think you underestimate their 'need,'" I say, then louder…"I don't think anyone has ever gotten far underestimating the needs of our exceptional American teachers!"

She rolls her eyes, and I can see I'm losing her. I turn back to the aisle and watch the next group of teachers, 40-something-year olds wearing jeggings and sweatshirts, approach. I put on my smile.