A Used Car Salesperson
Hey there--oh, a car salesman? Yeah, I guess that might work out--how do you feel about plaid suits? Just kidding...
So, the path you'll probably take is to first work on your charm--I don't mean the stuff you use to try to get with that girl I saw you following around at the dance last week, but the truly insincere patter that you can only develop by going for unexpected visits to your elderly relatives or volunteering at the seniors' center. Eventually that cheesy smile and quick handshake will become second nature.
You won't go right into car sales--no one wants to buy a car from an 18 year old--so you'll have to follow the tried and true food chain to success: Stereo store, matress/furniture outlet, used cars, new cars, life insurance.
You'll do well at the stereo store. Your patter will become smoother, and you'll throw around terms you memorize from the audiophile magazines left in the washroom. You learn the fine art of never recognizing the customers who come back to return items, and you have the advantage of being one of the few employees who speaks fluent English and doesn't have to run out the back way when the immigration authorities pay a visit. Your commissions rise steadily, and soon you move on to the matress outlet.
There you continue your success, and soon you're one of the five assistant managers--all that really means though is that they can phone you when the alarm goes off on a Saturday night, and you get to fire people who really piss you off.
Finally, you're ready. You've created an impressive sales resume, and you skip the sketchy dealers on "the strip" and go work in the used lot at a dealership. They've got a simple policy--if you're the bottom in sales for two months out of four, you're fired. With four or five of you always working the lot, it's tricky to stay off that list, but you manage.
You're third in the pecking order on that lot. The top is Bob "The Closer" Wellburn--a veteran who could have moved to the front and sold new cars, but has a schtick that works best with the "get this unique car before it goes" routine that involves his signalling a nearby real estate office where one of three cohorts dashes over to pretend to feel they'd already bought the car in question--Bob, of course, sends them away and usually makes the sale.
Second is Jenny "why yes, I was a Budweiser girl" Baxter; her business attire always includes blouses with snaps rather than buttons that have an amazing knack of popping open at the most opportune times. The mechanics joke that "test drives" are a euphemism with her customers, but you know she has simply perfected the flirt sale.
You become the "honest" one--you will already have learned to fake sincerity better than anybody--and this usually keeps you off the firing list, at least until you drop your guard--your lot is down to four sales people, and you feel unthreatened even after a bad month previous--the new guy, with some unpronounceable name and broken English hasn't made a single sale since they hired him. What you don't anticipate is his wealthy relatives coming in and buying five high-end cars from him on the last two days of the month.
It boils down to you and Jenny for two days--she isn't in danger of being fired, but she's never finished last, either. Bob steps aside to run an office pool on the two of you, and you work without rest--pulling out all the stops and cutting your commissions to nothing, and you are about to close the month safely when Jenny comes in to congratulate you. You chat in the break room, then she leaves--where you see her outside the window crying on the shoulder of your boss. He storms in and fires you for sexual harassment--she pleads for leniency between the tears, and your protests are dashed when she shows him emails she sent herself from your email address when you left your mailbox open on the breakroom computer.
You're furious, but there's nothing you can do. Reputable dealerships aren't hiring, and your ex-boss has blacklisted you with them anyway. You suck it up and head to the strip, where soon you're lying about crash histories and coming in at night to set back odometers. When you can't fake the VIN numbers of cars with dubious ownership histories, you sell them to your new connections in area "chop shops", and overall, you're soon pulling in more money than at your former job.
You're taken down in a sting operation and sentenced to 18 months--you get off in 6 with good behaviour, and move to somewhere like Red Deer or Oklahoma where you spend the rest of your life selling RVs...
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