began to walk in the opposite direction, turning off lights. “I mean it. Education is important, King, and you’re probably thinkin’, I’m just some old fart, what do I know? I know a hell of a lot, okay? I went to Parsons School of Design.” King nodded, duly impressed. “This was back in the 1970s and ’80s. I saw you went to a high school for gifted students, too. Pratt is no walk in the park. Just keep what I said in mind. Think about finishing what you started.”
King rolled his shoulders, then cracked his knuckles.
“So, what do ya think of this place?” The man opened a drawer and grabbed some keys.
“It’s nice.” King touched along the edge of a display table featuring silk socks. “The clothing is not how I would choose to dress but I appreciate the sophistication and depth of the designs. Am I expected to wear the clothing from here?”
The man stared at him, as if trying to answer that question for himself, too.
“I usually do have the guys who work here wear the clothing. Do you have a problem with that?”
“Yes, I do have a problem with it if you want me to look exactly like these mannequins.” He pointed to one. “That’s not what’s going to sell your clothing. The customers who walk in here are, like you said, are buying an idea and an image. So, if you—”
“Right. So I want them to look at you, point, and say, ‘I want what that bastard has on!’”
“No, I’m tellin’ you, Ricky, it’s deeper than that. They don’t want what I have on. They want how I carry myself. What they think I possess, can extract and do from that image alone. Men who are buying clothes outta here already have an idea of what they’re interested in, what they’re comfortable wearing, but I promise you, they can’t recall what the sales guy had on. They aren’t fashion gurus like you. You’re assigning your mainframe to the average Joe, and it’s not accurate. Look, they can remember the sales guy or manager’s voice, right? His haircut maybe… His confidence and ability to do his job, definitely. They recall his sense of humor and if he made them feel important. Like they were more than a credit card number. You were half right with what you said earlier; you just have to dig deeper. I guarantee you that I could be standin’ around here with a diaper on and a paper boat hat on my head, and it wouldn’t matter.” They locked eyes, and he could see Ricky was fighting a smile. “You said the customers will want to be me, and that’s true. But not because of the clothes.”
“I think you’re wrong, King, but you know what? Why the fuck not?” He threw up his hands and laughed. “We’ll do it your way for a few weeks, see what happens. If my sales drop, you’re wearing the clothes in here. Do we have a deal?”
“Seems fair to me. I can agree to that.” They shook on it. Ricky began to pick up papers, toss them, and dick around with the registers. They’d already been cleared out, but he was placing new receipt tape in them and preparing them for the next day.
“Do you know how many people applied for this job?”
“How would I know that?” King threw up his hands, the man chuckled as he approached him, his jacket now over his arm.
“I received four hundred and three resumes, King, after I posted this job online. Since I’m a busy man, I had a friend of mine go through them and narrow ’em down for me. I wanted someone with a four-year degree in either business or fashion and clothing store experience of at least five years. My friend noticed Pratt on your resume, and assumed it was four years without looking more closely. So, it was sheer luck that you weren’t excluded. That left me with about fifty-two. I went through each and every one of them and ended up with the top ten. You made every single cut. That’s when I started doing phone interviews, followed by in-person interviews. By then, I had three of you. I wanted you because of what your former boss said about you, because of how you come across – very confident, and your desire to work and do shit right. Now, I could be wrong.” The man smirked and tossed up his hands. “I have an ex-wife