[p 25]
Naturally human work was more creative, more inspiring,more important than robot drudgery. Naturally it wasthe most important task in all the world … or was it?
THE REAL HARDSELL
Ben Tilman sat down inthe easiest of all easychairs. He picked up a magazine,flipped pages; stood up,snapped fingers; walked tothe view wall, walked back;sat down, picked up the magazine.
He was waiting, near theend of the day, after hours, inthe lush, plush waiting room—“Thecustomer’s ease is theSales Manager’s please”—tosee the Old Man. He was fidgety,but not about something.About nothing. He was irritatedat nobody, at the world;at himself.
He was irritated at himselfbecause there was no clearreason for him to be irritatedat anything.
There he sat, Ben Tilman,normally a cheerful, pleasantyoung man. He was a salesmanlike any modern man anda far better salesman thanmost. He had a sweet littlewife, blonde and pretty. Hehad a fine, husky two-year-oldboy, smart, a real future NationalSales Manager. Heloved them both. He had everyreason to be contented withhis highly desirable, comfortablelot.
And yet he had been gettingmore sour and edgy ever sinceabout six months after thebaby came home from theCenter and the novelty of responsibilityfor wife and childhad worn off. He had nowquit three jobs, good enoughsales jobs where he was doingwell, in a year. For no reason?[p 26] For petty, pointless reasons.
With Ancestral Insurance,“Generations of Protection,”he’d made the Billion DollarClub—and immediately begunto feel dissatisfied with it—justbefore cute, sexy, blondeBetty had suddenly come fromnowhere into his life and hehad married her. That hadhelped, sure. But as soon afterthat as he had started payingserious attention to his jobagain, he was fed up with it.“Too much paper work. Allthose forms. It’s work for arobot, not a man,” he’d toldBetty when he quit. A lie. Thepaper work was, as he lookedback on it, not bad at all;pleasant even, in a way. Itwas just—nothing. Anything.
Indoor-Outdoor Climatizers—sniffles,he said, kept killinghis sales presentation eventhough his record was goodenough. Ultra-sonic toothbrushes,then, were a fineproduct. Only the vibration,with his gold inlay, seemed togive him headaches after everydemonstration. He didn’thave a gold inlay. But theheadaches were real enough.So he quit.
So now he had a great newjob with a great organization,Amalgamated Production forLiving—ALPRODLIV. Hewas about to take on his firstbig assignment.
For that he had felt a sparkof the old enthusiasm and ithad carried him into workingout a bright new salesapproach for the deal tonight.The Old Man himself hadtaken a personal interest,which was a terrific break.And still Ben Tilman felt thatuneasy dissatisfaction. Damn.
“Mr. Robb will see you now,Mr. Tilma