by Day, P. J.
As I looked across the aisle, Ted was in a deep sleep, drooling all over his shoulder, his headphones slightly crooked, ESPN playing on his screen. Ted hates sports, but there was some collegiate gymnastics meet going on, and I bet he was enjoying the scenery before dozing off into dreams full of debauchery, cheeseburgers, and muscular post-teen thighs doing the splits.
I began to think. Why would Ted be suspicious of our trip? The whole idea of a carefree man questioning the motives of his employment gnawed at me the whole flight. What if Rald was sending us over for some type of illegal arrangement, that would later fetch the INS, CIA, DHS, and every U.S. intelligence organization against Ted and me?
Actually, come to think of it, I don’t think the U.S. cares what multinational companies do over in China. I just learned from one of our software engineers that Cisco Technologies was helping China track down its dissidents through software called “Golden Shield.” Apparently, they openly marketed to the Chinese government that their software was able to track various members of groups, like the Falun Gong, through analysis of metadata, collected throughout the government-filtered internet that China employs. Did the U.S. government care? Probably not; every senator, congressman, and high court judge was invested heavily in Cisco stock or had relations with their lobbying firm.
Globalization was the best thing to happen to those in power.
I doubt anything we do, that does not border on threatening national security, was fine and dandy in the eyes of the government, especially to those who owned stock in Schnell, which probably accounted for half of the elected officials in D.C.
How do I know all of this? Well, from what I heard from a loudmouth that we have in our legal department, our lobbying firm was pretty kick-ass, and they had no problems getting the job done when it came to schmoozing the right politicians while putting in a little bit of our ink into future legislation that will most definitely benefit our company. It was dirty but profitable. No stone left unturned, until all of our supporters in government were provided with some nice, juicy insider trading information in exchange for a little help.
It all felt kind of shady to me. There is a part of me that feels satisfied working for a corporation that is ultimately bulletproof due to their ties with governments, but there is also another part of me that feels very dirty for working with a corporation that essentially bribes public servants for an unfair advantage in a so-called free market.
It seemed that for the major players, it’s all about profits before ideals, and everyone who “serves” their respective governments has access to a moderately-sized piece of the pie.
I remember my first time going on the It’s a Small World ride at Disneyland and thinking that humanity is doing its darnedest to convince themselves that eventually, we all will live in perfect harmony, due to some empty ideal that points to an inevitable peaceful co-mingling of all cultures, races, religions, and politics.
No fucking way it’s going to happen just because we all will it out of the kindness of our hearts. The God-awful truth is that if that fucking ride with the soulless, liberal, Kumbaya Muppets was based on reality, it would be corporations bringing everyone together and using comparative advantage instead of multiculturalism.
If this iconic ride embraced cynicism of the highest degree, you can go ahead and replace all the cute pandas in the China section with little kids wearing lab coats and face masks putting together transistors on an assembly line, while little Zhang Yi contemplates suicide atop the catwalk, because she has been worked for 21 hours straight, so PBR Tony, with his shitty knock-off Buddy Holly glasses and “unique” turd-tight jeans can justify waiting two days in line to get his hands on the latest and greatest piece of consumer electronics, that will enable him to be king hipster for the three hours of exclusivity he has with the product.
In the Africa section of the ride, you can replace all the lions, and hyenas with diamond mines, pharmaceutical companies, and missionaries. They are all one in the same, anyway: predators. At least the lions and hyenas shit the consumed and replenish the earth. However, these other predators leave nothing behind, just scorched earth and battered husks that adhere to a submissive hivemind of base survival. They just take and exploit. Occasionally though, they are forced to give back when caught by the rare moral anomaly, but in the end, it is all just to save face.
Some of these corporations that exploit third world workforces have convinced themselves that the life of petty wages, as compared to those of the first world, is better than a life searching for the next meal with uncertainty, a life where a desperate parent must sell their child into sex slavery, or marry someone who is an abrasive, domineering male who treats his wife like a piñata after every Saturday night soccer match.
I know for a fact that these multinationals are doing the bare minimum when it comes to providing sufficient wages for these developing countries, and are also damaging their countries of origin by making sure the wages are so damn low that a First World middle class workforce cannot compete. It is a system where hundreds of thousands and possibly millions hang on by a thread economically; just so a few hundred individuals can reap the rewards of the first ever true, global economics experiment.
Deep down inside, I know I need to continue working with Schnell. So far, I haven’t noticed any improprieties from the company, in terms of raw human exploitation, that has been exposed by some fringe anti-genetic engineering group you find on the internet nowadays.
I sleep a little better during the day knowing that the board of Schnell goes out of its way to show its philanthropic side in a sincere attempt. They have donated millions of dollars to children’s cancer hospitals all over Europe and the U.S. They are the world leader in providing free software to 60 percent of the world’s top pediatric cancer projects.
For the most part, it’s a good company. Its world-class work is demanded by those fighting for the causes of good, but the reality is that it is also sought by those who are looking to enrich themselves and gain power through the untapped world of genetic manipulation.
Unfortunately, I feel my trip to Hong Kong is going to deal with the latter. I have no idea what the hell I am getting into. Thankfully, I’ve got Ted by my side, who I know Samuel is just itching to hear about. Ted is my best friend, confidant, and knight in shiny, sticky, dented armor. I had some time on this flight to reflect about Ted...
Chapter Nine
Ted Mears is my top account executive. He works hard, plays hard, drinks hard, and sells hard. I would mention he smokes hard, but anyone I know who slams a bong like they would slam a six pack is usually in bed by 10:00 p.m.
Ted might come off a bit lackadaisical to the most prudish observer. His boorish jokes rub many the wrong way; he interjects every conversation with a pun, quip, or topical humor.
I’ve received complaints from VPs that sometimes he looks disheveled. His shirt always seems slightly untucked, sports a light prickly beard, and the back of his head sometimes looks like it’s gone through a wind tunnel.
Ted is pretty productive and is a benefit to his company, but he is not going to waste his single 30s as a company man dedicated 100 percent to his work and his business appearance. He’ll mix in a little fun on company time every now and then.
He isn’t the most professional-looking professional, but the man can sell and market unlike anyone else I know. He holds the most accounts out of every representative working out of the Pacific branch.
His command of Cantonese, Japanese, Mandarin, and Korean is unrivaled among his peers and me.
I’ll be the first person to admit he does most of the work, and if it wasn’t for his command of Asian languages or strong work ethic, then my position with Schnell would be nothing more than that of a figurehead. However, it’s my job to keep good ole’ Ted in line.
Whenever one of his accounts threatens to drop us, Ted takes it personally.
“It’s not our fault or my fault. It’s the client’s stupidity and inexperien
ce that prevents them from understanding the software,” he says.
Ted takes pride in his work and knowledge about which type of software would help with a specific project. In this current era of salesmanship, you need to be extremely informed to sell any type of product because clients and consumers are also extremely informed. So, when we are about to get dropped by an account, he gets pretty irate and I have to tell him to back off, so I can smooth things over with the client.
Whenever he messes up one of these accounts due to slow follow-ups, or miscommunication between corporate and the client, I am always there to patch things up and make sure he retains the account because I know no one else could handle the account quite like Ted when things are going smoothly.
When it comes to his prospects as a suitor, he may be 20 pounds overweight, and a bit too direct, but that doesn’t stop him from being successful with the fairer sex.
His sense of humor is a major draw, and his Dionysus-like personality can overcome even the stiffest beauty. The guy isn’t hideous by any stretch of the imagination. However, he’s no Matinee Idol either.
I remember Ted telling me about Stacy Hutchinson, a 26-year-old Cornell graduate who was recently hired as an assistant general manager for “Project Origin,” which dealt with gene therapy for cystic fibrosis. Not only was Stacy whip-smart, beautiful, and talented, but she came from money, and Schnell was her first major prestigious, high-paying job.
She was not going to let some lecherous, disheveled, juvenile oaf distract her from advancing her career at one of the most prestigious genetic engineering firms in the world.
Upon seeing a girl who is standoffish, cold, and dedicated to her career in the workplace, most men back off immediately. Too many fish in the sea, and for most men past their mid-20s, they feel it isn’t worth the trouble to play silly high school games just to nab a piece of ass or a long-term prospect.
Not Ted, though. Ted always lasered into these types of girls.
There is something in Ted that just gnaws at him when presented with a challenge. The guy just thrives off rejection and gets stronger and more calculating after each defeat.
Whether in business or relationships, Ted gets what he wants no matter what, and if he doesn’t succeed, then he gets awfully close.
When Stacy was first hired, Ted would walk right by her and make it a point not to make eye contact with her. She really was a stunner, and every guy in the office did their absolute best to attempt a pupil connection with Stacy, or usually tried to interrupt her conversations with a quirky remark or flirtatious banter. She had none of it. Stacy was as asexual in the office as a fertile female can get. She stuck to business and business only. Ted knew this and continued to be the ultimate anti-stalker.
Ted’s subtle avoidance began to eat away at Stacy. She began to go out of her way to ask Ted for advice. “Do you know of any target accounts that could benefit from our project?” she asked Ted, while looking into his eyes, seeing if there was an inkling of attraction.
“No,” Ted would reply, as dryly as he could.
Other colleagues continued to jump through hoops for Stacy by frantically running to their computers to see what accounts would match up with her project. Ted’s no was the perfect strategic verbal weapon for a woman who could melt a man with a bat of an eyelash or whose self-determined narcissism went unchallenged.
The forced act of stale manhood, which Ted displayed in front of Stacy, continued for weeks. Eventually, she began to hound Ted about the most mundane office-related shit.
“Where can I find the thickest paper stock for my printer. I have a presentation on Tuesday, and, I like, need to know where this paper is.”
“Sorry, can’t help. Ask Jerry,” Ted replied, as he walked away hastily, even though all he was doing was just randomly wandering the office chucking paper clips at all the marketing guys.
Jerry overheard Ted and rushed to Stacy’s side like a knight in shining armor.
“It’s in a box right next to the water cooler; you want me to get it for you?” Jerry asked, exasperated.
Stacy dryly replied without giving even a hint of eye contact. “No, it’s okay, Jerry. I forgot I actually have some in one of my drawers.”
As the days went by, she continued to pester Ted around the office.
“How do I upload this picture on my phone to my laptop?” she asked, playing dumb.
“I don’t have time right now. Just Google it,” Ted replied.
She was relentless in her pursuit. “Do you know what subfolder the Xiangchao project analysis is in?”
“Not my account. Do you need anything else? I have this commission report I need to work on,” said Ted, continuing his barrage of casual indifference.
She even tried to point out other pretty girls around the office, just to elicit a reaction.
“What is the name of that new office assistant they just hired in Human Resources?”
“I don’t know. Don’t really have time for gawking... working hard, you know?” Ted replied caustically.
Ted wouldn’t give Stacy a detailed or nuanced answer to any of her questions, and on top of that, he really didn’t have an answer to all the questions.
He refused to bullshit his way into possible answers for Stacy’s questions, because he knew if he treated the back and forth with Stacy as if it was an exchange between himself and another unremarkable male co-worker, Stacy would be driven nuts.
Finally, one day during lunchtime, Stacy showed a sliver of weakness to her questions; there was just enough of a setup for a personal exchange in her query. Ted had no choice but to finally pounce like the sly cat he really was.
“Ted, do you know where I can get some good Indian food around here? I am starving right now and am tired of eating at Rosa Mexicana’s on Tuesdays,” she asked, in a slightly defeated tone.
Ted knew that this was the time to retire his deliberately uninteresting, dry persona by the wayside. He displayed an impish smile that oozed sub-textual victory. “Oshaka on Motor and Venice has an amazing buffet during lunch; let’s go! My treat!” Ted said, his stubby chin held high.
Stacy, with a relieved smile, gave Ted an enthusiastic grin. It was as if she was headed to prom with the heartthrob she had her eyes set on since the beginning of junior year, but instead of the heroic, All-American starting quarterback, it was with a tubby, bearded, troll of a man that had an ego twice the size of his belly and the wit and gumption that attracted women three leagues above him.
Ted’s heroics can make even the most cynical and well-traveled immortals take notice. He is an excellent judge of human behavior despite being only thirty-something years old.
Ted is a rarity. He knows his limits; he knows superficially where he stands in the eye of his peers, the public, his co-workers, and his potential clients. He is self-aware, and believe it or not, that is an acumen that is missing in the majority of the human population.
He is one of only a handful of humans who knows my secret. He can handle it because he has a very well-rounded perspective of history, human nature, and society as a whole.
I can only be in relationships with a few individuals until they meet their timely or untimely ends. For most of my relationships or acquaintances, I must vanish completely from their lives once our conversations delve into, “Wow, you never age,” or “What are your secrets to staying young, what lotions are you using, I need to get rid of these crow’s feet.”
Most mortals can’t handle the truth of my condition. Rightly so; they have been conditioned by movies, books, and other forms of fiction that we are nothing but cold, calculating, blood-sucking, biting machines. Actually, I take that back; we are also seen as hopeless romantics lately. It’s not a bad perception, honestly. You can never have too much positive PR.
Personally, though, I would rather be thought of as Nosferatu instead of some great-looking, twenty-something heartthrob that hangs on your daughter’s bedroom wall. I am not this romantic, misunderstood, undead bei
ng who is always looking for love 24/7. I still can easily snap, turn into a monster, and destroy you on a whim. However, the potential of me snapping is currently at historical lows, due to having Zeopirudin at my disposal, which makes finding willing participants a little easier, especially by also having a friend like Ted around. He has talked up a few prospects for me; he has a way of recruiting some open-minded hosts for yours truly. Ted has been essential for my survival.
Chapter Ten
We landed in Hong Kong in the early morning.
As expected and per my instructions, we arrived just before sunrise. Thankfully, the only exposure to light that I felt was from the beautiful lighting the airport created with its state of the art technological luster. Ted and I were extremely pooped, which was to be expected after a 15-hour flight. We both headed down a large escalator. I could see the exit a few yards ahead of me. Luckily, there was no sign of sunlight radiating through the large airport windows.
“Dude, if I didn’t take that Lunesta, I probably would not have been able to walk out of that plane. I honestly don’t know how our engineers do it. Some of those guys take this flight five to ten times year,” Ted said. I notice his collar halfway popped. I fixed it for him and patted him on the back. “Well, you get used to it. You create a routine and your body has no choice but to adapt.”
He turned to me on the escalator, his bloodshot eyes opening wide with slight agitation. “A routine is getting up at 6:30 a.m., making a cup of coffee, turning on the television, and making sure you get out the door without accidentally putting on shoes that don’t match. Not prepping your body to sit on its ass for 15 hours straight!”