Scenario:The Phantom Tool Boothe" but using metaphors to describe America's Corporatist vs Oligarchs, Globalist vs Nationalist, Extreme Right Wing vs Extreme Left Wing,
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The Phantom Tool Boothe" but using metaphors to describe America's Corporatist vs Oligarchs, Globalist vs Nationalist, Extreme Right Wing vs Extreme Left Wing,
Ethan
first_person_protagonist, male. He is a tool salesman struggling to make ends meet after the economic downturn. He is resilient, resourceful, and determined. Ethan faces challenges selling tools in a postrecession world. He juggles family obligations, such as caring for his sick mother, and aspirations, like fixing up an old house. Despite setbacks, including losing his job and nearly losing his house, he perseveres, seeking new opportunities to sell products doortodoor.
Gail
side_character, female. She is Ethan's sister who lives in New York. She is ambitious, encouraging, and concerned. Gail tries to help Ethan find stability in his life by connecting him with potential employment opportunities in her city. She understands the challenges Ethan faces but wants to see him overcome his struggles and achieve success.
Maggie
side_character, female. She is a neighbor and acquaintance of Ethan. She is skeptical, straightforward, and occasionally supportive. Maggie questions Ethan's ability to sell tools effectively but offers some assistance when he needs a ride to a job interview. Her interactions with Ethan are laced with humor and skepticism, but she shows a softer side when helping him in his moment of need.
I was a tool salesman, but not the kind you might be thinking of.
Not the guy who wears a bright orange vest and sells socket sets at Home Depot.
No, my tools were different.
My tools were the kind that fixed problems, or created new ones, depending on how you looked at it.
I sold solutions, and my tools were only part of the story.
The real trick was selling yourself.
Most days, I was good at it.
Most days, I could convince myself that I was doing exactly what I was meant to be doing.
But on days like today, it was harder.
Days like today made me wonder if maybe I should have taken that job at the call center my friend Arnie worked at.
At least then I’d have a steady paycheck and wouldn’t have to worry about whether or not I would sell anything.
Anything at all.
I sighed and rubbed my eyes.
I park my rusty Corolla outside another strip mall, checking my sales quota sheet one more time.
Zero sales this week.
The dashboard clock reads 2:47 PM.
Prime selling hours wasting away.
I adjust my tie in the rearview mirror and give myself a once-over.
Dark circles under my eyes, three-day stubble, and a suit that’s seen better days.
I look like I should be panhandling on the street corner, not trying to sell anything to anyone.
My phone buzzes with a text from Gail.
She’s been bugging me about that customer service position in New York again.
I delete it without responding.
There’s no way I’m moving back to New York.
Not after everything that happened there.
I grab the leather briefcase off the passenger seat and step out of the car.
It holds my last batch of product catalogs, along with a few other tricks of the trade. Running my fingers over the worn handle, I remember what Rodney told me when I first started out in this business.
"Always keep your briefcase stocked," he said.
"And never let anyone see what’s inside."
Rodney was one of the best in the business, but he’d told me that the industry was changing.
That it was getting harder to make a living doing this kind of work.
That’s why I’d had to move out to California, where there were still plenty of people looking for what I had to offer.
I park near a small hardware store, watching customers trickle in and out.
The afternoon sun beats through my windshield as I rehearse my sales pitch under my breath.
A woman in work clothes heads toward her truck, carrying a bag of supplies.
She’s the kind of customer I need.
I grab my briefcase and step out, adjusting my tie in the side mirror.
"Excuse me, ma'am," I call out, walking briskly toward her.
She pauses, keys in hand, giving me a wary look.
I pull out my catalog and launch into my spiel about professional-grade tools at wholesale prices.
"Professional-grade, huh?" she interrupts, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah, the kind you can't find just anywhere," I reply, trying to sound confident.
"Funny," she says, crossing her arms, "because I heard you're selling something a bit more... exclusive."
I lean against my car in the hardware store lot, spreading the glossy catalogs across the hood.
The woman watches with narrowed eyes as I flip through the pages, tracing my fingers over images of socket sets and power drills.
"See these?" I ask, pointing to a picture of a wrench set.
"These are top-of-the-line. Wholesale price is $50, but I can give you a deal."
She raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical.
"And what about these?" she asks, pointing to another page.
"Those are our professional-grade wrenches," I explain.
"They're exclusive to our company. You won't find them anywhere else."
She lets out a sharp laugh.
"Those look exactly like the Harbor Freight specials inside," she says, gesturing to the store behind us.
I quickly flip to the back section of the catalog, where our premium products are showcased.
"Okay, okay," I say, "these ones are more... exclusive."
I show her pictures of tools with sleek designs and advanced features.
"These are top-of-the-line," I assure her.
"But they come with a higher price tag."
She looks unimpressed, glancing at her watch.
"I'm not interested," she says bluntly, turning away from me.
