“We’ll have your face on every bill board, park bench, and bus stop in town!” Shouted Frank Tripoly, of 223 Water View Place as his screen door creaked open.
“Why are you talking like some sort evil film producer in a noir film?” The name tag wearing college aged kid at the door asked.
“You’ve got chutspa, kid, I’ll give you that,” Frank commended the kid’s attention to detail. In his own way.
“That does not sound like accurate period slang. Are you interested in updating your wireless plan?”
“Wireless? Wireless?! No, no, buddy guy, we’ve got bigger plans to worry about now. You are the embodiment of what people want to see on the big screen. Think about it, buddy guy,” Frank repeated, he was out of slang terms he thought sounded appropriate for his character, “your name on the marquee, people lined up around the block to see you save the day, get the girl, do a dance number and then skip off into the sunset.”
“That’s really not what movies do anymore,” the salesman said, completely confused.
“Well they should. Now, tell me how we put that plan into action. I’ll be your manager, 10% off the gross and we walk on anything less than $10k a day,” Frank was surprised he had been allowed to go on this long.
“Um, uh,” the door to door sales agent fumbled his words, “I think I should leave you to your night. Thank you for your time, sir.”
“Oh, by golly Jupiter’s big toe, say it ain’t so!” Frank was happy the sales pitch ended, but was not quite willing to part with his character just yet.
As the screen door returned to its closed position, Frank’s wife, Barbara called from the dining room, “would you just make a ‘no soliciting’ sign already?”
“I’ll get to it, Barb. I’ll get to it,” Frank locked the door.