What Remains After the Pain (Absurdist SS2)

It was,
in terms of seasons, the gap between spring and summer.
It was back when I was working in fiber-optic sales.

It happened on a certain afternoon when the air was lukewarm and shimmering.

What I was doing at the time was what you call "cold calling."

It was a job like a monk's ascetic training that tempered both mind and body: walking around residential neighborhoods, ringing the doorbells of houses that caught my eye, and launching into a sales pitch for fiber-optic internet.

They say that for a master salesman,

"This one's a go"

is something they can spot by intuition, and the scent of victory is already in the air the moment they stand before the gate.

However, I lacked that kind of sales sense, and I didn't have a top-tier sales smile either.

My criteria for choosing a house was simply, "Because the house was there," and nothing more.

The house had an impressive vermilion roof, a detached home that evoked images of a peaceful daily life.

I pressed the doorbell modestly.

Silence.

It is the fate of this job that the passage of time feels strangely heavy.

Should I press it again immediately, or wait a while?
This split-second decision determines the impression I make on the person inside.

Based on the size of the house, I imagine the resident's movements.
The master of the house is probably standing up right now, stretching his back, putting on his slippers, and heading toward the entrance... he's probably about halfway there.

"Yes?"

There was a small, but definite, response.

I instinctively straightened my posture.

What I realized while doing cold calls was that there are several types of these "Yes" responses.

A "Yes" containing anger,
a "Yes" that is purely obligatory,
and a "Yes" that is favorable.

Today's one, miraculously, sounded like a final "yes".

Footsteps approached, and before long, the door opened.

I braced myself to unveil the sales smile I had practiced in front of the mirror so many times.

And then, the next moment,

A black shadow burst out with a gust of wind that seemed to tear the earth apart.

Thud.

A sharp pain shot through my thigh.

Looking down, I saw a Doberman biting into my thigh. Dignified brows, a glistening snout, a sense of speed as if it had come straight from hell. It was that Doberman, the one that would make even a crying child fall silent.

"I'm so sorry!"

A middle-aged man who appeared to be the owner pulled the dog back.

For some reason, at that moment, my sales spirit was ignited. Or perhaps, I was in a kind of pain-induced high.

"Actually, I'm here today to introduce our fiber-optic internet service..."

I launched into my sales pitch, smoother than ever. Perhaps out of awkwardness, the owner listened to the end.

But the result was...

"We're not interested."

I thought, "Of course you aren't," and just as I was about to make one final push,

The black shadow from before made a reappearance.

"Hey, stop that!"

Only the owner's voice remained, and the door closed.

A loser—no, I was a man defeated by a dog.

What were my feelings at that moment?
Anger?
Worthlessness?
Disappointment?

The correct answer was,
"I'm hungry."
That was it.

I started walking sluggishly toward the nearby shopping mall.

In the mall restroom, I pulled down my pants and checked the tooth marks carved into my thigh.
It hurts.
But for some reason, I started to chuckle.
A salesman bitten by a Doberman—I've never heard of such a thing.
What a rare experience.

For some reason, I didn't feel like suing, nor did I feel like going to a doctor.

"Well, it's a pet dog, so rabies shouldn't be an issue," I thought,
persuading myself as I headed toward the food court.

I bought some chicken and sat at a counter seat by the window.

As I took a bite, I suddenly thought.

Life sometimes has moments like this, where you suddenly get bitten on the thigh.
Even so, people keep walking.

I raised the chair to its maximum height using the lever under the seat.
I could see the parking lot below.
A line of cars was forming at the entrance waiting to park.
From here, I could see the parking availability quite well.
"That spot over there is open!"
I felt like telling them.

I took another bite of the chicken.
I rested both elbows on the counter and propped my chin in my hands.

At that moment, the chair suddenly dropped.
The momentum caused my hands to push my chin up, and I bit my tongue hard.
A new pain that made me forget the pain in my thigh.

I gave up on sales for the day.

I slowly chewed the chicken, which now tasted of iron, along with the absurdity of life.
While nursing the pain of the tooth marks on my thigh and the numbness in my tongue.

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