The dealership has been running ads for salespeople this week. It sounds great.
Earn one hundred thousand dollars a year. Weekly bonuses. Car allowance. Forty hour work week. Have fun, make money. It was written by our Colonel Sanders look-a-like.

A small knot of squawking salesmen gathered around the newspaper this morning.

“Hey,“ one crusty old gas bag said. ‘I want to be hired in under this program,”

“Why you know,” said another. “It almost sounds too good to be true.”

We all laughed. Everyone of us had been suckered in by a similar con job sometime in our past.

The candidates have been rolling in. This advertisement hasn’t drawn the elite. A stream of foul smelling half wits have passed through the doors. One likely suspect, wearing muddy work boots, announced this morning, “I want to sell me some damn cars.”

He was the best so far. “What about that one?” Colonel Sanders asked the general manager.

“You’ve got to be kidding. That guy was nasty. Did you see what he was wearing?”

The Colonel gathered his wit, “We’ll put him in used cars.”

But wait, here comes a guy. He’s dressed in a suit, tie, matching shoes. He’s a gift from above. He mistakes the Old Grouch for management. “My name’s Lance Handsome,” he announces, offering his hand.

“Who gives a shit?’ the Old Grouch says in greeting.

Mr. Handsome isn’t fazed. “I’m here for the sales position.”

The Old Grouch says, “Praise the Lord.”

Lance looks at the empty coffee pot, “Say, old timer, why don’t you make us a pot of coffee?”

This rest of us stop, waiting for Lance to be schooled. Old Grouch is calm. “Wait just a minute there,” he told Mr. Handsome. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where you going?”

“I’m going to my car. Don’t go anywhere”

“Might I ask why?” says Lance.

“I’m going to show you the ass end of my Colt 45 revolver. Stay right here.”

Lance decides not to participate. He drives away, never looking back .

A few minutes later Colonel Sanders comes out of his office. “Where’d that guy go?”

“He left,” Old Grouch says. “He said this dealership looks like a third rate pop stand.”

“I was just coming out to tell him we wouldn’t hire him anyway,” Colonel says. “He struck me the wrong way. Besides,” he shakes a stack of applications. “We got plenty more first-rate guys here that want to sell cars.”

Stay tuned.