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From: bobr@zeus.UUCP (Robert Reed)
Newsgroups: net.jokes
Subject: A new-age salesman *relating*
Message-ID: <488@zeus.UUCP>
Date: Fri, 8-Mar-85 21:39:57 EST
Article-I.D.: zeus.488
Posted: Fri Mar  8 21:39:57 1985
Date-Received: Mon, 11-Mar-85 05:04:29 EST
Organization: Tektronix, Beaverton OR
Lines: 128

[From the New Yorker]

Dear Friends & Customers:

     I've been pricing rugs for the coming  sale  ...  chopping  away  at  the
prices,  hour after hour.  All of this must have made a very deep impact on my
subconscious, because last night I had a dream.  I know a lot about  rugs  but
not  much  about  dreams and the subconscious.  But let me tell you the dream,
just as it came to me.

     With a bundle of rugs under one arm I  was  walking  along  an  extremely
misty  road.   The  ethereal silence gradually gave way to the gentle sound of
bells.  The mist, like the vapors of dry ice in the movies, began to disperse.
Ahead  I  saw  a  gate,  golden and gleaming.  It was closed, blocking my way.
Gradually the sound of Christmas carols began to  blend  in  with  the  bells.
Drawing closer, I saw a man outside the gate in a Santa Clasu costume, ringing
a bell near his Salvation Army painted chimney.  Suffling a bit awkwardly, due
to  my  bundle  of  rugs,  I  reached in my pocket for some change and dropped
several quarters down the chimney.  Oddly, it took ten or eleven  seconds  for
the  coins to hit bottom.  ``Strange,'' I thought.  I looked at the Santa, his
beard a bit askew, and he winked.

     ``Could you tell me the name of this town?'' I asked.
     ``Town?'' he asked.  ``Ah, but you don't know yet.''  He gestured  toward
the sparkling gates.  ``These, my friend,'' he said, ``are the Pearly Gates.''
     ``Well I'll be damned,'' I said.
     ``No ... evidently not,'' my Santa-friend responded.
     ``Then ... you're Saint Peter?'' I asked.
     ``Oh, no,'' he said.  ``I'm just one of  Peter's  little  helpers.   They
told  me  that  you'd  be  along soon.  Here, let me ring for Saint Peter.  No
doubt he will have some questions to ask you.''

     He pressed a small white button.  While waiting, I listened to  Christmas
carols.  Bing Crosby was singing about a White Christmas.
     ``Bing Crosby made it here?'' I asked.
     ``Just the voice made it,'' Santa said.  ``These are early 78 recordings.
They never wear out up here.''

     I would have pondered that remark if there was more time, but a  jingling
and  jangling  of  keys  announced  the  approach of someone.  A dignified man
appeared.
     I said, ``St. Peter, I presume?''
     ``Yes,'' said the bearded old gentleman, as he unlocked the gate.  ``Say,
what's that you've got under your arm?'' he asked.
     ``Rugs,'' I said.  ``Oriental rugs.''
     ``Oh, yes.  You're the rug dealer,'' St. Peter  said,  locking  the  gate
behind  us.   ``I was hoping that one of you would make it up here someday.  I
have a liking for Oriental rugs myself.''

     I knew it was risky but I couldn't help asking him.  ``Would you like  to
look at some excellently priced rugs?''

     I could see that he was interested.  Rightfully so.   But,  he  hesitated
and  said,  ``I don't remember any regulations that forbid it.  And after all,









                                    - 2 -


it's nearly Christmas.''  He then looked me squarely in the eyes,  and  asked,
``The  prices  ...  James,  are  they  the  best ... the _v_e_r_y _b_e_s_t ... you can
offer?''
     I searched my conscience and said firmly, ``Yes.''

     I unrolled the rugs and he examined them.  It was a  crucial  moment  for
me.  This was the big sale that I simply HAD to make.

     He looked at the sale tag and spoke with infinite authority, ``This price
IS excellent young man, you've made a sale!''

     I was elated.  My first sale beyond the Pearly Gates ... and to St. Peter
himself!   What  a  piece of business!  Naturally, the itch to share this news
with someone arose in me.  I asked, ``By the way,  are  there  any  other  rug
dealers up here ... some of my competitors?  I'd enjoy talking shop with some-
one.''
     ``I'm afraid that will be impossible,'' St. Peter said.  ``None  of  them
are here.''
     ``None of them?'' I asked.  ``But some were my friends ... fine people.''
     ``Oh, they were fine enough as people,'' St. Peter said.  He put his hand
on  my  shoulder in a fatherly way.  ``But, James, my boy ... they just didn't
offer the deals.''

     Suddenly there was a buzzing.  St. Peter fumbled in his cloak, evidently,
he was being ``beeped.''  But still the buzzing continued.  It went on and on.
Why couldn't St. Peter stop this distressing noise?   Suddenly,  jarringly,  I
was in my bedroom ... the alarm clock.  The noise was the alarm clock.  It had
all been a dream.

     Was I disappointed?  Certainly.  It's always a little hard losing a  good
sale.  but we won't lose many during this coming event.

     The prices ... well ... if they were good enough to get past  the  Pearly
Gates,  even  in  my  dreams, they will certainly please and delight you.  The
sale list eloquently tells that part of the story.  These are the prices  that
make our sales so popular.

     This sale will be a special celebration of  a  successful  year  ...  the
approach  of  the  Christmas  season  ... and our 9th anniversary in the Stark
Street location.  I have every reason to believe that this  event  will  be  a
success  for  you and for me.  A very great success.  Afterall ... somebody up
there likes us.
                                                                    Sincerely,
                                                                   JAMES OPIE.

--_P_r_o_m_o_t_i_o_n_a_l _l_e_t_t_e_r _f_r_o_m _a_n _O_r_i_e_n_t_a_l-_r_u_g _d_e_a_l_e_r _i_n _P_o_r_t_l_a_n_d, _O_r_e.

     Don't bet on it, Opie.












-- 
Robert Reed, Logic Design Systems Division, tektronix!teklds!bobr