Chapter Text
Every Addison has their own formula for networking. Most depend on regular advertisements plastered around the city, some give out free samples in front of their shop, others attend social events hosted by the Queen, etc. Or, if you are Spamton, you rely upon your compatriots to pick of the slack on your behalf, being so pitiful that they slide you allowances that the failed salesman would have never dreamed of otherwise.
Essentially, Spamton’s only dependable way of gaining potential business is by recommendation, which is just a fancy way of saying, “I know a guy, who knows a guy, who knows somebody, who knows a fellow, who knows another, who knows a guy, who has an opportunity for you!” Whenever the other Addisons say something along those lines, in the meager salesman’s opinion, it’s the equivalent of a dog being forced to relish in the unwanted scraps of their superior’s leftovers. And yet the Addisons keep doing it anyway, even trying to coach Spamton with tips and trick of the trade, regardless of his insecure flailing. It all boils down to is a couple of core principles.
【Be early. Have manners. Make them laugh. Give a good handshake】
Shouldn’t be so hard. One just needs to be exceptionally genial, enough to either secure a deal or establish long-term contact. And yet, Spamton flunks every prospect given to him. He just can’t help himself! What does ‘make them laugh’ even mean?! Isn’t comedy supposed to be within a spectrum?
He would always reiterate excuses to himself, defending that if he and a potential client couldn’t joke around and handle proximity together, then the deal was doomed form the start. However, beggars can’t be choosers, and for Spamton, squatting in other people’s houses and loitering can only take him so far before the other Addisons give up on him too.
Currently, the lucky Addison of the week is Pink, not the best arrangement, yet not the worst either. At least he gives Spamton a literal couch to crash on. The only downside is that Spamton is forced to live in the private office of Pink’s store, quite a noisy atmosphere all things considered. Even separated by walls, the sound of bustling and chatting customers is psychologically draining; both from causing a lack of sleep, and the irrefutable doom of Spamton knowing that he is failing whilst another is flourishing. Even hearing their soft laughter at the prospect of Pink pitching them a deal, it’s downright nausea inducing.
Despite the window blinds being shut, even the nighttime hates Spamton as Cyber City never sleeps, its never-ending radiance piercing his shut eyelids, bathing the office in unhabitable blue light against an otherwise dark interior. The rigid sofa cushions underneath Spamton mold themselves to his body as best they can, bending low dimples wherever the salesman’s body lies. For a fabric lined sofa, it sure is icy. Since the seat is as pliable as rocks, the most Spamton can commit to is blinking sleep, only sparsely able to truly nod off. This is made worse by the thin blanket draped over him, resembling more of a sheet than a real duvet. He doesn’t even have a pillow, how pathetic is that?
‘Pathetic’, yep, that’s the most apt word to call him. He’s a failure, for he does nothing but envy and concentrate his misgivings into a tiny ball whilst the other Addisons consider him a charity case. He just needs a little bit of generosity. That’s all. Spamton just needs to continue rolling the dice, knowing for certain that he is destined to be something bigger than all his other compatriots. To him, he just needs to win once to prove himself, while others need to keep trying repeatedly.
Suddenly, a phone begins to ring atop Pink’s desk, becoming a shrieking outlier against the atmosphere of car horns and street life beyond the office’s window. Agitated, a raspy groan gets trapped in Spamton’s throat, as if he was getting any sleep in the first place. His small form comes in handy as he shifts and readjusts around on the sofa, trying to find another spot to get comfortable. Maybe if he has his back facing towards the phone, it’ll shut up faster.
Since his mind is already muddled from exhaustion, the piecing volume of the telephone’s ring just becomes more invading, as if raking a sharp claw over his brain. He really doesn’t need this right now. Spamton simply needs to let it roll over to voicemail, just wait it out and have patience for once in his miserable life.
《The number you are trying to reach is currently not available. At the tone, please record your message, and when you are finished, hang up, or dial # for more options *BEEP* …….. uh … Hi, Hello ……… Excuse me for a second …》
The sound of papers rustling begin to spawn from the speakerphone, the person on the other end is clearly unprepared. From subdued frustration, Spamton cracks his worn-out eyes open a sliver, just to roll them. The voice on the line appears to be an assistant, someone invisible and inexperienced with marketing.
After a lengthy pause, the caller clears their throat before continuing, the phone adding a filter of scratchiness and static,《Hello there! My name is Ant Tenna from the hit program “TV Time”! I’m calling regarding a possible business opportunity and was told by Queen that this is the number to reach for one of the best Addisons in the city!》
The caller’s tone and diction have changed greatly, now resembling a famous showman. It’s immediately recognizable and unmistakable. Doing a double take, a shot of adrenaline overtakes as Spamton’s torso rises on instinct placing his body weight on his propped forearms. Under the strain, the rickey couch creaks loudly. There is shock palatable everywhere inside Spamton’s gaze. All the while, Tenna continues talking, droning on while still retaining a pep and charisma. One particular string of words comes to the forefront though,
《The position itself is to work as an advertising consultant for my team.》
The words themselves make Spamton’s heart jumps to his throat, now hearing his pulse within his ears. Without even being conscious of it, Spamton swings his legs from off the couch and stiffly moves towards the desk housing the phone, his posture unknowingly skewed. The rug beneath his feet seems electric as every neuron is firing off in perfect secession. The salesman’s mouth is partially agape while his eyes are wide. There is still disbelief and appall present, however the promise of prospect is too tempting to simply disregard.
《Apologies for calling so late, but this is an opening that must be fulfilled ASAP so I’ve been shopping around to see what’s available. If interested, please call back at -》
Before he knows it, Spamton picks up the phone and intercepts the call, “Hello?!!,” sounding more alarmed than necessary.
《Oh, er- Hello!》, Tenna’s voice once again takes on a pitch, his surprise forfeiting any bravado or sureness left.
Just from Tenna responding, a confirmation that this is reality, a flood of panic reverbs inside Spamton’s ribs. A sweat forms on his brow, making his greasy hair even stickier. While disbelief is still present, regret has started to singe, sinking in from his spine to his fingertips. The salesman’s mouth is dry, even his throat is nauseous from stress.
In fight or flight, Spamton outright freezes. He’s been given a gift from God yet when it’s time to fulfill his end of the bargain, there still exists a temptation to back out. Maybe this is all too risky. If Spamton commits to stealing a potential client, he would be making an enemy of not only Pink, but of all the other Addisons, kicking the salesman to the curb jointly. Spamton always harps on life having it out for him, but it’s a cruel truth that his status quo hangs on the goodwill of others. Instead of an uncomfortable couch, he’ll be laying across the rainy wet pavement or an alleyway.
《Who am I speaking with?》after such a lengthy pause, Tenna’s voice cuts through Spamton’s mental spiral.
This is it. It’s time to decide. Despite how dicey things are, glory and chance matter more to the scummy salesman than anything else in his condemned life. To continue being relegated to someone else’s control, to be nothing but a charity case for others, Spamton outright refuses that fate. He’ll prove himself. He’ll do it. He’ll do it without anyone else’s help. Centering himself, Spamton takes a deep breath in, letting the stale office air infect every corner of his lungs. Silently, he exhales through his nose whilst the tiniest prayer graces his mind before shifting into business mode, “You are speaking with the one and only Spamton G. Spamton”
Faux charisma overtakes. It’s do or die. He needs to sell this, “I was working late in my office so forgive me for taking so long to intercept the call. I heard the gist of your proposal, and let me say, I am very, very interested,” Spamton continues his spiel, not even allowing Tenna a chance to respond, pulling a cushy wheeled desk chair out to sit in “Been’ watching your program for a long time so consider me amongst your number one fans” The end of his sentence has an extra layer of smoothness, buttering Tenna up to the best of his abilities. It’s so much easier to scam someone while talking on the phone. All the recipient can go off on is a voice; no body language, no facial expressions, nothing.
《Really? Why thank you so much ..!》Tenna sounds way too giddy for just a simple platitude.
Spamton eats up that knowledge with a wry grin on his face, tempted to humorously scoff but keeps it in nonetheless, deciding to let his light-headedness show through, “Just from this call I can already tell that you are a man of decisiveness and integrity! So why don’t we just skip the small talk, lessen the theatrics, cut to the chase, and secure this deal?” Donning his salesguy persona is second nature to him, enabling him to be perceived as manic.
《… Already? But we haven’t even spoken face to face.》
There it is, there’s the usual caution Spamton is accustomed to. While expected, he won’t deny how it dampens his momentum. No matter. When in doubt, Spamton keeps prodding, “Well-I just accepted your offer, didn’t I? And I hardly see a reason to discuss anything further.” Spamton takes a breath between sentences, stitching forth the next best thing to say.
Now is the moment to be casual yet humble, “Talks of compensation are appreciated but money is something that can be hashed out later. I assure you; you have my full trust already. With that, our partnership is already diamond clad, unbreakable even!” The pace of Spamton’s speech picks up towards the end, his real desperation being palpable at the tail edge.
《Woah, woah, easy there tiger!》Tenna’s laugh is fuzzy through the phone, clearly amused, but something else is bubbling from underneath the surface. For a split second, the salesman considers how rich and honeyed it sounds, a smidge different than the chuckle the TV host uses while on air.
The thought gets brushed away regardless from Spamton, for now prioritizing his anxiety about locking this deal in, hanging on to every word Tenna says. His grin can’t help but dim, second guessing that he came on too strong.
《It’s exciting to have such an eager participant but don’t you think we are moving a bit too fast? I don’t even know who you are.》There is a happy curiosity to Tenna’s diction yet there still lies a tentativeness.
Spamton knows exactly what the TV host is saying but unwisely chooses to play semantics, praying that his enthusiasm will win out, “But you do know! We’ve been clamoring on the phone succinctly, have we not? C’mon, were practically partners already!”
Tenna’s laughter eventually winds down, rolling into silence. Static permeates the phone receiver, a dull pause compared to the stillness of the nighttime empty office. For something resembling quiet, the tension is deafening and thick, prodding a quickened heartbeat from the salesman. For a second, Spamton thinks that Tenna has hung up on him, left him out to dry like all those other opportunities. That is until the voice on the other line begins speaking again, unexpectedly outgoing, 《Listen, why don’t you and I get dinner sometime? We’ll chitchat about it more there.》
If Spamton didn’t know any better, Tenna sounds almost bashful. Stress and dopamine wash over the puppet at the proposal, eager to claim any semblance of victory, “I couldn’t agree more! You have something in mind?”
And of course, Tenna does as he begins to rattle off a restaurant in Cybercity that Spamton has never even heard of outside of rumors of luxury. Spamton just hums along with whatever Tenna says, slowly sinking into a soak of internal pride. The salesman can’t help himself from smirking like an idiot, for once feeling accomplished at a sale going right. Finally, it’s time for Spamton’s promised comeback special.
Who knew Tenna was so easy to scam? No … not scam exactly. He’ll get this position rightfully and rake in the wacky stacks, ascending to where he was always meant to be. So Spamton had to deceive a bit to get there, that’s not necessarily the same as conning someone. Tenna will get what he pays for, and the Addisons were probably gatekeeping most opportunities from Spamton anyway. Yes of course, Spamton did the right thing. He always does in the end.
High on the possibility of further winnings, Spamton blocks part of what Tenna is saying, only paying attention once Tenna starts using closing platitudes and calling the salesman by name, 《It was great talking to you Mr. Spamton, I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.》
…Tomorrow? … Tomorrow??
“Likewise, to you as well-!”, the words tumble out of Spamton’s mouth clumsily, trying to claw at any semblance of suaveness. Through the influx panic, Spamton now realizes that he doesn’t even know what time they are supposed to meet, “Should I pick you up before dinner in my car or …?” The words die before Spamton could even finish them, regardless, he delivers them in the same business tone he always dons. There is no car. There’s never been a car.
《Oh, that won’t be necessary. I want to explore a smidge of Cyber City before our reservation at 7pm so I should have plenty of time to get there.》Even through the fuzz of the microphone, there is lightheartedness to Tenna’s candor, relaxed and seemingly excited in the present moment.
Spamton is the exact opposite. Despite being glad that his bluff worked, a shaky and abrupt hand finds its way onto the work desk, messing up whatever format Pink had to his office supplies. While one palm is cradling the phone, the other is trying to search for a pen. Finding what he was looking for, Spamton clicks the top using his thumb and begins trying to write down all the meeting information on a spare paper lying around, yapping all the while, “Great! Can’t wait until then.” Despite intentions, the pen has already run dry, its ink running out after a few cursory swipes. Biting back a frustrated grunt, Spamton fishes out a different strewn pen and starts all over again, scratching away notes.
《I hope you have a good night!》Spamton can just imagine the smile on the showman’s face as the gentle good-wishes flow out of the receiver melodically.
After a few more pleasantries between them, the call finally ends, leaving Spamton by his lonesome. It’s a bit eerie after Tenna hangs up, the dial tone appearing thunderous regardless of reality. Without further ado, Spamton puts the handset back on the receiver, moving more methodically and stilted than usual. A satisfying click is heard throughout the stilled room as the piece is lastly set down, the office returning to quiet peace whilst the car traffic of Cyber City continues forth.
Despite Spamton’s confident demeanor, shock is still prevalent since his mind was racing a mile-a-minute that entire phone call, desperate not to fumble. Even his heart is still beating rapidly, as if Spamton has just ran a marathon. A small pit inside him is still in disbelief that this all real. But it was, wasn’t it? Spamton was speaking with THE Ant Tenna, right? Without any more hesitation, the salesman’s eyes fleet downwards to look at what the wrote.
Albeit it looks like scribbles, what’s before him is the undeniable truth: a time, place, and appointment with Mr. Tenna. It is only until now that Spamton realizes that he’s been smiling this whole entire time all the way through. A pressured breath exhales out of the Addison, finally able to fully unclench. Part of Spamton regrets scribbling on one of Pink’s tax papers, not even sure how to explain away everything. The only thing the scammer knows is that none of the Addisons can know that this deal was stolen. It’ll be difficult considering how fast word spreads inside Cyber City, but Spamton will manage.
And even if he doesn’t, he’ll act like he does. But from one obstacle begets another. Can Spamton even pull this off? If he can’t he’ll have double crossed with nothing to show for it.
Tenna seems pleasant enough, maybe even … bashful. While it may be the dopamine high talking, Spamton can’t deny that he wants to learn more about the TV host. However, looks can be deceiving, especially in showbiz where it’s your job to charm people, regardless of good intentions. If that’s the case, then maybe Spamton and Tenna are a perfect pair. Two douches meeting their match. It’s almost poetic if you think about it, like this moment was predestined for them to compliment each other’s shittiness.
Nevertheless, Spamton must prepare. Even if Tenna is a nightmare, the salesman must perfect his pitch; maybe even do research and watch another one of the showman’s programs to gauge Tenna’s true character. Spamton will also have to get a nice outfit together, something classy to give the impression that the scammer has his life figured out. Maybe a suit would work best?
A harsh huff erupts out of Spamton, “Don’t overthink it big shot.” He can NOT fuck this up.