Honor the Horrors of the Internet

Do you get it

Florence Bailey Calhoun started off so normal. So full of promise. Since she was 5 years old, she knew she wanted to be a doctor. Watching MASH reruns after school with her mom gave her her ambition, as well as her quirky sense of humor. The teachers called it "oddball humor." When she told a joke, half of the kids laughed and half of them were left scratching their heads.

She may have been a jokester, but she was also brilliant. All the way through high school, it was straight A's and academic accolades. With a smile on her face and her brunette hair tied back in a band, she would study fanatically. In 9th grade, she was briefly hospitalized for holding her eyes open too long. Nobody was surprised when she was accepted into Harvard Medical; however, her dream of becoming a doctor was not her destiny.

On her third week of Human Anatomy, there was a guest lecturer. He was an insurance rep from a small firm Flo had never heard of. "Progressive? Isn't that a soup?" The insurance man dressed modestly in a drab polo, but he painted beautiful pictures with his words. He gave a bold speech to the class about the glory of insurance, the power of security, the excitement of stability. Flo was infatuated immediately. That week, she dropped out of school and applied at Progressive Insurance.

Flo nailed the interview, getting what she wanted as usual. The interviewers were charmed by her idiosyncratic humor, her huge permanent smile, and her almost photographic memory. After only 6 months, she was the top sales representative in her branch. The sales director demanded that she be promoted to upper management, but she refused. Selling was all she wanted to do. But she had an idea...

Progressive's CEO, Chauncey Progressive Jr., had heard about Flo's track record and requested that she meet him at corporate headquarters immediately. Flo knew this was her chance.

"I've heard of you, Flo. You're the best salesman we got. We have branches dying in the gutter, but you're turning a profit like nobody's business. I'll be blunt. I need your ideas. What can this company do to sell insurance the way you do?"

Flo stared at the toy bird on Chauncey's, bobbing its beak into the water. Flo bobbed her head forward.

"Hah hah! Classic! See, that's just the kind of moxie we need around here!"

Flo stared intensely at Chauncey, her smile gaping. "Mr. Progressive, I think we need to sell insurance at a supermarket."

"OK, um, so you're looking for a more user-friendly approach?"

"No. I mean we need to literally have a Progressive supermarket. Like Walmart, except there's nothing on the shelves but insurance. Cute little boxes of insurance! You walk in, pick out a nice insurance, pay, and go."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Not at all. This is the wave of the future. The store is the future, and the cashier, the face of the company, is me. Flo."

"What are you talking about? How can someone just buy a box of insurance? What about getting their information and figuring out the right policy?"

Flo reached under her skirt and pulled out a strange device. "This is the Name-Your-Price tool. It lets you decide what price you pay."

"There are so many things wrong with this. You're insane. Get out of my office."

Flo leapt across the desk and pressed her lips against his. The CEO's chubby hands tried to shove her back, but her grip was too strong. Her hands gripped his thin hair and her tongue scraped bits of lettuce off of his molars. When she was finally done with him, he shrieked, "Get the fuck out of here, you crazy bitch! You're fired!"

Flo smiled through her smeared lipstick. "No, I think I'm going to get my supermarket. You know why?"

Flo took the toy bird off Chauncey's desk. "Because those big, mean policemen take sodomy so seriously."

Flo lifted her skirt as Chauncey watched in horror. She wasn't wearing underwear, but her inner thighs were covered in old scars and fresh bruises. She bent forward sharply, smashing her face into Chauncey's desk. For the first time, she stopped smiling. "Why are you doing this to me, Mr. Progressive? Why?" She wailed as she gently placed the bird to her backside.

"Jesus Christ, OK! You can have your goddamn store! What the fuck!"

"With the boxes of insurance?"

"Yes! Yes! Whatever you want! Just get out of here right now!"

In what seemed like a split second, Flo stood up, fixed her skirt, and straightened her headband. As a stream of blood dripped down her face, Flo smiled again. She extended her hand across the desk.

"Thank you for shopping with Progressive."