Wishes

The Salesman

On the morning of January 23rd, Jason Krun was eating breakfast in his small apartment in Van Nuys, California. His breakfast consisted of three items that he had specifically sought out eagerly. These three items had also all turned out to be deeply disappointing when applied to pleasing the taste buds. The soy milk turned out to be more cloyingly overcompensated with sugar than Scalett O'Hara, the cinnamon flakes turned out to be stale and more brittle than Samuel L. Jackson's bones in Unbreakable, and the orange juice turned out to be more sour than Professor Umbridge. Still, he shouldered through the grog because there was nothing else to do. This was what most days were like for the 36-year-old, depending on whether or not he'd waste the rest of his day at home watching re-runs of The Office or at the actual office.

However, on January 23rd, Jason actually had something to do. Which was to go answer a loud, singular knock on the door of his little apartment that he somehow heard over the agonizing vacuuming coming from next door.

The man behind the door smiled as Jason opened the door. Immediately, the smell of stale exotic cigar smoke permeated Jason's consciousness. Twinkling, dilated brown eyes menaced Jason silently out of the he faded leather mask that Jason suddenly realized was the man's face. And what a strange face it was, looking like a melted, wrinkled impression of a once handsome visage. The man was tall and wiry, and wore an all black two-piece of impeccable condition with coiffed, thinning, oily black hair. Still, the man gave off an unkempt, threatening and unnerving air that was an ironic offshoot of his attempt at appearing presentable.

"Good morning, Mr. Krun," the man began in a slightly South Asian-accented voice. "My name is Mr. Steward. How are you?" He spoke with the pleasant smile and tone of a long-lost aquaintance, coworker and family member all in one.

"W-wha?" Jason was baffled.

The thin, colorless lips curled distastefully upwards. "I understand your choice of housing allows protection from obnoxious door-to-door salesman as one of its perks. So it is only logical for you to come to the conclusion that I am definitely not a salesman. And you would be partially right."

Jason leaned against the doorway. "Partially right?"

"Indeed. For the salesmen you come in contact with try to sell material items for material currency. I do not try to sell material items or obtain material currency. But if a salesman is one who offers something to someone in exchange for something else, then I am by those means a true salesman."

Jason wiped his eyes tiredly. "Look, sir. I'm not interested---"

"Ahh. But I do know what you are interested in, Mr. Krun. Watching episodes of that television program you adore so much. Following the exciting new life your ex-wife has immersed herself in and wondering why you aren't a part of it. Reading those auto magazines you worship religiously."

Jason was speechless for a moment. "How do you---"

The man moved his hand up quickly in a quieting gesture. "It doesn't matter, Mr. Krun. What matters is that I'd like to offer you something."

Jason folded his arms, trying to gain the upper hand. "Look. I'm not interested---"

"I understand. But won't you let an old man speak?" Steward said with a happy smile. Suddenly, the wrinkles appeared so much more prominent and the spotty leather so much more weathered. Jason was speechless for longer this time.

"I'd like to offer you something I've only offered very few people, Mr. Krun. A true chance of a lifetime."

Jason stared back, momentarily transfixed.

"Do you believe that fate can be escaped, Jason? That in a moment, everything can change for someone?"

"I-I guess. I mean, yeah. Why are you asking me?"

"My associates and I love helping out deserving individuals like yourself find those moments, Jason. So I'm going to give you three wishes."

Jason chuckled nervously, worried only about the serious, pleasantly smiling manner of this man and the flippant, professional way he said those words.

"Three wishes? You expect me to believe---"

"Ahh, but there's a catch, of course. A catch that demotes the too-good-to-be true just good. Isn't there always with salesmen?"

Jason stared back, momentarily transfixed.

"Who do you work for, Mr. Steward?"

"Me? I work for a little company called Financial and Technological Experiences." He did not elaborate.

Jason stared back, momentarily transfixed.

"Look, I appreciate the attention, Mr. Krun. But we must move on. So here's the catch: if you take my offer, a person in the world will die."

Jason laughed loudly now, the spell broken. "Thanks for the entertainment, Mr. Steward. But I really must---"

"Someone whom you do not know very well at all, and whom is in a great deal of pain."

Jason held the door half-closed. 

"Yes, Mr. Krun. You will be putting someone out of their misery. Think of it as a charitable service." Steward smiled predatorily. 

"A charitable service?" Jaosn asked skeptically.

"Indeed, Mr. Krun. And what's the problem with telling a stranger our wildest dreams? At worst, nothing happens, so why not?"

At this point, Jason just wanted to get this "salesman" that somehow knew all about him out of his face. "Ok. So what do I do? Just tell you three wishes?"

"Precisely. And please be honest. Don't say something hurtful like 'Please get out of my face, Mr. Steward.' Believe me, that's happened."

"Ok. So my first wish is..."

Steward smiled, silently imploring him to continue.

"My first wish is that my ex-wife calls me back. I'd really just like a chance to talk to her."

"An old flame never put out? I'll see to it."

Jason smiled sheepishly. "I guess. I do miss Teresa. Ahh, why am I....whatever."

Steward smiled, silently imploring him to continue.

"My second wish is that I get a chance to see my father face to face one last time. We haven't spoken in years, not after I divorced Teresa, and I don't think I know where he is or vice versa."

"How tragic. I'll see to it."

"Ok. So last one and then you leave?"

"Of course, Mr. Krun."

"Great. My third wish is that I can have $100,000. I don't just want the money for nothing---I'd like to put a down payment on that condo in NoHo Teresa wanted so bad. It's warmed up to me too."

Steward smiled. "How sweet. I'll see to it. Within the week, these wishes will all come true. At the mere price of an anguished life. I can't promise that order you told me the wishes will be the ordfer in which they occur, but my associates and I will try our best. Good day, Mr. Krun." He nodded curtly and left.

Jason stood there, momentarily transfixed for a moment. Then he shrugged, closed the door and watched The Office Season 3 finale for the umpteenth time.