Volume 13 Part II- Accounting Highs and Woes and the Hotel Couch
Peeler was a car salesman. That was true. But all great salesmen are head accountants by nature. What that means is that they see the web of numbers in its entirety at all times.
"Numbers, flumbers. It's the potential of them. You ever heard of he _expression `As Above, So Below?'"
I hadn't.
"Forget it then. You need to read more."
Peeler then launched into a dissertation on the distinction between accountants and HEAD accountants.
"Accountants are the swine of the earth, human cockroaches, polluted by self-esteem issues and an inability to take any kind of meaningful action in their lives. HEAD accountants are a different breed. Renegades, the lot of them- myself included. Willing to cut your throat or fuck you senseless in a closet. Hard to know which is worse some days. But I'll tell you this: they sure as hell aren't afflicted by inaction. Now hand me that pepper."
Point taken, if not totally clear.
Peeler had an accounting degree from a reputable school: the very school he played football with on scholarship, until the drugs became too much to handle. (When you're a starting lineman, you live on drugs. Back then *they* would deliver them to his locker each day and these drugs weren't optional in a moral or functional sense. Peeler was a better lineman than accountant, but the drugs and numerous injuries left his knees in shambles. A professional football career was out of the question, though he had try-out offers from a certain semi-pro league teams.)
In those years he was a rising star in the accounting world as well. Or as Peeler explained: "I wasn't shit on. I did the shitting."
A few mornings after the Jag/Vette fiasco, now in the new city, Peeler made a phone call to a friend in town and landed the job at the mortgage firm without so much as an interview. None required. He was vouched for. All he asked from the new employer was $1000 wired to him for moving expenses and incidentals (although he was already in town).
This money was deposited by mid-afternoon into the vouching friend's account, and said friend gave Peeler the cash over a plate of suicide wings in a particular seedy part of town.
The Voucher gave Peeler the money with some hesitation, having known him for the better part of 3 years.
Peeler assured the Voucher that he would get settled that very day. He even showed the Voucher the apartment listings that he had circled in the local paper. This made the Voucher feel slightly better.
Peeler hustled off shortly after the 6th or 7th pitcher of beer, citing an appointment to see the apartment he liked best.
The Voucher wished him luck and told Peeler he'd see him at work.
There was no apartment to see, of course. Peeler had a plane to catch.
Somewhere between the 3rd and 4th pitcher of beer, Peeler made a few other phone calls to old friends. One of them lived in Chicago and was a VP for an investment company. In a matter of minutes, he offered Peeler a position in his division. The company made immediate arrangements and the airline ticket was left for him that evening at the airport.
Peeler flew to Chicago after a brief but viscous upgrade confrontation with the ticket issuer.
He played the racism card, (his standard upgrading tool), when the attendant refused a free bump to 1st class.
In his words: "I told that dizzy bitch that I was ? genuine Micmac Indian and if an Indian can't sit in first class when there are seats open, then the local papers would be called immediately and I'd dole out lawsuits like the white man doled out smallpox."
Naturally, he got the upgrade and, not coincidentally, completely obliterated on vodka during the flight, frequently cursing loudly for "another vial of firewater!".
By the time he got to Chicago he was in no state for an interview. Peeler called his VP friend and explained that he caught a virus on the plane (because of the hideous business class food) and would need a day or two to recover, but that they should meet immediately, as he'd need a $1000 advance for moving and incidentals.
VP agreed, and Peeler, looking extremely ill (this was no act) met VP at an upscale trendy bar for the exchange.
$1000 later, Peeler rented a $25 room on the other side of town, made a few more calls, and finally went to sleep.
The next day Peeler flew to Vancouver for another job and $1000 in expense money. This too went without a hitch. One more stop in NYC for another position and another $1000 before Peeler called the Voucher and convinced him to expense a ticket back to -------.
He told he Voucher that he utterly despised NYC but had to tidy up some personal business that would have been superfluous if not for the new job at the Mortgage Company.
The Voucher was glad to accommodate this, as Peeler had been MIA for 3 days and he was taking the heat from superiors regarding the talented "new hire" who seemed to have gone missing with $1000.
Peeler promised to show up to work the next day though, and this time, the Voucher wasn't let down.
(The practice of fronting money pre-hire, Peeler explained, was extremely common in the 70's. Peeler said it fit perfectly into his theory of infinite regress. When I asked him `what's the theory of infinite regress?', he shook his head and said: "You're an illiterate hump- it's impossible to explain to you without a good bottle of scotch.")
Peeler worked there for almost 8 weeks. In that time, he tucked away what was left of the $4000 in cash, slept on a couch in the lobby of a nearby hotel and collected 4 paychecks from company.
In total, he had approximately $11,000 in cash, give or take.
(I asked him how one goes about living on a hotel couch for 8 weeks and his response was: "The first night is the toughest. There's an inevitable confrontation. You just need to whip the overnight staff and whip them hard, you obtuse fuck. The night crew at hotels is completely corrupt and ready to work with you. It's a hotel for chrissakes, not an airport, and I've done airports.)
After 8 weeks at the mortgage company Peeler figured that the brass suspected him of doing nothing all day but napping and drinking at local establishments. This was true of course, but he thought he might be able to fool them for at LEAST 6 months. They WERE accountants. And it might have been 6 months too if not for a poorly timed school reunion. A certain VP in Chicago was in charge of a certain reunion. The school and number are unmentionable for obvious legal reasons.
As it turned out, VP from Chicago called to invite Voucher to the soir?e as they were in the same graduating class. He also hoped Voucher could provide him with contact information for some of the other classmates living in ---------.
Voucher was delighted and also proud to tell VP that Peeler would come too. The conversation went something like this:
VP: "Peeler? What about him?"
Voucher: "Sure. He was in our class and works here now."
VP: "He works where?"
Voucher: "Here. In my division."
VP: "That fucker just milked us out of a grand and an airline ticket and never showed up to work. Put him on the phone IMMEDIATELY!"
Voucher was rattled by this news from VP and promised to investigate and call him back within minutes.
Into Peeler's office he went. Of course, it was 3:30 on a Tuesday, and Peeler was drinking heavily at a tequila bar on the west side of town trying to convince a heavily tattooed biker than he needed to admit that he was gay and to call an end to his macho charade.
Both activities were going well, in fact.
The biker was sobbing and Peeler was helping him balance the anguish and relief by drinking tequila on his tab.
Unfortunately for Peeler, this was only the 4th bar on the list that Voucher called looking for him, and when the bartender waved the phone at Peeler, he knew it was over.
He dashed out of the bar, fled to the hotel parking lot, jumped in his MG and started driving.
(Peeler didn't have any idea that it was Voucher on the phone, or of the reunion that busted any short-term plan to visit VP again in Chicago. He only knew that (as a rule) if someone waved a phone at you in a tequila bar after you totaled 2 cars, committed multiple counts of fraud, and just outted the member of a motorcycle gang, well, it was always best to run, no questions asked.)
So Peeler ran, but with a singular thought in his mind:
Days earlier he read an article in the hotel lobby (his nocturnal living room) about exciting opportunities out west for deep mine explosive experts.
More money than accounting, in fact. Apparently a qualified individual could earn nearly $50 an hour if he agreed to stay underground for weeks at a time and risk his by life blowing holes all around himself in some sort of fashion.
Peeler liked the sound of this and hit the highway with nothing but the cash and 3 second-hand suits he bought for his accounting job. He would have thanked the hotel staff for the couch, but of course, it was the daytime and they weren't HIS people at all on the job.
End of Volume 13 Part II
Up next: Volume 13 Part III- The Underground, Squaws, and Spanish Fly.
Note: Volume 13 Part I: The portion of the story between the flour bombing and the accounting job has been intentionally omitted due to graphic content and for personal safety, as there's absolutely NO WAY to tell of the car trip from Simon's to the city of ------ without giving away information that would lead directly to the implication of Peeler in a number of "matters".
Just know that not a single animal, bike courier, or car was hurt in the journey.
Posted by captainhoof
at 10:59 AM CDT
