Maximus Partition and the Unpleasant Peanut

Here we have Maximus Partition, driving to work wondering just how in the hell he ended up working as a salesman for a stupid company like Available Products, Inc., that is to say, a company by the name of Available Products, Inc. that sold a grand total of two products, these being: 1.) Cow sweaters; and 2.) Sleeve Savers, the first of which were exactly what they sound like and the second little handkerchiefs that snot-nosed kids and adults with deviated septa could wear over the cuffs of their shirtsleeves and jacket sleeves so that when they reflexively wiped their runny noses with them, said shirts and jackets would not end up soiled and in need of laundering. Indeed, it had been calculated by Mr. Quizzlechip, the company accountant, that a single twelve-pack of sleeve savers could pay for itself by offsetting these laundry-related costs in as few as several months.

In reality, both products were virtually impossible to sell. For one thing, cows don't need sweaters because they have thick coats that keep them warm in temperatures as low as twenty degrees Fahrenheit, and in lower temperatures they simply eat hay, which subsequently undergoes a fermentation process in the rumen that produces enough supplemental heat to keep them comfortable. And as for those sleeve savers, the big problem there was that snot-nosed kids and adults with deviated septa inevitably sneeze sometimes, and when they do, because of the sheer quantity of snot that flies out in the case of the kids and the way the septa causes whatever snot does fly out to fly every which way but straight in the case of the adults, thereby rendering any efforts to catch it in a tissue or handkerchief inevitably futile in either instance, everyone’s garments just end up covered in snot and accordingly in need of a wash, anyway, which pretty much neutralizes the economic benefits of the sleeve saver posited by Mr. Quizzlechip right there.

The worst of it all, though, was not that Partition worked on commission selling these unsellable products, meaning he earned basically jack shit, but that his boss, who was also named Mr. Quizzlechip (he and the accountant were paternal cousins), reamed him out literally every day over his weak sales numbers and then, when Partition protested that trying to sell cow sweaters and Sleeve Savers was the mercantile equivalent of trying to nail jelly to a wall, threatened to transfer him straight to the ball washing division, by which, he specified, he actually meant testicles, and that no, Partition wasn’t going to be given a bucket or a sponge to wash the balls with, if he caught his drift.

Getting back to the events presently under consideration, what occurred was that when Partition passed by a sign outside the Walgreens half a mile from the offices of Available Products, Inc. advertising a sale on "Nice Peanuts," it immediately grabbed his attention. After all, he really felt like he could use some niceness in his life considering what he had to put up with from Quizzlechip (the boss, not the accountant), and so much the better, considering his ongoing financial embarrassment, if he could acquire it at a discount. Therefore, he pulled into the parking lot, popped into the store, and grabbed himself a bag. At the register, the attractive young couple in front of him was investing in a tube of sexual lubricant. "Goddamn it,"" thought Partition, who couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten laid, mainly because it was never. But then he thought about how at least he had the Nice Peanuts to look forward to. He couldn’t go heels to Jesus with a peanut, of course, but the more important point was that if they were super nice to him, his self-esteem might improve, and if his self-esteem improved, he might exude more confidence, and everyone knew that there was nothing more attractive to potential romantic partners than confidence. Well, the couple with the sexual lubricant completed their transaction and headed off to do who knew what (though Partition could make an educated guess), and after that, Partition paid for his peanuts and completed his journey to the office, where his first call—a cold call, as always—went exactly like this:

Partition: Hi there, I'm calling from Available Products, Incorporated. I understand you own several cows and with the holiday season fast approaching, I was wondering if I could interest you in some festive sweaters for them.

Prospective Customer: Sorry, I don't own any cows.

Partition: Yes, of course, but as you never know when you might suddenly acquire one, I highly recommend you prepare in advance. For instance, suppose you receive a well-fed heifer as a holiday gift. Wouldn't it feel tremendous to have a seasonally applicable sweater on hand to slip onto it? Or, to offer another example, let's say you end up marrying a particularly stout woman…

Prospective Customer: Thanks, but I'm all set.

Partition: Wait, wait. Before you go, would you mind if I inquired very quickly into the condition of your septum?

Prospective Customer: [Hangs up]

At that, it was time for Partition to take his mid-morning break, which also meant an opportunity meet some of those Nice Peanuts from Walgreens. Leaning back in his chair Partition tore into the bag and extracted one from the top of the pile.

"Hello, little friend," he said, holding it gently between thumb and forefinger. "A pleasure to meet you, indeed."

"Unfortunately, I can't say the same about you," replied the peanut. "In the first place, your breath smells like sewer gas and on top of that, your face looks like a giant genital wart."

"Sewer gas?" said Partition. "A giant genital wart? Why, you’re not very nice at all!"

"Oh, bite me," sneered the peanut.

And since it so happened that one thing Maximus Partition absolutely loved was a salty little snack, that's exactly what he did.