Everyone in Sales at the Lazy K knows that the key to making money is to keep your customer away from the CSB. As soon as she starts talking, the price goes down, even if the customer doesn't express an interest in a discount or buying the bike at cost. The extent of her sales knowledge is that if you give it away for less than anyone else, the customer will overlook your reputation and the piles of dogshit in the back of the store. She hasn't figured out yet that offering superior service is another way to be successful in this business. So if someone has a customer ready to pay full price, freight and prep, and buy the extended warranty, he avoids the CSB like the plague.
Mondo was about to send a customer to the moon, in other words, get all the money plus plus plus, when the CSB decided to help. She wandered over with the tight and phony smile painted on which we all know means she got a maraca from Canada this morning and is another handful of pills away from passing out in the back room surrounded by her dogs and their toys. Her eyes were bright and dead in her face. And when she began to speak, Mondo sat back and sighed, watching his commission dry up before his very eyes.
"I can do much better than that, if you're ready to buy it now," said the CSB, "Tell us what you want to pay and we'll take the offer to our boss."
By the time she was done with the charade of pretending to take an offer to the imaginary boss who lives in the cupboard under the stairs, the CSB had taken the freight, prep, warranty and profit out of the deal.
"If looks could kill," thought Beans, watching the all too familiar feeling of frustration play out on Mondo's face.
Mondo got up and left the building.
He returned a little later with a giant tub of the cheapest margarine he could find, and a two pound package of generic sandwich cookies. They were chocolate flavor.
Mondo spent the entire afternoon feeding Bandit the border collie sandwich cookies dipped in margarine. Beans and Friar Tuck took over when Mondo had a customer. By the time they were done, Bandit had eaten half a package of cookies and about a quarter pound of margarine.
When Bandit felt the urgent need to relieve herself in front of the customer service counter, it was a pungent, gooey mess. Much of it stuck to her fur and tail.
"Mondo, did you feed Bandit chicken?" screamed the CSB, while brushing the crap from Bandit's fur at the customer service counter, "I told you not to feed my dogs chicken."
"No, I did not feed your dog chicken," said Mondo, "I had a salad for lunch."
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