Leave It To Beaver

Las Vegas. 2006

Beaver pulls up in front of the dealership in one of the new Accords. The windows are down, and he shouts to me.

"Wally, come on!"

"What are you talking about?" I ask.

"Just come on. Get in the car. I need you to do a favor for me."

"What favor?"

"It's all right. You'll see. Nothing big."

"Dude, I'm trying to get an up," I protest.

"You won't be gone but for 10 minutes."

I walk up to the car and lean in on the passenger side.

"Where do you want to go?" I ask.

"Just get in," Beaver says.

"Management is going to notice us missing," I say.

"They all know we're going and we'll be right back.

I hesitate.

"Wally, trust me!"

I look at Beaver's face and see that he is in earnest, so I open the passenger side door and get in.

We immediately zip off (You don't zoom off in a new Accord. The engine is too quiet).

Beaver and I, along with Alejandro, are the youngest salesmen at the dealership. We are also all on the same sales team, Tony's team.

Of course, Beaver is not his actual name. It is Michael, and he is originally from Washington State. Michael moved here with his dad after his parents divorced, I believe. He is 18 years old. The other salesmen have nicknamed us both "Wally and the Beaver," after the TV show, Leave It To Beaver. I guess it is because of how young we both look and the clean cut image we both present.

Michael is a bit overweight. He has a baby face, and he gets teased about having baby fat, too. Nothing seems to get him angry, though. Despite his weight, he is a ball of energy and has a personality that is wide open all the time. I know that he will be a hard partier as he gets older. I've watched him eat a Big Mac before, and it was gone in seconds.

"So where are we going?" I ask.

"You'll see."

We make a left on the strip, or Las Vegas Boulevard, in the new Honda. Beaver drives past the Circus Circus casino and pulls into the Stardust.

Beaver stops the car. He pulls out his wallet and holds out some cash. "I want you to go into the sports book and put this money on the Seahawks to win the Super Bowl," he says.

I look at him incredulously. "Are you serious?" I ask.

Beaver smiles.

"That's illegal, man," I say. "I can't place a bet for an underage person. Why would you ask me to do that?"

Beaver's eyes, always wide, get a little wider. He is surprised by my response and studies me. He says nothing.

"I'm not going to do that. Sorry," I say.

Beaver is a natural born salesman, but my moral indignation freezes him in his tracks.

"Let's just go back to the dealership," I tell him.

He turns the car around using the valet lane, and we head back.

I am pleased to see that my rejection does not phase Beaver at all, though. He seems amused by my response, now. He is smiling, and everything is cool between us.

When we get back to the dealership, he stops the car and I hop out.

Beaver yells to another salesman who is over the age of 21. "Phil! Hey Phil, come over here!"

Unwritten Rules

Las Vegas. 2006

It should be noted that for all of my blog entries about Las Vegas, I am not using the real the names of the characters.

I am looking around outside the dealership for one of my fellow salesmen, any of them. I need a quick answer to a question.

The first one that I see is Steve, a black man a little older than me, in his late 20s, with Jheri curls and a pencil thin mustache that sets right on top of his upper lip. He is with a customer, walking toward me.

"Hey Steve, I say, "Do we have any new four door Civics left?"

Steve does not respond or even look at me. He strides past and into the dealership with his customer, his dress pants flapping away from his fancy shoes in the desert breeze.

I am puzzled by his reaction, or rather non-reaction, to my simple question.

Eventually I get the answer from another salesman. Yes, we do, in galaxy grey only, and fortunately the customer is fine with that color and the option package.

My manager, Tony, closes the customer on the car and then hands me a credit application to fill out, based on the customer's driver's license and the conversation I had with her. Tony walks the customer back to "The Box," the office where a finance manager will speak with her about credit options.

The finance guys are the highest paid people at the dealership behind the General Manager, from what I have been told. There are only two, Huan and Feng. Both are Asian. I think Feng is from the Philippines, but I do not know where Huan comes from. The dealership makes even more money back in "The Box" if they can get the customer to accept a higher interest rate, and to purchase amenities such as warranty programs.

As I am filling out the application, I see the space for employer and income. I know from talking with the customer that she has been a black jack dealer in Vegas for years. She recently was hired to work at the Wynn, the newest casino on the strip. I am not sure how much she makes, though. I think she said about $50,000 per year, but I want to ask and be sure.

I can see through the glass walls that Feng has her sitting down and is speaking with her. I get up from the table out in the lobby and walk toward the office.

Tony intercepts me. "What are you doing?" he asks.

"I need to ask her a question."

"No, no." Tony says. "Never interrupt when they are in the box. What is it that you need to know?"

"How much her annual income is."

"Leave that part blank. Feng will fill that out."

***

Later that afternoon, I am standing outside in the Las Vegas sun, in front of an empty parking spot, waiting for another customer.

Steve casually walks up to an empty space beside me. He waits for me to look at him.

"Don't EVER speak to me when I am with a customer," he says in a rather menacing tone.

I just look at him.

"You need to learn your products, man! If you don't know how many Civics we have, maybe you should find another job."

I can not help but be amused by Steve, but I have learned a lesson. Salesmen, either in the finance department or out on the floor, do not want other salesmen coming up to them when they are with a customer. Later, I will put together that the reasons for this are two-fold. One, it could throw off their game and I could say something that screws up the deal. Two, they are worried about getting snaked out of the deal. This latter reason only applies to the regular salesmen out on the lot. Salesmen, at least here, are suspicious of each other, even me- the rookie who really has no idea what he is doing.

***

It is nightfall at the dealership. Feng and Huan are both arguing in the lobby about something.

Feng is an athletic, handsome looking guy. He and my manager, Tony are good friends. I think Feng may have gotten Tony his job at the dealership. Feng is clean cut and well spoken, but Tony tells me that he is also a real shark and very good at what he does. Tony aspires to become Feng at the dealership.

Huan, on the other hand, has not been as blessed by nature. Of all the employees at the dealership, Huan is the friendliest to me. He has an interesting look about him. His hair, jet black, is piled ridiculously high on top of his head. He is also very skinny with no muscle tone at all. His chest seems to curve inward rather than outward. Even though it is covered by his dress shirt, I can tell it has to be a dramatic example of what guys in the weight room in high school and college referred to as "a bird chest."

Huan is flustered. "I am not putting my name on that!" he yells at Feng. "YOU can sign it, and YOU can go to jail for that deal!"

Feng gives Huan a cool smile, waves at him like the whole matter is nothing, and walks out of the dealership.

"Yes, go home and think about it!" Huan yells after him.

Huan storms back to his office and shuts the door.

***

The next morning, I arrive for work and walk out onto the concrete, into the bright sunshine. Steve has already taken his place at the best parking spot to get a customer. Tony is standing outside as well, just killing time and keeping the salesmen company. As Tony is a manager, he is not required to stand a post and try to get an "Up," the dealership slang for a potential buyer.

Though Steve has his back to me (probably deliberately), I decide to attempt a conversation with him, to try and smooth things over.

"Steve Barnes," I say, pausing to contemplate the name. "I once went out with a girl whose last name was Barnes."

Steve turns and glares at me in anger.

"I ought to kick your ass right here!"

I am genuinely surprised at his response and do not know what to say.

"What kind of sh*t is that to say to a man!" he yells.

Tony starts laughing. "Hey, Steve, ease up."

"No!" Steve yells. "How are you going to come up to me first thing in the morning and say, 'I used to date a girl named Barnes.'? "Do you want to get your ass beat?"

I am really not scared of Steve. He is a pretty big guy and would win in a fight with me, I am sure, but this whole situation is just too puzzling for me to be frightened. I do not get his behavior.

At that moment, a customer pulls into the lot. Steve and I both turn our heads and bodies forward, like two soldiers standing at parade rest, to look good for the customer.

The car slowly drives by. All three of us smile and wave. The car keeps moving, and Steve keeps talking.

"What is your last name? Mashburn?" he asks, still keeping his head and eyes toward the car rather than me.

"Marshburn," I say.

"What if I came up to you first thing this morning and said," 'I used to f--- a girl named Marshburn'?"

"That's not what I said, Steve. I said I once went out with a girl named Barnes."

I look at Tony for help. He is quite amused by this.

"It's the same damn thing," Steve says. "It's like you're trying to take my MANHOOD or something."

At this, Tony bursts out laughing. The customer's car just circles the lot and pulls back out onto the highway, as customers often do.

Steve turns and glares at me again, now that the car is gone.

"He's crapped you out, Steve!" Tony says. "You've let him crap you out this morning."

"No, I DON'T LIKE this motherf*cker, Tony!" Steve yells, dramatically pointing at me. "He just says weird sh*t all the time, trying to start static!"

"And you let him!" Tony exclaims.

"I'm taking a break!" Steve says, and walks off.

Tony and I exchange looks.

"Take his spot," Tony says.

I slide down to the number one parking space.

"He's crapped out for the day," Tony remarks in amusement and amazement. "That is impressive. He is one of the best salesmen here, and you crapped him out first thing this morning."

I have to smile, "Well, it's not like I was trying to."

"Don't let them get inside your head," Tony says. "It's all a mind game out here. Especially in this heat when no one wants to stand outside. Don't pay attention to him. You'll be fine."

...Steve and I will have another conversation in the near future.

The Characters of Las Vegas, Continued

Las Vegas. 2006

"An agnostic believes that there is no god," Albert tells his two younger listeners.

"I don't understand that," Sam responds. "How could someone believe that there is no god?"

"I don't know," Albert says, "but there are those people out there."

"You know that movie, Ghost?" Alejandro chimes in. "That's exactly what it's like, man. That's the sh*t that happens when you die."

"Now, how do you know that?" Albert asks.

"Because, bro. It's about love. Love is forever."

We are all sitting around one of the back offices on a slow afternoon at the dealership. Sam is a young black man who was hired as a salesman after me. I have tried to teach him what little I know about how the system works, as no one talks to you much when you are new. I think he appreciates me for doing that.

At 18, Alejandro is the youngest employee at the dealership. Most of his family still lives in Mexico, and he makes regular trips to see them each month. Alejandro is sneaky but not really that slick. He exaggerates or outright lies all the time- to the point where I just stare at him when he says something completely incredulous. He does not seem to care, though. He still acts like I believe him.

Alejandro irritated me a couple of weeks ago when I sold a car to a customer, but then he claimed the sale was his. He blew up in front of my manager and threatened to quit. The manager gave him credit for the sale to keep him on board at the dealership. Everyday, now, when I see Alejandro, I stare him straight in the face first thing. I can tell by the look in his eyes that he and I both know the truth about what he did.

Albert is also a bit of a shady character, but I have more sympathy for him because he is becoming an old man and I can tell he is just struggling to get by. Someone has been stealing food from the refrigerator where all the salesmen keep their lunches, and everyone knows it is Albert.

Albert is also one of the older guys who has more difficulty standing up all day like the salesman are expected to do. He often sits in one of the display cars parked on the sidewalk outside the dealership. Albert is aware that everyone knows he is stealing. One day, I discovered that a sandwich I bought from Quiznos and put in the refrigerator for my dinner was gone. This angered me a little, and I said a few choice words to the other salesman in the break room about it, but then I let it go. Later that night, though, I needed to ask Albert a question about a car he had sold. I found him sitting in the back seat of one of the display vehicles. He saw me coming toward him, and when I opened the door so that I could speak, he looked away from me and feebly threw up his hands in defense, like he thought I was going to hit him.

At that moment, he looked like a pitiful old man, alone in this world with no one to protect him, with no one he could trust. It surprised me and hurt my feelings a bit, too, that he actually thought I would hit him.

After that incident, he and I become better friends, though I can not afford to be paying for his meals as well as mine. I stop putting my food in the refrigerator and keep it in my backpack instead, until I am ready to eat it.

Santiago comes into the room with the four of us others. He listens to Alejandro talking about the movie Ghost, the afterlife, and love.

"That's the way it is between me and my girlfriend, bro," Alejandro continues.

"Your girlfriend loves you?" Santiago asks.

Alejandro looks at Santiago, wary of him.

"When is the last time you took her out to dinner?" Santiago asks.

"I don't need to take her out," Alejandro says. "She loves me for who I am."

Santiago laughs. "As ugly as you are, you better take her to dinner or buy her a present soon, or she won't be your girlfriend for long."

"It's not about the money, bro."

"It's always about the money," Santiago says. "You can have a girlfriend and take her for a walk in the park one day. Walks in the park are free. That is fine. You can even ask her to go for a walk with you in the park again the next day. It is still free. But if you ask her to go for a walk in the park with you for a third time, that day, you better buy her a Coke."

Alejandro does not know what to say. Santiago reaches into his pocket, mumbling something and breathing heavily. He pulls out a thick wad of bills. He takes one of the bills, a $100, licks it and sticks it to his forehead.

"Now the women will all say, 'See how handsome I am.'"

We all laugh.

Santiago points at us before he walks out, "The only love that is not about money, the only love that is unconditional, is between a parent and their child."

We look at each other after Santiago leaves.

"That old f*cker is crazy," Alejandro says.

Sam is more interested in getting back to this concept of an agnostic. I have never heard Sam swear or seen him lose his temper, and I am guessing he is deeply religious. He has lived in Las Vegas most of his life, but he has never been to a Vegas show and rarely goes to the strip. He is a gentle fellow with simple interests. The other day, he told me a great story of how last year he saw Pat Morita ("Mr. Miyagi" from The Karate Kid) in a Las Vegas grocery store. Sam went up to him and had a nice conversation. Just a few weeks later, Pat Morita died in Las Vegas at the age of 73 from kidney failure. Sam was so glad that he got to meet and speak to "Mr. Miyagi" before he passed.

"So what is the difference between an atheist and an agnostic?" he asks Albert.

"They are both the same thing," Albert says. "They both do not believe in god."

Religious issues still burn too hot inside me to stay quiet for this.

"No, no. That's not right, guys." I say. "Atheists actively believe there is no god. An agnostic just says 'I don't know.' Maybe there is a god, maybe there is not."

Albert stares at me in a curious way, like I have suddenly become the teacher.

Sam asks, "Where did you learn that?"

"I had to look it up when figuring out what to call myself," I answer. "I'm an agnostic."

The three fellows regard me in stunned silence for a moment, and I realize that I am quite possibly the first agnostic they have ever met.

Sam is the most bewildered. "Wait. Didn't you say that your father was a preacher?"

"You are correct."

"Does he know that you are an agnostic?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Whoa-ho. Man!" Sam exclaims.

Albert comes to my defense, even though I really do not mind talking about this. Perhaps Albert can now see how worked up I might get on the subject. I have been told that my face gets red sometimes, even when I think I am pretty calm.

"Guys, you are getting into deeply personal matters, now. Those are very personal questions you are asking him, Sam."

To break the way that the conversation is going, Albert stands up and walks back out on the sales floor and then outside. Alejandro and Sam, perhaps a little uncomfortable with me, now, decide to follow him out.

I stand alone in the room for a few moments, thinking about whether or not I should have told them my religious views, before I head back out myself.

The sun is setting outside. It is my favorite time of day in the desert, though I really enjoy the desert at any time of the day or night, the same as I enjoy Las Vegas at any time of the day or night.

We take our positions in front of empty parking spaces and wait for the customers to come. Sam is beside me. He looks at me for a few moments and shakes his head. He is smiling at the same time, though.

East of the Strip

Las Vegas. 2006

"My insurance more than doubled when I moved out here," I say to her. "The agent told me that this zip code, 89109, is the number two zip code in the country for stolen cars."

"That's absolutely right," the lady answers. "I've been living in these apartments for eight years now, and I have had two stolen from me. You're not considered a full resident until you come outside and find your car missing."

"Wow," I exclaim.

The lady, probably in her 50s, is thin but fast becoming frail. She wears a long brown dress made out of light material. Tiny dark sunglasses hide her eyes. She also has a small, long haired dog of some sort which looks like it could use a good grooming. The woman came up to me as I work to get a bright orange sticker off of the driver side window on my car. Evidently, I parked in someone's assigned space last night, and this sticker is the warning/punishment for it. I did not realize that my own apartment does not include an assigned space, and that I have to park my mustang out on the street. I have moved my car out onto Las Palmas Avenue, now, to work on getting this sticker off, though I dislike having to park here. The cars on this street are most susceptible to being damaged or stolen, as I have already observed after living here for less than a week. One of the first things that I did after moving in was make a trip to an auto parts store and buy "The Club" for my steering wheel.

As I work on the sticker, I think to myself, jeeze, they did not have to make it out of this paper material, though. It is impossible just to peel off with my fingers. I have to wet it, and now I am using my Swiss army knife and my windshield scraper to get the sticker off, a little bit of wet paper at a time.

"So where did you come from?" The lady asks.

"North Carolina," I answer.

"Are you married?" She asks.

"Nope." I give a half glance back at her and force a smile.

"So you just came out here by yourself with no children, no family?"

"That's right," I say.

The lady seems nice enough, but even with my back turned to her, I can sense the loneliness pouring out of her body. She wants something from me. Most likely it is only companionship. I have just arrived in the city, though. I need to find a job. Getting to know her is not on my priority list right now.

As the days and weeks pass, I will see her quite often. She always seems to be walking her dog anytime I head out to my car, and I wonder if she is watching my apartment to see when I come outside.

***

The apartments where I live are only a couple of blocks east of the strip, or Las Vegas Boulevard. One of the bus drivers in the city told me that I should not live east of the strip, that "East of the strip is sh*t."

He is right, but east of the strip is also cheap, which is what I need until I get established here and begin to work my way up in the city.

The view off my back balcony is actually very nice. I can see a couple of the casinos- the Flamingo and the Imperial Palace. If I am home at sunset, I will go out on the balcony and watch as the sun goes down and the neon lights to the casinos turn on.

My apartment is on the third floor, the top floor of this complex. An alley runs along the back, and at night some interesting things happen down below. People rarely think to look up, and so most of the time they do not know that anyone is watching them.

Drug use is the main activity that I observe in the back alley, though on one night I also witness some sad qualities of human nature which I will not repeat here- of people living on the edge with little self esteem and nothing much to lose.

The behaviors of the night are not confined to the back alley of my apartment, and not confined to the night, either- not in Las Vegas.

"Give me my money, Bill!" I hear a woman screaming one night at around 3 a.m., almost directly in front of my door. It annoys me because she wakes me up when I have be at work in just a few hours. She does not sound like she is in danger, so I let it go and try to get back to sleep. She continues to yell, though.

"I'm not leaving until you give me my money! Give me my money, Bill! GIVE ME MY MONEY!"

I can not hear what Bill is saying to her. It is muffled. I guess he eventually gives her the money, though, as she quiets down.

On a couple of other occasions, women knock on my door in the middle of the day to ask me if I want a girlfriend. I feel pity for them rather than attraction. The first girl can not control her shaking and trembling from what I guess is withdrawal. She keeps scratching her face to the point where there are marks on her cheek.

The second woman is nearly in tears when she asks if she can stay with me, that people are after her. Her eyes are yellow, and she lifts up her shirt to show me that she is several months pregnant.

Late one night, a guy knocks on my door. He holds a box of various electronic equipment and asks if I want to buy any. I tell him no, but I watch his eyes scan my apartment for what stuff I have in here and who else might be living with me.

After his visit, I keep my blinds closed all the time, so that if someone is going to break into my apartment, they will at least have to guess if I am inside, waiting with perhaps a gun.

Despite these rough experiences, I am surprised at the number of beautiful ladies who seem to wander through the apartment complex as well.

A blond woman with one of the most incredible bodies that I have ever seen is just randomly walking down the sidewalk outside my apartment as I get into my car one day. I cannot help but stare at her, and I do not care that she sees me staring. She gives me a confident smirk, but keeps on walking... If only I could think of something to say...

The guy who lives next to me, "Bill," I suppose, though I have never met him and do not really care to, keeps me amused with the women who come and go from his apartment. Some are in the condition of the two women who knocked on my door, others are at the other end of the spectrum, virtual goddesses- only with very hard eyes.

Another time, a cute brunette is wandering around early on a Sunday morning before I go for a jog. Something is wrong with her. She walks very close to me as I do a few stretches, but I do not think she realizes I am there. Her stare is vacant, though she has a slight smile on her face. She wears a pretty white dress, but her feet are bare and bloodied.

I enjoy running in the heat, and I can feel the desert sun already beginning to beat down on me this early in the morning before I even start. The girl's dark brown hair is wet with sweat, and I know that she will soon become dehydrated. She seems oblivious to all this, though. I consider going back up to my apartment to get my cell phone and call the police about her. She is gone after a few seconds, though, disappearing down the alleys and streets of the neighborhood.

***

It has been a long day at the dealership. I need some food after we close down at 10pm on this Saturday night, and it has been a while since I treated myself to a nice meal. I drive to Old Town Las Vegas and walk around for an hour or so on Fremont Street. When the time passes midnight, I duck into the sports diner across from the Plaza Hotel and Casino. The diner has a steak and egg special for $3.99 after midnight. It is delicious. I order two plates instead of just one, putting A1 sauce on both my steak and my eggs. I am a night owl, and one of the things I love about this city is that I can do almost whatever I want, whenever I want here.

When I finally pull into my apartment complex, it is nearly 2 a.m. I still have on my dress clothes from work as I head up the three flights of stairs to my apartment.

As I start to climb, I see a woman at the very top of the stairs beginning to come down. She has poofy blond hair and impressive curves. I think that she must be another one of "Bill's" visitors.

Though I am tired from the day, I am also a bit lonely, so I look forward to at least speaking to her.

She keeps her eyes lowered as we pass on the second flight, so I take the initiative.

"Hello, how are you doing?" I say in the friendliest voice that I can manage.

She stops and looks at me with inviting interest.

"Hi, I'm fabulous. How are you?" she answers in a somewhat deeper voice than I expected. Then I see it. The five o'clock shadow on the face and the prominent adam's apple. Though wearing very high heels, her legs have hair on them.

Good god.

Shocked into acting on instinct now, I answer with a terse, "Pretty good." I look away from him/her and keep moving up the stairs.

Once I have locked myself in my apartment. I take off my dress shirt, pants and socks and collapse on my bed.

Looking up at the ceiling, I can not help but laugh. I wish I had more money to enjoy this city and perhaps even help some of these people out, but that is everyone's constant complaint. I fully appreciate that life is more interesting and wild for me now than it has ever been, and I am glad to be living in Las Vegas.