“I’m sorry, Plank,” Henri Flambé said, glancing over my resume for about the fourth time. “While your background is impressive, I don’t feel you have the right experience and knowledge for a high-end jewelry store such as ours.”
Ours being Flambé & Sons Fine Jewelers, a hoity-toity joint for folks with way too much disposable income, where I was currently being interviewed for a sales position by the third- generation owner himself.
“I disagree, Hank,” I said, watching him cringe at the informal version of his name. “With all my years in the Foreign Service, at embassies all around the world, I’ve interacted with my share of high rollin’ dignitaries and diplomats that were decked out in some pretty high fallutin’ bling.”
“Yes, but we don’t deal in bling as you call it,” Flambé snorted disgustedly. “As you may have noticed on your extensive tour of the store, we only sell the highest quality luxury brands in the world. Patek Phillipe. Chopard. Blancpain. Cartier. Tiffany. Our sales staff has in-depth knowledge of the merchandise and the clientele who desire it. I’m afraid you have neither.”
“I understand,” I said, rising from my chair. “Thanks for your time.”
We shook hands and I left the store. I walked three blocks down the street and entered The Blue Wazoo Lounge. I sat down at the bar next to an attractive brunette who was nursing a martini.
“Been waiting long?” I asked.
“Number two,” Chambray Camembert said. “How’d it go?”
“Same old story, not qualified enough. I didn’t get the job.”
“Well, I knew that, Plank. I meant how did it go?”
“Oh, great!” I said reaching into my jacket pockets. “Picked these up on the tour.”
I handed her a Rolex and a Patek Phillippe watch, and a Piaget diamond bracelet. She put them in her purse. I pulled out an Audemars Piguet watch.
“And, I got this off of old Henri during our farewell, the pretentious asshat.”
“Wow, great, Plank!” Chambray said. “Let’s have a drink and celebrate!”
“Okay, but just one. I’ve got an interview at Wasabi Jewelers at three.”