{{ The first four paragraphs came to me as I looked down on the beige marble windowsill in my bedroom. The following scene flashes into my mind. What follows beyond, I composed. }}
James was asked to take a seat and wait. He looked across the beige marble floor. "Impressive," he thought to himself. "Real money here." In front of him, a wall panelled up to the ceiling with wood veneer stretched up some thirty feet, a huge clock behind the reception desk, consisting of a circle of Roman numerals in white, with white hands. Quarter to four. On either side of the clock – a white map, the same diameter as the clock, of the Western Hemisphere to the left and the Eastern Hemisphere to the right. The remaining three sides of the vast reception space were glass, wall to ceiling. James noticed a distinct lack of company logo on the wall.
Hush. One or two people crossing the enormous reception area. Sunlight sweeping in from the west.
He sat down in a low cream-leather sofa, by which was a glass table with reading matter: the New Yorker, The Atlantic, National Geographic, and that same corporate brochure the recruitment people had sent him.
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| [AI image generated by ChatGPT, using above text as prompt] |
An officer in an Air Force uniform, holding a clipboard came out to greet him, the sound of his metal-tipped heels clicking on the floor as he crossed the empty reception area. "Mr. Martin? Good to see you. Come on through." James stood up, shook the outstretched hand and followed the officer. Elevator up to the eighth floor, along a corridor and into an airy office, large window offering a beautiful view of Cincinnati in the late afternoon.
The officer joined three men in suits and a guy in Navy uniform behind a long desk; James sat down in a chair across from them as they shuffled papers.
The Navy officer welcomed James and began to read. "Drafted USMC, Pacific campaign 1944-45, Assistant Aircraft Mechanic rising to Master Technical Sergeant... Honorable discharge October '45, volunteered June '50 for service with USAF, Flight Engineer school, flying WB-29s and SB-29s over the Sea of Japan, and then RB-36s... Won't ask you where you flying those... Impressive resumé, Mr. Martin. You can keep planes flying... but, uh, can you... sell?"
"I sure can sell if I believe in the product, sir. If I can trust my life to it. And that's why I'm sittin' here, and not at the offices of your competition." James gave a practiced wry smile.
"The job involves travel, Mr Martin. Europe – NATO member countries. England, West Germany, Spain, Portugal. And some Latin American customers – Argentina, Chile. Another team handles the Far East. You'll meet people from ministries of defense, air ministries, air forces; all of them are sufficiently proficient in English. They are conversant with the technical specs of our products and the products of our competitors – American and foreign. The foreign competitors will be typically be from Britain. The domestic ones, you know 'em well.
A civilian guy introduced himself. "It's all about handling objections. It's about future promise. Upgrades in the pipeline. Service levels. Maintenance and overhaul schedules. And budgets. Can you tell a good story, Mr. Martin? That's what we're lookin' for... A sharp guy – smart guy Got the patter, as well as the technical ability to diagnose any malfunction."
"And budgets" repeated one of the suits.
"Brought up on a farm, huh?"
"That's right. That's where I learnt to keep engines running."
"Martin - I'm rootin' for you here," said the Air Force guy. "Prove to us that you can sell."
James leaned forward. "See, if they really wanna – if they really have to buy... then I don't really need to sell them anything. They've already bought our product before I've even walked into the meeting. These boys – they're all damned scared of communism, of communists, of Russia. We have proven equipment that's way ahead of what the Soviets have. So I'm here to say I know this kit, I know it inside out. I've flown with it. I'll tell them that I'm physically here, with them, in their office, because I trusted my life with this kit time and time again, at 35,000 feet and it did not let me down. And I know full well that what's coming next in the product pipeline will be... far enhanced, ahead of what I was using on active service just two years ago."
The panel all nodded.
"If we take you on, you'll need some, shall we say, polish. Don't mean to sound disparagin', but a farm boy sat next to a foreign defense ministry official at a formal dinner at some tony restaurant or in our embassy has to sound right. Small talk, what have you."
"I can learn!" laughed James. "Easier than fixin' carburettors!"
Another suit asked: "You like dames?"
"Sure, who don't?"
"Just know when to behave yourself, that's all."
"Uh huh."
"You never know who that dame at the hotel cocktail bar you might strike up a conversation with really is."
The interview changed tack.
"Mr Martin – you know the internal combustion engine real well. You know turbosuperchargers, you know fuel-injection systems. You have completed a transition course to jet engines, but we still sell piston engines to military customers around the world. The world's air forces are switching to changing to jets and turboprops. How do you see the future of turbosuperchargers?"
"Well, they ain't nothin' new, but there are still thousands of piston-engined aircraft still in frontline service and will be for the foreseeable future. Until jets can fly for ten hours at a stretch on maritime patrols..."
That reply had the panel nodding again. A few more formalities, and then "Mr Martin, would you mind waiting outside a few minutes while we reach a decision?" He thanked them and went out into the corridor and lit up a cigarette.
Five minutes passed; the door opened and the Air Force officer stepped out. In his hand, what looked like an airline ticket. "Congratulations, Mr Martin – you have the job. We want you to start straight away. Here's a travel voucher to New York City.
[Continues into this short story, written 18 months ago.]
This time last year:
Cleaning it up
This time two years ago:
Ciechanów
It's the 31st of May and where's the viaduct?
My mother's little suitcase – on show at the national army museum
(from June 2025-September 2026 it's showing at Kraków's Schindler's Factory museum)
This time ten years ago:
Stormy end to May
This time 11 years ago:
Where's it better to live: London or Warsaw?
This time 12 years ago:
Jeziorki, magic hour, late-May
This time 14 years ago:
Świdnica, one of Poland's lesser-known pearls
This time 17 years ago:
Spirit of place
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