Bookfield, Steve - Part 3

The week went by too quickly. I gave it my best shot, but I had a typical sales week for me. I could only avoid the pie ordeal if Brian had a really crappy week. Mary had her best week yet of the summer. Before we knew it, it was Sunday.

Back at the hotel in Marietta, it seemed as if we had never left. Gossip was sweeping our group. Steve had quit. The gossip was that he had faked all of his sales on his expense report, and the pie contest forced him to admit it. He could not bear to fake the results so that someone else would get the pie. I couldn’t say that I would miss him. Then, unexpected good news: I inherited his territory, the Northern part of Oconee County, since it bordered on mine. It was too late in the summer to assign a new sales person to it, and Robbie was aware that I was running out of territory.

The meeting began and results were announced. Mary had won her match. I had lost to Brian, who had his best week ever. I was busy trying to prepare myself for the pie humiliation, when Brian came up to me. “You know”, he said, “I’m not looking forward to doing this to you. Yes, I tried to out sell you to avoid getting the pie myself, but I am not going to enjoy this. I don’t think the contest is a good idea. If there is any way I can make this easier for you, please let me know.”

I asked that he not get pie in my hair. It made me feel better that he was sympathetic. We all went outside for the pie throwing. The fifty or so pies were stacked on conference tables at the pool side. We losers lined up for the humiliation, with our respective winners next to us, so that they would be in the right place for their turn to ‘pie’ us.

So many people got pies in the face, that when it came my turn, almost nobody was watching. There was humiliation overload, and it no longer amused anyone. When my turn came, Brian asked me to select a flavor, and I chose lemon. A lemon facial, I thought to myself. Brian stood to my left with the pie in both of his hands. He held the pie under my chin and raised it slowly until my chin was in the pie. He looked me in the eyes, and when I nodded and closed my eyes, he slowly covered the rest of my face in the pie, up to my eyebrows. The pie felt very nice, actually. It was a hot day as usual, and the icy coolness of the pie was refreshing. The lemon smelled nice to. Someone handed me some paper towels and I wiped most of the pie from my face. I thanked Brian for not getting any in my hair.

Most of the folks who received pies jumped straight into the pool to rinse off. I was avoiding the pool that day, after last week’s disaster, so I went into the hotel’s ladies room to wash off. I took a look at the pool at the end of the day. Meringue floated everywhere. It clogged the pool filters, and from then on we were barred from using the pool at that hotel.