Language warning on this post. Please come back next post if swear words make you uncomfortable. It's impossible to tell this story without them.
There's something you should know about me Internet. . . I'm not like other girls. Or boys for that matter. At least not when it comes to graft.
Back in the nineties, I was working for a large New York bank in their Credit Card Marketing division. I was in a systems liaison role between IT and Marketing, and as such, I had no purchasing power or business influence in any way. My job was to make sure that software got developed and deployed to the Marketing Department's specifications. Yet there was one particular salesman who was so determined to keep and develop our business, that he tried to buy everyone on the Marketing team, including me.
This salesman, we'll call him Ira, worked for a large company that was a consultant to our bank in the loyalty marketing arena. They were experts in building customer relationships and had consulted to almost every enormous conglomerate you could imagine. The founder was a very strange but brilliant man who believed so deeply in the concept of quality in business that he wore the word around his neck in necklace form. Trust me when I tell you that you haven't lived until you've seen a 70 year old Norwegian man sporting rapper bling in the office. This thing was so huge, it would have made T Pain blush.
Now before I go on, you need to know that many of the Marketing people that I worked with were VERY open to accepting what ira had to offer. Broadway show tickets, concert tickets, expensive dinner and gifts of every imaginable kind. So when I had to go out to Minneapolis to babysit a systems installation that this company was doing on our behalf, his expectations had been set by those that came before me.
The first day that I was in Minneapolis, Ira hunted me down in the office and offered to take me to dinner. I politely refused him, citing my exhaustion from the trip, but Ira, I learned, does not take no for an answer. He called me, visited me and sent me messages via other employees that he wanted to take me to dinner. Eventually too tired to argue anymore, I said yes.
Ira picked me up at my hotel at 7:00 that night. When I asked him where we were going, he told me The Mall of America. I am certain that I made the poo face when he said this because he immediately started selling me on the mall - it was enormous, had many great restaurants and even an indoor roller coaster. Well whoop de doo! All I could think was if I were back at my room I'd be two spoons into an ice cream sundae and a pay per view movie by now.
In his defense, Ira did pick a lovely restaurant and we made bullshit small talk about Beaujolais and ice fishing (if you know anyone from Minnesota, you know that the talk invariably turns to ice fishing). After I rejected the steady stream of drinks and desserts that he offered he asked me if he could buy me something in the mall. Of course, my answer was no. I just wanted to go back to the hotel. Finally he said, how about we go to a movie. Again, my answer was no. But again, Ira wasn't hearing it. He asked again. Now I was officially pissed. I truly hate to be harrassed, as my kids are well aware and that was the final straw. But before I could tell him to shove the entire movie theater up his ass, I had what I can only describe as a stroke of evil genius. "Sure Ira, let's go to the movies."
We walked up to the movie theater and Ira purchased the tickets. "What is this movie about?" he asked, mentioning that he had never heard of it. "I really don't know." I said, lying through my teeth. As we sat waiting for the movie to start, Ira was still offering to take me to this store or that to buy me whatever I wanted and again, I politely refused. Mercifully, the house lights dimmed and the movie started.
The opening scene starts with a couple having breakfast in what looks like a southern California diner. They are very affectionate and clearly in love. They are kind of an adorable couple. The girl is very mousey, almost shy and the guy has a thick English accent. They call each other pet names, look lovingly at each other, order refills of coffee and then begin to talk about robbing the diner. Before you know it, the mouse and the Brit are up on their feet waiving guns in the air and yelling the following:
Pumpkin: All right, be cool, this is a robbery.
Honey Bunny: Any of you fucking pricks move, and I'll execute every mother fucking last one of you!
With this, I can feel Ira's body tense up. Then Misirlou comes blasting out of the speakers and the opening credits roll. Yes, I took Ira to see Pulp Fiction. With every scene - the foot rub conversation, the Ezekiel speech, the overdose scene, bring out the gimp, Marvin's head in the back of the car, Ira's butt clenched a little bit tighter. And as his sphincter went into overdrive, my heart sang with increasing levels of glee.
When we walked out of the theater Ira seemed a little shaken. He sighed heavily and asked me what I thought of the movie. I answered him honestly - "Ira, that was the most amazing movie I've seen in ten years. I thought that was some of the most incredible dialogue I've ever heard." He was still visibly shaken and told me that he thought it was terribly violent. I just shrugged and started walking through the mall. Ira caught up to me and asked if I wanted to go for a drink. I politely refused and mumbled under my breath "What I really want is a wallet that says Bad Motherfucker". "What was that?" he asked. "Just saying thank you for the lovely evening. Can you take me back to my hotel? I'm tired.". Strangely enough, this time, Ira didn't argue.