Jack in the Money (short story - 1995)

(class assignment - didn't turn out exactly as well as I wanted, but Jack was truly a confidence man, and I wanted to attempt to capture his spirit).

Working in customer service at USA Today is a crazy kind of existence. Clocks are ticking everywhere, but there is never enough time. The pressure is unrelenting, but we do our best to juggle deadlines and customers. While the deadlines pass, the steady stream of customers seems to flow for eternity. Our jobs require that we recognize that "the customer is always right." And everyone does. Everyone, that is, except Jack.

To many of us, Jack is somewhat of an enigma. Although he is well liked, few know of his colorful and shady past. Affectionately, we call him "Jacques de la moola" or "Jack in the money," nicknames that hint of his gambling nature and superb sense of timing. Exuding charisma and charm, Jack's a modern P.T. Barnum, who delights in playing each customer to the hilt. Machiavellian, cool and collected, he knows how to dupe and run. Indeed, Jack views customers as conquests rather than people.

Jack is a man of many guises. He's an actor, chameleon-like, who is merely playing Jack in his latest production. Upon discovering that is real name was William A. Nelson, I wanted to know why "Jack" instead of "William." "Get real," he laughs, "how do you expect me to make it in the real world with a name like Willie Nelson?” But "Jack" is neither his first alias nor his last. Whenever he needs a new identity, perhaps to hide from the IRS, a bill collector, or his shady past, he simply sheds his skin and slithers into the dark.

Jack's past is extraordinary, unlike ours, and he knows it. One of five children, he grew up dirt-poor in Springfield, Virginia. When he was five, his father, a pharmacist, died from an overdose of self-prescribed heroin. Jack then had two more "fathers" who were both alcoholic truck drivers. During the day, he'd beg for money and handouts. At night, he'd dine on feasts of rice krispies and milk.

Soon Jack left home for San Diego, where he joined the navy. After an honorable discharge, however, Jack soon was addicted to heroin. By his own admission, during the next few years, he lived "on the edge" until finally kicking his habit with the help of methadone. For a short time, he enjoyed some success as a used car salesman. Then what followed were a string of arrests for car theft, drug dealing, and what he termed "scamming."

When Jack recounts these experiences, his eyes sparkle, and his face comes to life. He has no respect for the law and can appreciate the value of a well-placed bribe. With a reptilian smile, he adds, "It pays to have friends in high places," meaning his drug-running buddies who frequently posted his bail.

Jack is a modern-day nomad, and he's lived all over the United States. Yet on a whim at age 38, he married a German National with two children, and settled outside of San Francisco. Although Jack loved his new wife, his marriage could not compete with the other woman in his life, cocaine. The couple legally separated after a year of marriage. When Jack left for the east coast to make a fresh start, he managed to leave his cocaine habit behind. Yet, five years later, he claims he's "too lazy" to file for divorce.

Today Jack is manic; he's on a roll and nothing can stop him. I can smell alcohol on his breath. In fact, we all can, and exchange knowing looks. Energized, Jack begins firing jokes like bullets. A few of them rouse me, and I fire back. Each time he comes up with a clever quip, he triumphantly declares, "zing" or "zingalito." And when I "zing" him back, Jack's a good sport. After all, we're playing a game and Jack, the perpetual child, loves games.

Soon he's bragging about last night's scrabble game, chucking at how gullible his roommates are. He had won with two "made up" words, which his roommates were unable to locate in the dictionary. "I defined them, using 'voice control' on 'em," he laughs, "and they bought it. You should have seen me; I sounded just like a professor." "Voice control," one of Jack's favorite original expressions refers to the "regulation of vocal tone to better manipulate others."

Jack is a good-looking guy for the most part. He's tall and slender with twinkling blue eyes, accented at the corners with crow's feet. Although he has a chipped tooth and is balding, his lively personality somehow compensates for these flaws.

After bingeing on alcohol for a couple of weeks, however, Jack begins to lose weight and his face takes on a gaunt, pasty appearance. He jokes about wearing long johns as padding because of his "anorexic condition." But Jack is afraid; his health is in danger. After going on the wagon for a few days, color returns to his cheeks and his clothes begin to hug instead of hang.

Days later, Jack is manic once again, and we can all smell alcohol on his breath.When he's not drinking or performing, Jack likes to read. Although Jack started college, he found his assignments "a waste of time." Thus, Jack only reads "practical" literature, for example, books on impression management, negotiation, and how to dress for success. When he proudly points out one of his "power ties," I say, "very nice," wondering  at its 70s style. Recently, he's been memorizing passages from books on effective management strategies. He confides that our supervisors would do well to come to him for advice.

Ever the optimist, Jack has big dreams, many of which strike me as utterly unrealistic. For example, he thinks he will get to Channel 9, a TV station owned by Gannett, or even strike it rich on a whim. Jack basically views people as gullible waifs just waiting for someone like to stir them into action. He envisions himself presiding over a corporate empire; for Jack, the sky's the limit. Last week, he confided that he's creating a new position for himself, that he will be flown to Phoenix to straighten out some of the market problems there. When I ask him how he knows this, he smiles and says, "it's just a feeling." I think his nightly vodka binges are beginning to take their toll.

Jack flourishes in the spotlight. In addition to his stand-up comic routine, he writes songs and enjoys playing the guitar. I once made the mistake of telling him that I used to sing in a band. Excited, he says, "let's go to Taiwan and start our own band. We can make it really big there," or "you can sing, and I'll be your manager." He also tried to coax me into interviewing strangers on the street while he films them, of course. His ideas are odd and disconcerting but nevertheless amusing. And yes, the quintessential "Mr. Wrong" likes to flirt. Winking, he says, "One of these days."

Although Jack is a team player who works well with others, he plays by his own set of rules. His goal is not to serve customers, but to get rid of them as soon as possible, particularly the whiners. His friendly motto is, "tell them what they want to hear." Sometimes I hear him say, "Sure, sir. I'll put in the request." The customer's lucky if he does even that. When I'm faced with a difficult customer, Jack suggests that I leave him on hold until he or she hangs up.

Once USA Today ran an article that infuriated thousands of Rush Limbaugh fans. Rush asked his audience to call our 800 number to complain, and they did, jamming our lines for hours. Instead of facing angry callers like everyone else, Jack set up his own extension, proclaiming it the "whoosh" line. With a devilish grin, Jack systematically began flushing hundreds of enraged Rush fans into oblivion, triumphantly yelling "whoosh" each time another one bit the dust. In addition to refusing to help annoying customers, Jack also skips most of the required paperwork. When I confront him about his "pass the buck" attitude, he explains, "Why should I feel guilty? I don't do paperwork. Period." From time to time, Jack ends a call with, "Queeee." When I ask him what this means, he laughs, "thank you or **** you. Take your pick."