Part 2,
Fuck. I just walked off another job. Something about me must be wired different from others.
Maybe it was because I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. The only place in America where they give the working poor free health care and free housing. In fact, if you choose to release yourself from the comforting suckle of the Air Force teet, they even give you an allowance.
My screen name is Johnny Rock, but it could have just as easily been military brat.
Womanizer.
Addict.
Alcoholic.
They have groups for everyone that defines them, but I am just a Patriot, fighting the good fight.
Look. I told you I was a brat, but guess what, you learn something growing up on a military base.
You do things kids do, but nobody snitches.
On my way to egg cars with Trey, his Dad was an officer, we had to stand for the national anthem. It played on loud speakers and everyone stood still, military or not, if you were outside. For whatever reason, I decided I wanted to egg a car up close and personal.
Splat.
Chase ensues.
I see a Father outside in a functional carport. Attached to those carports, I see a familiar setup, a laundry room attached to the far side opposite the side door.
Energy efficient design for the panhandle if Fl.
More importantly, it was safe. Provided nobody snitches.
Nobody snitched.
Or when my parents were gone and I would lobb an egg across the street into Tina's front yard, preferably in the garden.
I still love eggs.
Dick lived across the street and I pulled my own accidental wardrobe malfunction on his daughter Tina. 16, C cup.
Try not to look. Feel bad that I even want to look. It is what it is.
I never had a daughter.
But I did have a Dad.
For someone who grew up poor, I gained a fondness for the nicer things in life.
I gained a fondness for people who don't snitch. On the AFB, people realized the difference.
Good citizen.
Snitch.
"Johnny, we know its you who egged our house."
Simple statement. At my Dad's rank at the time, living off base was out of the question. Honorable men gave me a warning.
I once heard of a kid who had to watch movies at the fire department for setting someone's garage on fire.
A good citizen reported him. There were children in that house when he did it.
That kid is probably in the CIA. Good thing he didn't wet the bed.
However, you learn pageantry on a military base. There is a certain formality that is evident in the way you express yourself. Eye contact. Direct questions requiring direct answers.
Kids fight. We move around a lot. You fight.
But mainly, you get yo live the American Dream with no responsibilites.
What a life!
Wheras a normal person would take an opportunity to change direction as just that and go back to school, I decided to put all my chips on me. The toughest question on a job application has always been have you ever been fired from a job. Tue shorter question would be what job haven't I been fired from? That's right. Only the ones I quit.
When you move off the base you learn another important lesson. People off the base snitch.
You are confident enough to go it alone.
Ideas are only brilliant when they work.
Failure falls on your shoulders.
But the most important thing you learn on an Air Force base is results. A quiet confidence if you are that type. A braggadocious ribbing for the others.
Actually, there I go again stretching the truth.
The most important lesson I learned is how to knock on a door.
Guess who lives in Colorado Springs?
Retired military. Many of whom work for USAA.
My people. I am never more comfortable than when I am talking to a retired dude from the Air Force. His family.
Nick got something out of the deal too.
A fearless door knocker who could get people to sign the piece of paper.
Minimal effort.
I played the part. Shaved head. Neck wallet. Clipboard. Take precipitous notes. Ask questions. Honest to a fault.
When they asked if we used Mexicans, I always said yes. Those who ask, say no. Gotta love the melting pot.
Black. White. Asian. Puerto Rican. French (my neighbors wife who spoke no English). DD's like those and you can get by without A's. Sofia Loren like facial structure. Who knows, she might have been Italian. He kept her in the house.
Neighbors. Friends. Family.
A culture for breeding sociopaths. That's what it is. The type of pathology that drives one to seek areas of glory.
Womanizing.
Fighting.
Drinking.
A recipe for the type of con man who is used to building trust.
Sales schools teach rapport.
Magicians produce illusion. Rapport my ass. You will get invited to family functions when you are part of the club.
Les invited me to his hunting cabin.
Ghillie would have me over to watch new age films, smoke bowls and show me her crafts. Gotta love Colorado!
I wannabe doing any of the above instead of working.
A college education just takes too much damn work!
Tricks are not just for kids. Just make sure you are not the trick.
That is why I loved the elbow tap.
Simple.
Effective.
Repeatable.
Everything you, ahem, I, want in a trading system.
Everything I want in life!
The relationships I built with people were real. That was never work.
But Nick was from New York. That was a whole other level. One cannot describe, except for Nick's results, a 100% conversion ratio. 12 signatures in one day!
But. There are a lot of New Yorkers in Tampa.
"What makes you think you can sell?"
"I know how to talk to girls."
Remember, I went to Sociopathy U.
Simplicity?
"My name is Johnny Rock with A Denver Roofing. Has anyone had a chance to look at your roof yet?"
But Nick was from New York.
He had a lot to overcome in the mid west.
Even still, the only one better was Troy.
[If you read this far you are witnessing the journal version of a tribute to Bob Lassiter].
@tampa had the ability to engage enough of the city to have his own jet.
A wise person told me that if I could learn to monetize what I am trying to do, I would be golden.
Whatever it is, I learned from Bob. Give people the payoff, but make them suffer. Make them crave you. Even though they hate you. And for those that love you, give them a payoff. For the rest, fuck em.
THE ELBOW tap.
The key to success is following a successful model: education, team sports and hustlers.
"I don't think I am interested."
He has the look of the jolly green farmer if you took away his greens.
Nick taps his elbow from the underneath side, gently, briefly.
Without skipping a beat the man's demeanor changed and Nick pressed forward.
We left with a signature.
When I asked why, Nick explained that there is something comforting about cupping your hand, touching your mark's elbow, lightly with your fingers. So brief that they hardly would notice you touched them.
Before you scoff, remember, it is called a funny bone. But most of us only know it as a bundle of nerves or a bone that causes excrutiating pain when slammed against a hard object.
Now, you know a Machiavelli'n Manipulation technique from a modern day magician - a former storm chaser.
