Principles

“Hello. I’d like to sell out, please.”

The old lady behind the desk looked up from the magazine she was reading and gave me a long, slack-eyed look. She said: “This isn’t selling out.”

“Oh,” I frowned. “The man down the hall said …”

“Selling out’s next door. This is tempting fate. You got any premature victories you want to declare? Health insurance policies you want to cancel?”

“Um. No.”

“Chickens to count before they’re hatched? Not-quite-dead dragons to mock?”

“No.”

“Then you’re in the wrong room.”

“I see. Thank you.”

She lowered her eyes to her magazine, and didn’t answer.

I went into the next room. The man sitting behind the desk had a large round head and greasy skin and a big smile that took up half his face, the top half. His eyes, which managed to be both beady and needy at the same time, looked up at me from just above his chin. “Hello!” he said. “Are you here to sell out?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Oh, good,” He rubbed his hands together. A thin strand of saliva seeped out of his mouth and dribbled into his eyes, but it didn’t seem to bother him. “Good good good! What’ve you got?”

“Principles,” I said, sticking my chest out a little.

His smile sagged. “Principles?”

I nodded. “Lots.”

He frowned and said it again, distastefully, as if we were talking about shit sandwiches: “Principles.“

I drew closer. “I’ve been thinking about buying a big gas-guzzling SUV.” He looked at me, waiting. “Which is selling out to the auto industry, the anti-environmentalists, and the oil barons.”

“Uh huh,” said the man, playing with a stapler on his desk. “What else?”

“Well, I’m going to vote Republican for the next couple of elections, because I want to keep my taxes low, even though I know that the resulting deficit will destroy our economy.”

“Oooo,” said the man, pursing his lips and putting a hand to his mouth and widening his eyes. “Gee, are you? Are you really?”

“You’re making fun of me,” I said, wounded.

He snorted. “Principles aren’t worth jack shit, son. They should have told you that out front. It’s like trying to sell a used car lot the idea of a car. You’re wasting my time.” He leaned back in his chair, picking his teeth. “That all?”

I shook my head. “No.” There was lots more. But then I thought about it, and said. “Well, yeah, I guess it is.”

“Come back when you’ve actually done something with your principles, and you’re ready to undo it. Ok?”

“I will. Thank you.”

I went out into the hall. The lady in tempting fate was talking to a teenager who was staring doubtfully at a pack of cigarettes. A woman in a brown business suit brushed past me, moving briskly towards selling out. “They’re not taking principles,” I said.

She paused, looked at me, said: “Who is?” and kept walking.