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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 59505 ***
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+
+                           sales resistance
+
+                            BY HENRY STILL
+
+             _When Consumption means prosperity, when the
+            Pulitzer Prize is awarded to advertising copy,
+            when the Salesman is the most respected citizen
+           in the land.... What chance has a non-consumer?_
+
+           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
+              Worlds of If Science Fiction, August 1956.
+         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
+         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
+
+
+On his way home from the concert, Perry Mansfield whistled a pleasant
+melody from an old Stravinsky classic. But then, troubled by his
+conscience and that of his psychiatrist, he stopped to study the
+program again.
+
+What was that modern symphony? Oh yes, "The Flivver". The music was
+supposed to have its roots in antiquity when someone started converting
+the metal wealth of the earth on an assembly line. Those screeching
+noises were drill presses and lathes and automatic hammers. The syrupy
+melody was the saintly salesman who disbursed the wealth of gadget and
+machine like melted butter across the bread of the land.
+
+Perry tried to like it. But he didn't. And that disturbed him. It meant
+his psychotherapy wasn't working. Dr. Stone would run him through the
+mechanical analyzer again and scold over the results.
+
+His simple act of walking home instead of riding an anti-gravity
+putterseat labeled him as a misfit. But it seemed silly to rent a
+flying stool just to travel two blocks.
+
+The fact was, he liked to walk.
+
+Perry sighed, discouraged, as he waited for the fluorescent scanner to
+identify his insides and open his front door.
+
+It opened. The lights came on. Recorded music, somewhat tuned to his
+mood, poured from concealed amplifiers.
+
+And then he noticed the note clipped to the door.
+
+His hand trembled as he took it down. The beautiful pastel gray of the
+enclosing envelope was an anachronism itself, and therefore marked
+unmistakably its almost priestly origin.
+
+The platinum engraved card inside said simply:
+
+_A Master Salesman has chosen you for his next call._
+
+Perry placed the note carefully on a plastic table. He inhaled deeply
+and held it for a moment to steady his nerves.
+
+A _Master_ salesman. No one of that stature had ever called upon him
+before. It was an honor like--like a mayor or a bishop. It meant
+he had attained top level on the universal measuring stick--an
+A-number-1-plus-plus credit rating.
+
+The prospect should have saturated him with pleasure. But, like the
+sharp new music, it didn't.
+
+This card also meant he was expected to buy something. Something big
+and expensive. And he didn't want or need something big and expensive.
+
+He wished they'd leave him alone.
+
+Perry clapped his hand to his mouth as though someone might have heard
+the thought.
+
+What was wrong with him anyway? He wasn't a recluse. He _wanted_ to
+indulge and enjoy the polished luxury of his world. He _wanted_ to be
+conventional. He was young and handsome and tall and dark. He had a
+good job. He had a pleasant and comfortable legal arrangement with a
+girl in the next block.
+
+But truly, what he had was all he wanted.
+
+He glanced at the card on the table. He could always say _no_. It
+wouldn't be easy, but he could say _no_.
+
+Perry thumbed through the Pulitzer prize winning work for 2087 which
+had been delivered yesterday as part of his book club subscription.
+He had seen it already, of course, in a dozen magazines and a hundred
+copies of his facsimile newspaper. It was the advertising copy for
+Cor-T-Zan foundation garments. But he didn't need a corset and the
+spartan simplicity of the fragile, lovely words bored him.
+
+He switched on television. A phrenetic band was hammering out the new
+top jingle on the Hit Parade:
+
+    _Tootsie gum, tootsie gum
+    Ooh yum-yum, it's touched with rum;
+    Love that girl with eyes so hot,
+    TOOTSIE GUM hits the spot._
+
+Perry switched off the set.
+
+He was alone. He could be honest with himself. The whole damned
+business irritated him. If he was out of step with the times, to hell
+with the times.
+
+Mr. Master Salesman didn't even say _when_ he would call. You were
+expected to sit on the edge of your chair, waiting for the great man to
+appear.
+
+Finally Perry decided what he'd do. He'd simply not open the door when
+the MS came knocking.
+
+Upon that decision, he slept well.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Sometime later he dreamed of frying bacon over an open fire in the
+woods, although he hadn't been out to the park in three years.
+
+When he opened his eyes, the sun was up. He still smelled bacon frying.
+
+Perry crawled out of bed, fumbled into his robe and followed his nose
+to the kitchen-bar.
+
+There, in his favorite chair, sat a handsomely-dressed, distinguished
+man with florid complexion, iron gray hair and a fashionable paunch.
+
+Strips of bacon were frying on the bright, spotless steel of the
+cooking shield.
+
+"How did you get in here?" Perry asked crossly.
+
+"Serve-All does all," his visitor said cryptically and smiled the smile
+that's known around the world. Perry would have no opportunity to shut
+out the Master Salesman. He was in.
+
+"You are Mr. Mansfield?"
+
+"Yes sir," Perry said, uncertain of decorum.
+
+"My name is Marlboro," the MS said in melodius tones. "Master is the
+proper term used in addressing us. Please sit down."
+
+"Yes, Master," Perry said. He felt like a fool and sat down.
+
+"Breakfast will be served in a few moments," Marlboro said. "I hope you
+don't mind, I examined your excellent library before you came in." He
+pulled a volume off the shelf. "This is a beautiful old first edition.
+Wherever did you find it?"
+
+It was Perry's copy of "Basic Sales Techniques" with Burton footnotes
+on vacuum cleaner sales charts for the last half of the 20th century.
+
+"I've read it, of course," Marlboro continued, "but I've never owned a
+copy." He caressed the dogeared cardboard cover. "Isn't it fantastic?
+In that barbaric century the customers sometimes refused to buy from
+our predecessors in the Guild. It seems impossible that anyone could
+have been so crude as to turn away one of those sturdy pioneers at the
+door."
+
+Perry shifted uncomfortably. He had been prepared to turn away one of
+the Great Men at _his_ door.
+
+"Ah!" Marlboro exclaimed. "Your bacon is ready, young man."
+
+At a flick of the salesman's finger, the golden strips of meat lifted
+into the air and floated to an absorbent mat on the table. Perry
+stared. Not a bubble of fat had fallen to the floor in passage.
+
+"How did you do that?"
+
+"Serve-All does all," the MS said coyly.
+
+"Mine doesn't," Perry said.
+
+"Of course not!" Marlboro moved deftly into the opening. "You need a
+new one."
+
+So he had tumbled for the first trap. Perry blushed and ate a piece of
+bacon.
+
+The Master hefted an object to the table top. It was a hemisphere about
+18 inches in diameter, smooth and featureless except for a handle on
+the curved top. It was painted psychological green.
+
+"This is the _new_ Serve-All," Marlboro said glibly. "Notice its smooth
+unobtrusive shape. No working parts exposed, but inside is a mass of
+circuits and servos around a baby reactor ready to do everything for
+you."
+
+"The bacon," Perry persisted. "How?"
+
+He was aware that the first step in successful selling is to arouse
+curiosity. But he was confident he could refuse to buy, though it be
+contrary to convention and good taste.
+
+"Fingers of energy," the MS said. "Invisible, sensitive fingers of
+energy reach out of here--" He tapped the Serve-All dome. "--and
+they'll do anything that needs doing, at your mental command. Right
+now this one's tuned to me, but a minor adjustment will fit it to your
+personal needs. Here, let me show you something else."
+
+Perry felt a gentle, firm pressure on his left cheekbone. It moved down
+his cheeks, across his upper lip and up the other side. Then under his
+chin.
+
+Marlboro whipped out a pocket mirror.
+
+Perry had just been shaved.
+
+"See?" the Master beamed. "Wonderful isn't it?" Perry nodded. That was
+calculated to put him in a yes mood.
+
+While they talked the Serve-All cleared the breakfast clutter and
+cleaned the cooking shield without visible remains or waste. Marlboro
+pulled a contract pad out of his pocket.
+
+"I presume I can put you down for one of these."
+
+"I don't need it," Perry said. "My old one is good enough."
+
+"Ridiculous!" Marlboro said indignantly and then chuckled
+good-humoredly. "Oh, I see what you're doing. You're trying some of the
+old tricks from the 20th century. Well, I like a game of wits, too.
+Look what else this model will do."
+
+While Perry watched, the Serve-All repaired a broken knob on a plastic
+chest, cleaned the rug and etched a mural of a voluptuous nude on one
+blank wall.
+
+"If you'll excuse me," Perry murmured, "it's time for me to go to work."
+
+"Of course, of course," the Master laughed jovially.
+
+In rapid succession a comb dressed Perry's hair, his robe and pajamas
+were whisked off and his street clothes came floating out of the closet
+on more invisible fingers of energy.
+
+Before he knew it, he was ready for work.
+
+"I really must be going, too," Marlboro said, "if you'll just sign
+here."
+
+"How much is it?"
+
+The Master Salesman sighed.
+
+"You're really very difficult. It's $9,785, plus tax."
+
+"I can't afford it."
+
+"Now, Mr. Mansfield. A joke's a joke. If your credit rating wasn't
+the finest, I wouldn't be here. I know, and you know, your income is
+mortgaged for only 15 more years and your life expectancy is at least
+50."
+
+Perry moved uneasily toward the bathroom. An invisible finger of energy
+opened the door for him.
+
+"If you don't mind," he said angrily, "this is something I'm quite
+capable of doing for myself." He slammed the door.
+
+But the Serve-All flushed the toilet for him.
+
+When he emerged, Marlboro's patience also was gone.
+
+"Sign," he said firmly.
+
+"I don't want it."
+
+"Young man," the Master said thinly. "You don't realize what dangerous
+ground you're on. If you do not cease this rudeness at once, I'll
+report you to the council."
+
+"Report and be damned! I don't need your gadget and I'm not going to
+buy it. Now get out!"
+
+Marlboro was blue with rage. He backed uncertainly toward the door and
+stopped.
+
+"This borders on sacrilege," he whispered. "You'll hear from me again.
+Soon."
+
+Perry slammed that door, too, and walked jauntily to work.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He heard from the Master Salesman again--exactly two hours later. The
+message tube delivered a summons ordering him into City Court. That
+afternoon.
+
+Perry went. He had never been in court before. He was frightened and
+regretful that he had been so abrupt with Marlboro. But he resented the
+invasion of his privacy and to bolster his courage, he built that anger
+into a fair rage by the time he reached the courtroom.
+
+Marlboro was there. A judge was there. And on each of two tables
+squatted a metal box with voice tubes. A bailiff guided him to his
+table and placed the voice tube in his hand.
+
+"You're late Mr. Mansfield," the judge snapped. "Justice must be swift
+and you're impeding it." He lifted a printed card and scanned it
+near-sightedly for a moment. "You're here charged with violating the
+public interest by failing to purchase an item which you are able to
+consume and which you can afford to buy."
+
+"There's no law against--" Perry began indignantly.
+
+"Don't tell me your troubles, young man," the judge interrupted.
+"That's what your lawyer's for." His gesture indicated the metal box.
+Perry held the voice tube dumbly. The bailiff leaned over his shoulder.
+
+"You tell your side of the story in there," he whispered.
+
+Marlboro was muttering rapidly and at great length into his "lawyer."
+Perry did likewise, relating all he could remember of the morning
+fiasco. When he finished, the machine whirred, whistled and harrumphed
+twice before spewing out several yards of perforated tape.
+
+The plaintiff's counsel did the same, except the tape was longer.
+
+"Now Mr. Bailiff," the judge said, "you may bring in the jury."
+
+Perry was no longer surprised when the jury was rolled in. It was a
+large gray analog computor mounted on wheels. The judge stepped down
+from the bench and fed in the two conflicting tapes.
+
+The jury digested the information noisily.
+
+"It's an old model," the judge apologized, but just then a white card
+popped out on a small metal tray. The bailiff delivered it to the judge.
+
+He studied the card. Perry's heart thumped painfully during the
+calculated period of suspense.
+
+"As you attempted to inform the court earlier, Mr. Mansfield," the
+judge said somberly, "there is no law in the land which forces you
+to buy any item from our distinguished colleagues of distribution."
+Perry's heart brightened and he slid back from the edge of the chair.
+
+"However," the judge peered down, "it has been held by many courts that
+when the public interest is to be served by the individual purchase
+of a piece of merchandise which that individual can consume and which
+that individual is able to buy without financial hardship, then that
+individual _must_ sacrifice his emotional reluctance to the good of
+society."
+
+The jurist paused thoughtfully.
+
+"I think, Mr. Mansfield, that you should relearn the basic tenets of
+our society and economy. First, Consumption is Prosperity and that
+derives from the ancient law of Supply and Demand. S & D means, in
+simple terms, that when there is a supply of something, a demand must
+be created to consume it. That is why we have Master Salesmen. That is
+why they are the staunchest and most highly-respected citizens in our
+land."
+
+He bowed to Marlboro who assumed a benevolent smile.
+
+"This court decrees," the judge said sternly, "that you are to purchase
+an item known as the 2087 Serve-All from Master Salesman Marlboro and
+customary steps will be taken to attach your future salary to satisfy
+the stipulated payment schedule. Court dismissed."
+
+Perry was too stunned to move. His petty rebellion had collapsed into a
+pot of embarrassment. He was vaguely aware of Marlboro shaking his hand
+with a moist, jovial palm.
+
+"No hard feelings, young man," the MS said. "It was really quite
+interesting. I haven't had a case like this in five years."
+
+The condescension stirred Perry's anger again.
+
+"I demand an appeal!"
+
+The judge was leaving the bench, but he turned back.
+
+"Appeal bond is $2000."
+
+"No appeal," Perry said glumly.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He walked home. The 2087 Serve-All was there waiting for him, in the
+middle of his living room floor.
+
+Marlboro had tied a gay red ribbon around it to cheer him.
+
+He wasn't cheered. The thing must have been delivered even while he was
+in court. There had never been a doubt that he would lose the case.
+Rage began to crawl its acid path through his stomach again.
+
+The Serve-All was tuned to him now. It removed his hat and coat and put
+them in the closet. It loosened his tie, patted a sofa cushion to his
+shape and brought him a drink.
+
+Perry might just possibly have adjusted to the situation, but the
+Serve-All was over anxious.
+
+He liked to sip a drink. But when he lifted the glass to his lips, an
+invisible finger of energy pushed helpfully on the bottom.
+
+Perry strangled.
+
+When he recovered, his rage had crystallized in a definite course of
+action.
+
+He looked at the Serve-All and he looked at his hands. Not enough. He
+needed something much more. His memory of history recalled such items
+as an axe and a sledge hammer, but such no longer existed.
+
+But the plastic table had legs of substantial heft. A low growl rose in
+his throat as he grabbed the table and ripped it to pieces.
+
+The dismayed Serve-All scuttled across the room to repair the damage.
+
+Perry fended it off with his new club and then smashed downward, again
+and again, delighting in the screech of crushed metal and the tinkling
+death of transistors, vacuum tubes and servos.
+
+At the center was the tiny reactor box, but that was of solid lead
+and steel, that, fortunately, was virtually impervious for radiation
+safety. But he didn't care. It was also inert and needn't be destroyed.
+
+So Perry was free; as free as an aging husband who has just dispatched
+his jaded wife. He sang a little and danced around the shattered scraps
+of plastic and wire and metal.
+
+Then he heard the plaintive bleating beep of sound issuing from the
+central core of the Serve-All. He bent over it and read engraved
+lettering on the steel: "Central Registry No. C187-D69."
+
+Good God! Any idiot would know that every piece of equipment was
+centrally registered and carried a built-in signal to summon repair
+machinery.
+
+And destruction of mortgaged property was a criminal offense.
+
+So what now?
+
+Escape?
+
+Escape! He must be out of the house when the repair machine arrived.
+He must run and keep running, from the law and the Master Salesman and
+Serve-All, Inc.
+
+How much time did he have? Not more than a few minutes for the smooth
+central machinery to reach across the city to him; machinery which even
+now was on its way to rescue a damaged brother.
+
+Perry snatched his coat from the closet and ran to the door.
+
+Food. If he would hide from the methodical meat grinder of society, he
+must have food to live. He raced to the kitchen bar.
+
+There was food there, but he didn't know how to get at it. He had never
+before needed to do more than dial up portions for a meal, but he must
+have food in containers, food that would not spoil while he conserved
+his life on its dwindling supply.
+
+He ripped open a locked panel on the wall. There was food. But the
+large containers were locked in place. He clawed at the metal, but only
+tore his flesh and dripped blood on the immaculate counter top.
+
+The club he had used on the Serve-All! He recovered the plastic
+bludgeon and went to work.
+
+Five minutes later he had dislodged two of the large tins. One said
+_beans_; the other said _meat_.
+
+_Beans_ dripped a trail of juice across the floor as he ran to the door.
+
+He threw it open.
+
+A repair robot scuttled in and knocked him sprawling on the living room
+floor.
+
+Perry stared wildly at the mechanical beast. It hummed anxiously,
+retrieving bits of wreckage like a mother bird repairing a broken egg.
+
+Mansfield belly-crawled stealthily back toward the door. He might make
+it yet. The robot probably wasn't geared for cop duty.
+
+But the door was blocked.
+
+Perry looked up past the knees and the belted paunch to the face. It
+was Master Marlboro.
+
+Perry rose wearily to his feet and dropped the tins of food to the
+floor.
+
+"All right," he said, "I give up."
+
+"Really, Mr. Mansfield," Marlboro's lips curled with delicate disgust.
+"Isn't this a childish way to treat a beautiful machine?"
+
+"What will you do with me?"
+
+The MS didn't answer. He pulled a contract pad out of his pocket and
+started writing.
+
+"You mean you're going to sell me another one?"
+
+Marlboro shoved the pad in his hand.
+
+"I'm quite sure you'll sign this one," he said firmly.
+
+Perry read the sales contract:
+
+_For standard consideration, this entitles one Perry Mansfield to all
+required services and exclusive use of private quarters in Airy Hills
+Sanatarium._
+
+Perry signed.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sales Resistance, by Henry Still
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 59505 ***