THE ENTREPRENEUR

by

Jerome Turken

Lou was studying the blueprint opened on his desk when his phone rang.  It was Harriet.

“FL wants you to move up the time of the appointment with the salesman to two,” she said.

“Two?” he said.  “How the hell am I supposed to get in touch with him? I don’t even know where he’s staying, and even if I did he’s probably out.  He came all the way from Cleveland, for crissake!”

“Don’t yell at me.” Harriet said.  “Never yell at me.  I do what I’m told.  I don’t ask questions.  FL said he wants to start promptly at two, so don’t get involved with anything that’s going to run past two.  He’s got to meet his wife to look at some fabric for the walls.  All right, I told you.  Now you can take the next trolley to the moon for all I care.”

“Let me talk to him.”

“He just closed the door to his office to take his nap.”

“Can’t you get him before he falls asleep?  This is important.”

“To you maybe.  Not to him.”

“How do you know?”

“I can tell by his face.”

He has to add insult to injury.  Fabric for the walls.  A salesman comes all the way from Cleveland for nothing, because he’s never going to replace that old piece of shit of his, and now he’s messing the guy up with time.  Because he has to look at fabric for his walls.  What a bulldog.  Fabric for his walls. He wipes his ass with your time, but go ask him for anything that might give him a thimble of inconvenience and it serves no purpose.  You have to learn how to adjust.  0ne of his convenient one‑way credos, learn how to adjust.  He changes the time for a meeting, adjust!  He wants something done by tonight, adjust!  He decides to take a shit at five o’clock, adjust!  That’s FL.  In the morning he comes in snapping and barking and an hour later he’s going around pinching asses.  Or else he traipses from department to department telling his stories that everyone in the company must have already heard twenty times each.  After lunch he goes and takes an hour nap on his contour chair, then gets up and repeats his routine with different victims.  All day long this goes on.  He once had the whole welding department sitting on their asses for an hour listening to him and laughing at the right time.  Everyone adjusts.

He leaned back and swiveled in his chair.  Two hours notice.  What do I tell them?  An emergency came up; he urgently had to go look at fabric for his walls.  He searched the brochure for Acme’s number.

He called Cleveland.  The Acme sales manager gave him a few jabs.

“Well, it’s a little late in the day, isn’t it?  Hank has other appointments, you know.  I don’t know if he can switch things around on such short notice.”

“I’m sorry, but it couldn’t be avoided,” Lou said. “One of the people involved equipment decisions got unavoidably delayed at a directors’ meeting at an orphanage he’s sponsoring.  If Hank can’t change his appointments do you think it would be possible for him to make it tomorrow?”

“Well, as I said, he has other commitments,” the sales manager said.  “But let me see what I can do.  He’s due to see another company in Westchester at two.  Maybe he can make the switch.  I’ll see if I can reach him.  Or he may call in.  He or I will get back to you.”

What a charade.  He’s going to hold on to that old press for life.  It comes up very time we have a production meeting, and he always manages to dissipate the discussion with this little act of his.  A sly half smile on his face, raised eyebrows.  I’m not saying the new models don’t look good, but I’m more concerned how they put out, you know what I mean?  Reliable Rosie, we know what she can do.  We know she ain’t a virgin.  Lou’ll tell you.  Tell him, Lou.  How many times did we undress her?  She got a gorgeous frame.  She’s tried and true, true blue. Never mind economic life.  How about sex life—hahaha.  Who needs a no hands operation!  What do you do with your hands, jerk off?  Hahaha‑a‑hahahahaha!  All right, gentlemen, I heard enough adverse criticism for one day.  So let’s terminate the subject of new presses and go on to another subject.  I’m getting very impatient with a certain department.  Lower our prices!  That’s all I hear from you guys, lower our prices! You call yourselfs salesmen?  If we lower our prices any more I can fire yiz all and just send out some dogs and they’ll come back with orders in their mouth.  Does everyone get my meaning?  A meaningful pause and sweep of the eyes.  Handleman, you’re not saying anything and I don’t see your head moving in any direction.  Handleman nods.  Thank you.  All right, gentlemen, the meeting is adjourned.  Let’s get back to work.

He walked along the corridor to Molly at the switchboard and played his fingertips on the nape of her neck.  “I expect a call from Acme Press,” he said. “If I’m not at my desk page me.  If I’m on the phone break in.  Okay, dear?”

“What are you trying to do, excite me?” Molly said.

“Am I doing a good job?” Lou said.

“Aah, why don’t you go back to your office and play with yourself,” she said.  “Can’t you see I’m busy?”  She made a connection.  “Lawrence Metal.”

He went down to the shop to see Teddy.

Teddy was in his office fooling around with some kind of puzzle with blocks that he bought for his kid.

“This is supposed to be for a 10‑12 year old,” Teddy said.  “Even I’m having trouble with it.  What’s up?”

“I may have to postpone the production meeting,” Lou said.  “FL wants to change the appointment with the salesman from Acme to two.  Something urgent came up.  He has to look at some fabric for his walls.”

Teddy smiled and shook his head.  “I don’t know what’s the matter with him.  That old piece of junk is costing him money.  I’m getting ten percent rejects.  I have to adjust the setup every two hours.  It’s getting on my nerves.  What do you think?  You think he’ll go for it this time?”

“Nah,” Lou said.  “You and I know this visit is a waste of time.  The salesman probably can’t even be reached.  He’s going to show up at three and I’m going to politely listen to his sales pitch and ask him a few questions and then tell him I’ll think about it.  This is the last time.  From now on let someone else nudge him about Reliable Rosie.  Listen, do me a favor.  Tell everyone involved about the time change.”

The large overhead shop door was open.  The day had started off beautifully but now it was overcast.  The air had that refreshing pre‑rain smell. Some kids were playing stickball against the wall of the building.  When he stepped outside the kid who was pitching held on to the ball and kept looking at him, then the batter turned, both waiting to see what he would do.

“Go ahead, keep playing,” Lou said.  “It’s all right.”

He went back upstairs and stopped by Molly at the switchboard again.

“My call didn’t come in yet, did it?” he said.

“What’s the matter, you lost confidence in me?” Molly said.  “Don’t you think I would have paged you?”

“With you who knows?” Lou said.  “By the way, you got nice legs but your seams are crooked.”

“Yeah?  Wouldn’t you like to straighten them.”

A little before noon Teddy came by to pick him up for lunch.

“I can’t, Teddy,” he said.  “I’m waiting for a call from the Acme sales people to settle the appointment business.  Do me a favor.  Bring me back a tuna on roll with butter.”

A few minutes after Teddy left Hank, the Acme salesman called.  “All right, I can make it for two,” he said.  “I may be a few minutes late, but I’ll be there.”

“Fine,” Lou said.

“Let me ask you something.  I mean, are you guys serious this time?”

“What kind of question is that, are we serious.  Of course we’re serious.  I’ll see you at two.”

This is going to be his third visit but he may as well stand on his head because it’s all for nothing.  Because FL is not going to buy his machine.  He’s going to keep Reliable Rosie until it falls apart and disintegrates.  And it’s not the money.  He has plenty and he’s not particularly cheap.  He has real affection for that old dog.  It’s his pride and joy.  Listen, when I first started out in this business I got it almost brand new for peanuts at a bankruptcy auction and it’s been putting out for me ever since, 22 years.  That’s more than I can say for a lot of girls I knew, heh, heh.  She’s my sweetheart.  She has a few cracks in her frame?  So what?  Every girl has a few cracks in her frame, heh, heh, heh.  Why should she be different?  But! all right, don’t start crying on me, for crissake.  Start the ball rolling.  Gawhead, get the salesman in from Acme again.  I want to refresh my memory about that press you’re having orgasms over.  But first send for the brochures and prices and study it then give it to me to cogitate over.

Lou reached into the file drawer in his desk and withdrew the folder with the brochures and quotation for the new press, raised it as high as his arms would reach and dropped it on his desk.  Studied that brochure so many times I know it by heart.  But I always send for a new one because every time I hand it over to him to cogitate over he manages to lose it.  He thinks I gotta lotta potential but when I try to convince him to buy a new press to replace his sweetheart I’m nothing but a pain in the ass.

That’s the machine you want me to buy?  That’s what it looks like?  It looks more like a twenty‑foot refrigerator than a machine.  With Reliable Rosie you see the curves of her crank shaft, that nice, zoftig base.  This one, even the flywheel’s hidden, for crissake.  Where’s the flywheel?  I don’t see no gears.  They gotta dress the machines up nowadays, hide all the appurtenances. I like my machines undressed.  I like to see what they got underneath, heh, heh.  What are they, afraid to show their tits?  How about you, Lou, you go for a naked machine?  Look at this guy, how serious he is.  Where’s your sensa yooma, for crissake?

Better take some measurements of floor space.  Maybe by some miracle he’ll have a change of heart and go for it this time.  He took a pad and a tape measure from his drawer and went down to the shop.

Murphy, the shipping clerk was sitting on an overturned 20 gallon drum in front of the overhead door, watching the two boys play stickball while eating his lunch. He put the last of his sandwich into his mouth and finished the last of his soda.

“What are you doing, working on your lunch hour?” he said.

“I had to stick around for a call,” Lou said.

Murphy looked at him askance.  “That’s no good.  The first thing you know you’re going to start getting headaches and a nervous stomach.  Always take time to eat your lunch.”

“You’re right,” Lou said.  “I have to pay more attention to that.”

An argument broke out between the two boys.

“You’re full of shit!  It missed the plate by a mile!”

“It was right over the outside corner!”

The pitcher came running across the street.  When he reached the home plate chalked on the sidewalk in front of the building he scraped the edge of his sneaker across a corner.  “It cut the outside corner, right here!”  He was taller than the batter by half a head.

“Bullshit!”  The batter scraped his sneaker on the sidewalk wide of the plate to demonstrate the mile the ball missed by.  “Here’s where the ball went!”

“These kids nowadays,” Murphy said.  “Sportsmanship went out the window.”

They watched the two boys argue until the pitcher, who was not only taller but huskier, pushed the other.

Murphy leaped off the drum. “Come on, come on, cut it out,” he said, and got between the boys and held them apart.  “What are you, a bully, or something?  Don’t you guys know anything about sportsmanship, for crissake? Why don’t you do the pitch over and stop bullshitting around with each other?  Be honest.”  The batter’s glove was on the ground against the wall of the building.  He picked it up.  “Come on, I’ll catch and umpire.  What’s the count?”

The buzzer ending the shop lunch period sounded as he walked to the press department to take a look at Reliable Rosie’s floor space.  While he was taking measurements and making his sketches Miguel, Reliable Rosie’s operator, who had formed an intimate familiarity with her wayward and erratic behavior and who considered himself her proprietor and spokesman, kept glancing at him with nervous condescension.  Because Miguel knows; and his knowledge is backed by high authority.  She’s big, a lot of surface to fool around with, right Miguel?  Take a look at the curves on that crankshaft of hers.  Nice, eh Miguel?  And you don’t have to coax her.  And she never needs a warm-up.  A little oil between the tits and she’s ready to go.  You get a quick release.  And talk about power, she got an inner drive can break a bed.  Miguel’ll tell you.  You get an experience, right, Miguel?  She can do everything but talk, you want her to do your cooking too?  Although she sure can groan, right, Miguel? She gives you a run for your money, tell them, Miguel.

“Iss sonting wrong?” Miguel said finally.

“It’s all right,” Lou said.  “Nothing’s wrong.”

“So what are you doing?”

“Measuring the floor space.”

Miguel kept glancing at him.  “For what you measuring floor space?” he said finally.

“We may buy a new press.  I want to see how it’ll fit in.”

“What for you are going to buy a new press?  Still good this one.”

“This one keeps making mistakes.”

“It’s all right.  I always know how to fix.”

Teddy appeared.  “Never mind, you always know how to fix,” he said.

“Did Mr. Lawrence say so?” Miguel said.

“Did Mr. Lawrence say so!” Teddy said.  “You want to know what Mr. Lawrence said?  He said one of these days Reliable Rosie’s ram is going to break loose and take a bite out of your dick.  I put your sandwich on your desk.”

“Thanks, Teddy.”

The coffee he drew from the urn upstairs was vile.  He should have asked Teddy to get him a container. While eating his sandwich he looked over the sketches he had just made and compared the dimensions to the Acme specifications.  Then he went back to the proposal that lay half finished on his desk.

His phone rang.

“Hank Watkins is here,” Molly said.  It was five to two.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Lou said.  He dialed FL.

“He’s not at his desk,” Harriet said.

“Where is he?”

“I’m not his proprietor.”

“When he comes back tell him the Acme salesman is here.  We’ll be in the conference room.”

He put the brochure with his notes and sketches into a folder and went to the reception area, greeted Hank Watkins and ushered him to the conference room.

“I’m sorry for the change, it was unavoidable,” Lou  said.  “I hope it didn’t screw you up too much.”

“That’s all right,” Hank said.  “Luckily I was able to switch appointments with another customer.”

“The president, Mr. Lawrence, will be with us shortly.  How was your trip?”

“It was a beautiful trip,” Hank said.  “Except whenever I fly into LaGuardia with that runway just beyond the water, it always looks like we’re going to dunk right in before touching down.”

Lou dialed FL again.

“He’s still not at his desk,” Harriet said.

“He didn’t leave, did he?”

“I don’t know,” Harriet said.  “I don’t ask questions.”

“Is his jacket hanging there?”

“Yes.”

“So he didn’t leave, did he?”

“I’d say that stands to reason.”

“So why couldn’t you be reasonable in the first place, with your don’t ask questions?”

Slam!  Harriet hung up.

“Is there going to be a delay?” Hank said.  “I have another appointment this afternoon, you know.”

“I know,” Lou said.  “Let me see if I can find him.  He has a rule.  Never page him.  I’ll be right back.”

He made the rounds of the departments, then looked into the men’s room.  Protruding beneath a pair of pants rumpled on the floor of the occupied booth were FL’s small size black shoes with the mirror shine.

“Is that you, FL?” he said.

No answer.

“The Acme salesman is here.”

“Will you let me take a shit in peace, for crissake?”

“Okay, but don’t forget, he has another appointment this afternoon.  He’s in a hurry.”

“Yeah?  Tell him if he’s so stingy with his time he can go to his other appointment right now and we’ll go elsewhere.  They’re not the only press manufacturers in the world.  This business of being stingy with time.”

“We’ll be in the conference room,” Lou said.

Hank Watkins looked at him anxiously as he walked back in.

“He’ll with us shortly,” Lou said.  “He’s in the men’s room.”  He took a seat opposite him.

“He’s sponsoring an orphanage?” Hank said.

“Yes,” Lou said.  “He’s also on the board of a home for wayward girls.”

“Really?  That’s very generous.”

“He hates to discuss his philanthropies,” Lou said, “so it’s better not to mention it.  So how’s your family?  As I recall your daughter was just born last time you were here.”

“Yeah, she’s already a young lady,” Hank said.

“What is she, about year old?”

“Thirteen months.”

“Boy, time flies.  You got a photograph?”

Hank leaned to take out his wallet and withdrew a small photograph.

What do you tell a father who shows you a photograph of a funny looking kid?  “She is young lady,” Lou said.  “She has such a grown‑up expression.  She looks very determined about something.  What is she doing?”

“Squeezing my wife’s nose,” Hank said.

“Isn’t that cute,” Lou said.

“You have kids?” Hank said.

“I’m not married,” Lou said, “but that doesn’t answer you question, does it?  No, I don’t have any kids.”

Hank laughed and looked at his watch.

“I’m sorry about this,” Lou said.  “Let me see if I can give Mr. Lawrence a goose.  I’ll be right back.”

FL was no longer in the men’s room.  Nor was he anywhere upstairs.  Lou found him downstairs with Teddy in the shop office fucking around with the puzzle Teddy bought for his kid.

“Hey, FL, what do you say?” Lou said.

FL glanced at him then went back to the puzzle.

“This guy went through all kinds of trouble to change appointments and now you’re keeping him waiting?”

“Will you hold your horses?” FL said.  He was moving the blocks of the puzzle around with heavy concentration.

“Do you want me to handle it alone?” Lou said.  “This guy has to get going.” FL looked up at Teddy.  “Duty calls.  I’ll continue this later.  Don’t disturb anything.”  He got up and Lou followed him as he walked briskly up the stairs in an attitude of steadfastness of purpose, along the corridor and practically flew into the conference room.  Hank Watkins was already on his feet with a hand extended.

“Sit, sit,” FL said as he took it and gave it a few quick pumps.  “Your name is—”

“Hank Watkins.”

“Ah, yes,” FL said.  “Hank Watkins.  I didn’t forget it.  It just slipped my mind.  Sit.”

“This is Mr. Lawrence, the president,” Lou said.

“Yes, I know,” Hank said.

FL picked up the phone.  “Hey Molly, have someone make up three cups of coffee and bring them into the conference room.  See if there are any of those good cookies in the cabinet.  And while she’s at it have her bring in my box of sourballs also.  And a cigar.  Harriet knows where they are.” He hung up and looked at Hank.  “I hear you’re a little stingy with time, so let’s get started.”

Hank emitted a rear‑headed, mirthless little laugh. “I assume you studied our material,” he said.  “Now the way we recommend to go about replacing an obsolete press is, first you have to—”

“Just a minute, please,” FL said.  His face twitched and you could almost hear his head change gears.  “Just a minute.  Let me give you my philosophy on my machines.  I’m the kind of person who’s grateful to his machines.  I don’t forget those old days when we were pounding the ass off this particular one and she just kept putting out and putting out. And she’s still putting out, right, Lou?  So please don’t call her obsolete so fast.  Because to me she’s not so obsolete.”

“I understand,” Hank said.  “All I’m saying is—”

“And another thing,” FL said.  “I’m basically conservative when it comes to machines.  I’m not one who every time something new comes on the market I jump out of my shoes.  They say it’s faster, it responds, it’s quieter, it’s smoother, all that bullshit.  Personally I like them slow.  I get a kick out of coaxing them a little.  And as far as quiet goes, the old ones’ moaning and groaning does something for me.  I like them to go a little crazy every once in a while, show me they’re alive.  It makes you feel like you’re getting an experience, you know what I mean?  My rule is hold on to the old ones as long as I can.  And another thing.  You get to know them.  You build up a mutual trust, you know what I’m saying?  You feel comfortable with them.”

“Well, I appreciate that,” Hank said.  “But—”

FL’s eyes shifted to Bernice, a tall, dark, full‑bodied girl, who had just entered carrying a full tray.  She placed a cup of coffee in front of each of them, gave FL his cigar and sour balls and left the tray with the sugar, milk and cookies on the table.  As she was leaving FL called to her:

“Hey, Bernice, stop by my office later.  I got a half dozen nylons for you.  You know my conditions, don’t you?”

“You have to put on each pair to make sure they fit?” she said and walked on.

“Heh, heh, heh.  Anyone want a sourball?  Take one, keeps your throat moist.  What was I saying?  Oh yeah, you develop a mutual trust.”

Hank nodded.  “I can understand that, but—”

“And I’ll tell you something else,” FL said.  He unwrapped his cigar.  “Personally I don’t go for—”  He got up and searched his pockets.  Finally he picked up the phone on the conference table and dialed.  “Hey, Harriet, bring me my cigar tip cutter, will you?  How should I know where it is?  It must be somewhere, for crissake.”  He hung up. “Personally I don’t go for college graduates when it comes to machines.  You don’t run them, they run you.  Besides, they have no personality whatsoever.  And I’ll tell you something else. The manuals that come with them ain’t worth the paper they’re written on, right, Lou?  Chinese laundrymen must write those manuals.  Because it beats me how they design these things.  Lou’ll tell you.  We always have trouble making head or tail out of the ones they put out these days.  What’s the matter with them?  And another thing … ”

Hank stopped trying to get a word in.  Look at him.  He knows it’s useless.  He’s just sitting there listening, or pretending to listen, widening his eyes and nodding in agreement, making all the right gestures, waiting for this successful New York entrepreneur’s spring to run down so he can give his spiel.  Laugh!  Wonder!  Agree!  Sit!  Beg!  Heel!  Hold back that yawn!

Clicking heels in the corridor and Harriet came into the room.  She went up to FL in a huff and dropped his cigar cutter on the table in front of him.  “I hate to tell you where I found this,” she said and turned and clicked out again.

“You hear the way she talks to me?” FL said.  “She’s my boss.”

“Can I make a call?” Hank Watkins said.

“You can use the phone right behind you,” Lou said.  “Press one of the green buttons and you’ll get a line.”

FL cut the tip off his cigar.  Hank was calling his next appointment to tell them he was sorry, he couldn’t make it, and was trying to arrange something for tomorrow.

FL had the brochure in his hand.  “I don’t know what they had in mind when they—”

He was speaking in his normally loud voice.  Lou put his hand to his lips, “Ssh, he’s on the phone.”

FL gave Hank a dirty look then kept quiet altogether, like he’d rather remain silent than talk softly.  He got up and started searching through his pockets again, and again he couldn’t find what he was looking for.  He picked up the phone.

“Hey, Harriet, bring me some matches,” and he hung up before Harriet could answer.

Harriet’s clicking little footsteps again.  She came in and dropped about eight books of matches on the table and walked out.

“All I need is one, dammit!” FL called after her. “One of these days, Harriet, one of these days!”

Harriet’s head popped back in.  “One of these days what?”

“One of these days nothing,” FL said.  “Go back to the office.”

Hank had finished his phone call and was sitting at the table again.  FL was lighting his cigar, rolling it as he puffed, hazing up the whole room with cigar smoke.

“That smells good,” Hank said.  “What brand is it?”

“Cuban,” FL said.  “Made by my personal cigar maker.” He took few more puffs and held the cigar in front of his pinched eyes and for ten seconds actively admired the ash and savored the taste.

“Let me show you something,” Hank said.  He turned the pages of his brochure until he found what he was looking for. “Take a look at this,” he said. He held it up to FL and pointed to something with his finger.  “You notice the way the—”

“Do me a favor,” FL said.  “Don’t show me no graphs. I never concern myself with graphs, formulas or calculations of any kind.  Jesus, these crazy university theories they’re coming up with nowadays.  You gotta hire an Einstein to interpret them.  I don’t know why they have to spend time … It’s a good thing I have Lou on board, or else I’d never understand a word they say, right, Lou?  They’re growing like weeds nowadays out of Harvard or Yale or somewhere, these so‑called experts, and all they do is go around in circles with their research.  You gotta hire an expert to interpret the experts.  Who can afford it?  Lou knows.  But I been talking too much.  I think you started to say something.”

“Yes, Hank Watson said.  “Just let me run through some of the features of our press.  I can tell you, this press stays on the setting.  Justifies the investment.  Shows results.  Satisfies needs.  Produces quality.  Meets demands.  Side loading.  Top mounting.  Bottom adjusting.  And she has a hair-trigger response.  High yield.  Low maintenance, and she’s a workhorse, this baby.  Powerful stroke.  Peak performance.  Advanced technology.  She’s pressure sensitive.  Moisture compatible.  And she self‑lubricates.  Easy to operate—you won’t find better placed controls.  She works with you, not against you, that’s the bottom line.  Take a look at those easy grip knobs.”

“She looks interesting but to me she sounds a little nervous,” FL said, rising.  He looked like he was ready to take another nap.  “Give us time to cogitate over it.  Give Lou a call in two weeks.”  And he walked out without even shaking the guy’s hand.

After Hank Watson gathered his papers and put them back into his briefcase Lou ushered him back to the reception area.

“I have to apologize for screwing you up with that other appointment,” he said.

“Oh that’s all right,” Hank Watson said.  “Nothing lost.  I’ll see them tomorrow.  I’ll hear from you in two weeks then.”

“Yes,” Lou said.  “We’ll give it serious thought.”

He knew it was useless but before going back to his office he popped into FL’s office to ask him what his leaning was on the Acme press.

“He went down to the shop,” Harriet said.

Lou found him alone in Teddy’s office, sitting at the desk, which was overspread with Teddy’s kid’s puzzle and its blocks.  He was on the phone and he was yelling:

“I got more important things to do than look at fabric for the walls, Shirley!  What?  Don’t worry about it, I’ll like it.”  He picked up a block and slammed it on the desk.  “Don’t argue with me, Shirley!  If I say I’ll like it, I’ll like it!  Look, I can’t talk now.  I got a lot of loose ends to tie up here.  I’ll talk to you when I get home.”  He slammed the receiver and looked up at Lou. “Don’t say anything, we’ll discuss it tomorrow,” he said, and went back to the puzzle.

Lou turned around and walked out.  As he passed by Molly upstairs the switchboard lit up.

“If that’s Acme I left for the day,” he said.

In his office he began putting his desk in order.  Teddy came in and sat down in his side chair.  “I asked FL, but he said to see you,” he said.  “How’d it go?”

“It didn’t,” Lou said.

Teddy gave him a look like he was losing consciousness.

Lou got up and put on his jacket.  “Come on, let’s get the fuck out of here.”