Peerless Television Service and Repair

I Enter the Used-Television-Set Market

    Another day, another call.
    “Peter Leroy,” I said with a sigh. “Memoirs written while you wait, or, more likely, while you’re breathing down my neck, badgering me with telephone calls and e-mails, threatening me, cajoling me, or pleading with me. You name it, I’ll write it, however boring or idiotic it may be, if the price is right. What piece of crap can I produce for you today?”
    There was a hesitation at the other end of the line. I allowed myself to entertain a slender hope that the caller might just hang up. No such luck.
    “Hey, sorry to bother you,” said a big, deep voice in a deferential manner, “I can see you’ve got a lot on your mind, but I was wondering—”
    There was another pause, another hesitation.
    “Yes?” I said helpfully.
    “I was wondering—I mean—look—”
    “Spit it out, man,” I said. “The day is dwindling, and I’ve still got to clean the Augean Stables.”
    “Yeah. Well. The thing is this—I was wondering—I mean—do you have any used TVs for sale?”
    “This isn’t Peerless TV.”
    “It’s not?”
    “No. When I rented this house, I got their number.”
    “Oh, man, that must cast a pall over your days.”
    “Sometimes.”
    “Hey, I’m sorry to add to the darkness and gloom, know what I mean?”
    “I do, and I appreciate your concern.”
    “Yeah, well, do you know how I can reach Peerless?”
    “No. Sorry.”
    “They out of business?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “You don’t know?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “How long you been getting these calls?”
    “For about a week.”
    “You been getting these calls for a week, and you haven’t been curious about what’s become of Peerless TV?”
    “I’ve been curious, but—”
    “But what?”
    “I’m too busy to put time into finding out—”
    “Too busy? What makes you too busy?”
    “I’m a writer.”
    “Oh, yeah? That’s what all that bullshit was about?”
    “What bullshit?”
    “When you answered the phone. That stuff about badgering and threatening. You answer the phone with that jive because you’re a writer?”
    “Right.”
    “Do I know you?”
    “No.”
    “How can you be sure?”
    “I just doubt that you know me or my work.”
    “Why? Because I was looking to buy a used TV?”
    “No—”
    “‘No’ what? No, you don’t write for people who are reduced to having to buy a used TV? You only write for the elite buyers of flat-screen high-definition sets?”
    I sighed.
    “Why are you sighing?” he asked. “Do you find it exasperating to have to talk to somebody who’s reduced to asking to buy a used TV?”
    “It’s not that—”
    “You know, not everybody is willing to add to his consumer indebtedness just to have a widescreen TV. Some of us whose incomes are in the lowest quintile have the smarts to avoid undue levels of indebtedness.”
    “I’m sure—”
    “You people don’t give us the credit we deserve, and I’m not talking about credit as in ‘borrow against next week’s paycheck at bloodsucker rates.’ I’m talking about respect.”
    “Look, as it happens, I have a used television set that I could let you have for a good price.”
    “Oh, ‘a used television set.’ Doesn’t that sound nice? A used television set. I didn’t ask about ‘a used television set.’ I asked about ‘a used tee-vee.’”
    “It’s red,” I said.
    “Red?”
    “Red. You can come and see it if you like. I work at home, so I’m here most of the day.”
    “I’ll think about it. I’m a little put off by the color.”
    “You know where to reach me.”
    “Sure. Just dial Peerless TV.”
    “That’s the trick. You have a nice day.”
    “You too.”