A Family Man

1

I am a headhunter and I am the

purest form of salesman alive.

I sell the American dream.

I make money out of thin air,

smoke, whole cloth.

I stand on the shoulders

of giants,

the hardest of

hardened salesmen.

Tin men, bible salesmen,

slum realtors.

We're a wolf pack of

commissioned phone jockeys

working 70 hours a week without

a net. You hit, you hit big.

You blank, and the repo man's

tailgating...

the minivan

at the grocery store.

This job is a desk, a phone,

a chair and your ass.

Good morning, Imperial

Automotive Manufacturing,

Dottie speaking.

I am who I say I am.

Johnny Cobra calling, Dot. Need

the name of your Plant Manager.

To give out names of employees.

Nature of your business, sir?

The nature of my business,

Dottie,

is that I'm down here

at the Nissan plant

Because your Quality Department

thinks they can run

a freightliner full of injection

molded crap down my goddamn

throat!

The person that you need to

speak to is Mr. Rayburn, I'll...

First name,

first name, first name.

Thomas is his first name.

- Dottie...

- What?

Relax. Take a deep breath.

Pat yourself on the back,

you're doing one helluva job.

Uh, Mr... Did you say "Cobra"?

Call me Johnny.

Young, old, play sports, college

boy, what am I dealing with?

I know Tommy does

play golf a lot.

He's been working here a couple,

three years, probably...

Chitchat's over, Dot. Boss

is on my ass. Patch me through.

Rayburn.

Dane Jensen,

Blackridge Recruiting.

Thanks for taking my call.

Yeah, hold up, hold up, bud.

Lemme save us both some time;

I'm not lookin' to make

a move right just yet.

Rough as things are out there,

I'm just happy to have the job

I got. Now I'm up to my ass

in alligators,

Sweet. Baby. Jesus.

I cannot believe my guy

was wrong about you.

- Scuse me? Your guy? What guy?

- This isn't a random call, Tom.

I was told by

a confidential source,

even if your golf game was more

screwed up than a soup sandwich,

He also told me even though

you've only been at Imperial

for three years, that

you were bright enough

to at least listen to what

I was recruiting for

So. You're a headhunter, huh?

I am a headhunter.

And a headhunter cometh.

What's the deal

with this gut, son?

You need to get some exercise,

buddy, you're starting to look

like the kind of kid

Willy Wonka'd kick out...

of the chocolate factory.

Hands up.

I dunno... we could

play a little football

when you get home tonight.

If it's still light out

and I don't have any calls

to make, we'll see.

- Good morning.

- Hey, hon.

Ryan eat breakfast?

- If you can call it that.

- He likes cereal and it's easy.

Of course he does, Elise,

what kid doesn't like

colored marshmallows swimming

in whole milk?

Momma.

I like your hair, Lauren,

looks good on you.

The point is, he's a mess.

Shh! Be quiet, he'll hear you!

Anyway, I made an appointment

for him to see the doctor.

What the hell for, his weight?

No! I told you a week ago,

he's tired all the time

and those bruises...

- Bruises?

- Can I have chocolate milk?

- Sure you can, baby.

- Yeah, just a sec.

Who's calling you so early?

Just some candidate.

Pushing sixty and wonders

why he can't find a job.

Because of his age?

That's awful.

Okay.

Gotta go.

I was thinking maybe I could

drive into the city,

we could get lunch...?

First of the month, hon,

swamped. Call me! Oh...

I'm done talking about it!

Either manage Bob to get a deal

or make the son of a b*tch quit

so I don't have to pay...

unemployment on his lazy ass.

Ed, how do you propose

I force the man to quit?

For Christ sake, Wilson,

have a little fun for a change.

You know what I love

about this place?

I'm on pins and needles.

Ed only cares about

making money.

Man, woman, black,

white, old or young,

doesn't matter as long

as you're a producer.

Bob, were you not here

this past Saturday or Sunday?

No, I don't think

anyone was here.

- You blanked for three months.

- I got two kids,

my wife had divorced me,

I started coming in

on the weekends.

Ah, wife and two kids, I see.

You're gonna score in October?

I'm sure gonna try my best.

Try? Your attitude is to try?

Bob...

You know what I hate

about this place?

Nope.

Ed only cares about

making money.

That's why he tolerates

you and your mouthbreathers.

My mouthbreathers

make more placements

and out-produce those Ivy

Leaguers you coddle every month.

What about an attitude that

says "I'll do whatever it takes",

"I'll work whatever

hours necessary,

in order to justify your

financial commitment to me, Ed"?

Oh...

Bob...

Are you going to get a deal!!!?

Yes! Yes, sir.

Attaboy, Bob. Now get

the f*** back on the phone.

Bet the place is full

this weekend.

But... if and when Bob leaves,

then keep your ears open.

If he breaches his non-compete

and calls just one

of our clients,

I will sue him so deep

and hard...

that he, his wide-assed

Junior League wife,

and their two brats will be

sleeping in a cardboard box

under the overpass on Whacker.

There's always someone

that thinks they can hang up

their own shingle, and skip on

down to the home office

in their skivvies and make phone

calls while the rug rats frolic

at their feet. It makes me

want to puke blood.

In 35 years,

I have never let anyone

slide on their non-compete.

I leave for Prague in two days.

Prague?

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