The last advice Steve Rogers gave Ed Miller before he sent him out on the sales lot of Steve Rogers All-American Auto was “If the customer complains about the President, nod your head and agree. If the customer praises the President, nod your head and agree and tell them you’re going to try to get out of here early to make it down to Bunting Field to see him speak. You’re not, but tell them that.”
Steve Rogers was the second most famous man in Caraway, second only to Ken Jackson, the football coach, and Steve was so well regarded that people overlooked the fact that he was born Jakub something with four Zs and one vowel that Jakub changed to the alter ego of Captain America when he turned eighteen.
Steve bought the car lot at twenty-two, and expanded to a lot on the other side of the train tracks.
New and Gently Owned All American Cars.
Ed Miller listened to all the advice Steve gave him.
Ed was excited for his first day of sales, nervous of course, extra nervous because Malakie Wortmung wasn’t sure he’d remember to answer to Ed Miller. It was on his nametag, which he couldn’t see no matter how much he craned his neck, and he had been Mal Wortmung for all 31 years of his life.
Steve Rogers assured him that Ed Miller would sell way more cars in Caraway than Mal Wortmung ever would, as though America was at war with a country full of Mal Wortmungs.
Ed’s first conversation with a young couple from Devon Springs was drowned out by a hovering military helicopter that Ed could only imagine was in town because the President was scheduled to speak at Bunting Field.
Mal knew that most people in Caraway and surrounding locations didn’t like the President. He was too young, too southern, way too damn liberal, and prone to doing unexpected things, like swimming at black tie Oscar parties and adopting a Cuban baby a year into his term.
Mal was happy he didn’t have to take sides on the President, and hoped he would continue to remember to introduce himself as Ed.
Mal decided to walk to the far end of the lot rehearsing “Hi, I’m Ed, Ed Miller, happy to get you into a pristine Liberty today for no money down.”
He got to the end of the lot, leaned on a Malibu, and felt so well rehearsed that he thought his spiel might sound rehearsed.
Ed/Mal wanted to Google “How to Unrehearse” but Steve had a strict “No Phones on the Lot” Policy.
As Steve took his favorite pocket hanky and wiped bird shit from a blue Wagoneer, a handsome, athletic man in a sharp suit approached. The guy looked way more like an Ed Miller than Mal Wortmung ever would.
He looked like a Camaro guy. Ed waved, walking toward the nearest Camaro.
The man asked “Your name, sir?”
Mal smiled. “Ed Miller, my friend, happy to get you into a pristine Cam-”
“Not here to buy, Mr. Miller.”
The man whipped out a badge.
“United States Secret Service.”
The man said another sentence, drowned out by a train braking.
He repeated it.
“I’m going to need to see some ID. You’re in close proximity to the Presidential Goodwill Train.”
Behind the man who disappointingly wasn’t going to even look at a Camaro, the train was slowly crossing Fitzgerald Boulevard, and looked to be coming to a complete stop blocking the street.
Mal said “sure,” and pulled out his wallet.
“I thought the President was coming by motorcade to Bunting Field.”
The Secret Service agent ignored him.
“Sir, you identified yourself as Ed Miller. This is not the ID of an Ed Miller.”
Mal blushed.
“My boss here changed my name so that I could–”
The man spoke an alphanumeric code into an audio device that Mal couldn’t see.
A silver sedan roared up.
“Come with me sir, we’re going to have to ask you some questions.”
“But you can ask Mr. Rogers…”
Mal found himself being hastily shoved into the car as he realized he just told a Secret Service Agent to “Ask Mr. Rogers.”
The helicopter hovered overhead as the Secret Service car made a U-Turn and sped down Fitzgerald Boulevard.
“Steve Rogers will vouch for me that I-”
The Secret Service agent said “And Diana Prince will vouch for me. You are in custody for misidentifying yourself to a Federal Agent. It’s in your best interest to be as forthcoming as possible.
Mal Wortmung hung his head.
“For starters, the birdshit on my hanky isn’t mine.”
***
All Mal wanted was a successful first day that he had rehearsed. Yes and a sign from above said NO, this is going to be a crappy day in so many ways!
Poor guy. Damned if you do damned if you don’t. We’re not so much complicated as we’re messed up, yes?
And the birdshit spoke for itself.
Good one, J.