So Ed (this was a while back, before I ate him) gave me Percy, viz., a promising new junior sales associate trainee, with instructions to train him up in the Secrets of My Success and also Not Eat Him. It hadn’t been hard, though, to fit not eating Percy into the larger sales philosophy I was constructing and on which I was now expounding.

“So listen close, Grasshopper, because I’m going to tell you about the two skills you need to develop to sell the ass off human-shark hybrid services, and Get Paid,” I said.

“…get paid,” Percy mumbled. His note-taking technique consisted of writing down every fucking word I say and mumbling to let me know when he’s done. It was kind of a passive-aggressive way for him to control the conversation, which I disapprove of on principle because as a shark I have more like an aggressive-aggressive approach to things. But in the first place I was concentrating really hard on Not Eating Him because in the second place I’d have to carry my own luggage, which takes me back to the core of the thing.

“Ri-ight,” I said, letting him know I was getting a little annoyed with the whole mumbling-notetaking thing. “Two skills. Number one, and super important, know who you have to eat.”

“…eat.”

“And number two, just as important but a lot harder to learn, know who you have to not eat,” I said, grinning a little, to put a little humor into it and also make sure he hasn’t maybe forgotten that he’s trapped in a small vehicle sitting next to a fucking shark.

“…not eat…” Percy mumbled.

“Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Perce,” I said, taking one hand off the wheel and rapping him sharply on the top of the head, “I am not in any way being metaphorical here. It is my experience that nearly all sales contacts can be put into one of those two buckets, although,” I grinned again, “the bucket holding the sales contacts you have to eat can be a lot smaller, since there’s not as much left of them, know what I mean?” I reflected a bit on my experiences of the last three months. “Like, there was this one guy who must have swallowed a bunch of ball bearings, fuck, I don’t know why. Biggest fucking surprise of my life, let me tell you.”

Percy was squeezing himself up against his car door, but being totally nonchalant about it so maybe I wouldn’t notice he was half shitting himself. God, I love my job. “Um, ah, Mr. Selacchi? Can I ask a question?”

“Sure, Perce. And, hey! Call me Bob.”

“Uh, sure, Bob.” Percy licked his lips. “I was just wondering? Don’t you ever worry about, I don’t know, getting into trouble, with all the people you eat?”

I shook my head firmly. “Not at all, Perce, but I’m glad you asked. Once you get the treatment, you’ll understand. For now, though, just let me say, sharks don’t worry about hardly fucking anything.”

“…fucking anything.”

Again, scritch-scratching away in the notebook. I gritted my teeth, a couple of them breaking loose and falling into my lap. “Let’s walk you through a couple of cases, Grasshopper. Say I’m making my first contact with a guy at a prospective company, first time I’ve talked to anyone at this company, and I’m not getting anywhere with the guy. He called us up, some reason, but now that we’re talking, he’s not interested anymore. What do you do?”

“…do?” he mumbled, his voice even rising at the end because he was mumbling a question. I snatched the notebook out of his hand and ate it. The metal spiral got stuck in my throat, so I reached in, pulled it out, and tossed back into his lap.

“We’re not writing a book here, Perce, and you’re not studying for a fucking test,” I said. “What do you do?”

“Umm,” he said, screwing his face up like he was thinking really hard. “I could eat him?”

“No, no, no,” I said, but not getting angry at all. “That’s an easy mistake, though, because that’s a very frustrating situation and a big waste of time. For you, first of all, you can’t eat the guy, because with those little pearly whites you could only like gnaw on the guy a little and totally piss him off, probably get arrested. For you, this is future stuff. But after the treatment, you still can’t eat the guy, as big a relief as would seem to be. Why is that?”

Percy’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t know, Bob.”

“It’s the first time I’ve talked to anyone from the company, Grasshopper. If I eat him, it’s like I’ve written off the whole company because one guy pissed me off, which makes no fucking sense at all. It’s what a real shark might do, but that’s why we don’t hire real sharks in Field Sales. So, before I eat the guy, I try to put him at ease, get him talking about his situation, like I’m his friend and I’m here to help him. Fucker!” I shouted, running over some chick who was trying to cross the street. “Find out the name of his boss, other people in his department, other departments that might need some human-shark-hybrid services. Perce, I’m talking to you here!” Percy was turned around in his seat, looking back at the chick I’d just run over. “But there’s a right way and a wrong way to ask the question, you know? How would you ask about other departments, Percy? Pretend I’m the guy, and you’re trying to ask me about other departments.” You got to do the roleplaying things before the treatment, because afterwards you’ve got like zero ability to identify with the other guy.

“Um. So, Bob, what other departments in your company do you think might need some human-shark hybrid services?”

“Wrong!” I sing, swerving around another pedestrian, for Percy’s sake, so he won’t get distracted. “You say, who heads up your Collections department? Collections always wants to talk about human-shark hybrid services, believe me. That kind of seeds the conversation, let’s him know what you’re looking for. Gets the guy involved in helping you. Also, the longer he talks to you, the more he’s going to start to get scared of you, the more he’s going to want to do you favors so you won’t eat him. Don’t ever discount the importance of that,” I said, taking a left through speeding traffic into the parking lot. “A client who’s afraid you’re going to eat him is the best kind, because he’ll like do anything to keep you from, you know, eating him. One thing, though, and it’s absolutely crucial.” I pointed a finger at him so he knew I was serious. “Don’t threaten. Can you ever imagine me saying, ‘get me a purchase order or I’ll eat you?’ ”

“Um, well, kind of, Mr. Selacchi. To be honest.”

I shook my head. “Not my style, Percy. He’s going to know I might eat him from the moment we shake hands. I’m a predator, Perce, and predators don’t threaten. Prey threatens. And which do you want to be, Percy?”
Percy was silent for a little while, then he mumbled something so quietly I couldn’t hear him. “What’s that, Perce? I couldn’t hear you.”

“Predator,” he mumbled.

“I still couldn’t hear you, Percy!”

“Predator!” he said, just a little louder than normal.

“That’s how food talks, Percy!” I shouted, so loud the rear-view mirror shook. “If you want to be a predator, Percy, let me hear you roar like one!”

“Predator!” he squealed, as loud as he could.

I nodded admiringly. “That’s the fucking spirit, Perce!” I laughed. “OK, school’s out, let’s go sell some sharks. I’ll let you lead the conversation, but if it comes to eating anybody I’ll take care of it.” My stomach growled. “When it comes to eating anybody, right? Now, what are you going to be?”

“Predator!” he squealed again.

“Totally fucking adorable,” I said, pinching his cheek. “You’re so cute, I could just eat you up. Let’s go.”

“I’m part shark,” I say.

“Yeah, you’re a killer!” they say, and clap me on the shoulder, viz., thinking that I’m speaking metaphorically. Then I clarify that I’m literally part shark, which I do by biting off their hand. “Aagh!” they say, or words to that effect.

Even when they understand that I’m being literal, people have these funny ideas about how I got this way. Just so it’s perfectly clear, I am an engineered human-shark hybrid. I came out of a lab. Not like that action-film star whose mother was accidentally impregnated while surfing. I volunteered for this.

Lots of people have the impression that I’m one of those amphibious assassins from that experimental DARPA-Navy program. False. Many of the techniques they used on me – shark collagen implantation, behavioral training, the dental work – were pioneered at DARPA, but I’m actually with the startup that got to commercialize the tech, Sharkitectonics Inc .

I’m in Sales.

You see, there’s this management jargon around “dogfooding” your own products, meaning that companies should use the products that they sell. I don’t get the metaphor, personally, because do the marketing guys at Purina eat a lot of Puppy Chow, after all? And Purina seems to do pretty well. I don’t know, maybe they do eat a lot of Puppy Chow, who knows.

Not me, though. I prefer it when my food is actually cussing, fighting me off.

So anyway, my CEO went to some management seminar in, like, Acafuckingpulco, and came back raving about eating our own dog food, and, lucky me, Ed, VP of Sales sits right outside his door. “Hey, Ed!” CEO yelled to my boss. “One of your people need a little injection of the old killer instinct?”

Seconds later, probably, my phone rang. Internal call, CEO’s office. “Bob, we’d like to make you a really interesting offer. Completely volunteer basis, no obligation, you can totally say no,” said my CEO, meaning, “Do this or you’re fired.” So after eight weeks of almost-not-agonizing shark-collagen implantations, four weeks on an IV drip recovering from a totally survivable engineered viral infection to augment my previously human-normal DNA, three days of training in the capabilities of my new physique, and a half-hour overview of my new ethical obligations as a predator living among herd mammals, I returned to my cube and headset with a specially-designed set of quarterly goals and incentives for making them. Savory incentives.

Did I mention the dental work? Ninety-two straight hours of dental work, all of it covered at 80% reimbursable under the corporate dental plan. Ed, my boss, even picked up the 20% deductible out of his own personal expense account. He’s a prince of a human being, my boss.

He used to be a prince of a human being, I mean. A little stringy, maybe.

My first day back to work after all the surgery was great, everybody really appreciated it that I’d gone the extra mile for old Sharkitectonics, yessiree. They always told me so. “That’s great, Bob, really great. Can I use you the next time my guy at Oracle asks me for a reference? Thanks!” Jeff backing away while he spoke, arms kind of fending me off, maintaining eye contact the whole time. It bugged me at first, the whole fear thing, but then I really started to enjoy it. I used to need a couple cups of coffee just to get through the afternoon; after the operation, though, I would just take a quick walk down the hallway, terrifying my coworkers with my two-hundred-tooth smiles. Mmm, tasty.

Except for Jan and Jean, the porpoise girls in Payroll, though. They weren’t literally porpoise girls, of course, no implants or nearly-fatal engineering substitution viruses in their generation of the tech. Just behavioral conditioning. I’d never noticed any difference before the procedure, but it got pretty hard to pretend I didn’t notice how differently they treated me once I got back. First day, in fact.

“Jan, now that I’m back, I — hey, can you sit still for a moment?” Jan was backing away, hiding behind chairs, tables, stuff like that.

“Sure, Bob, no problem,” she called out in her squeaky voice. “What’s up?” she said, hiding behind a torchiere lamp about twenty feet down the hall.

“OK, but this isn’t helping me feel like a productive member of the Sharkitectonics team, though,” I said, following her down the hall past Jean’s office. I sort of saw Jean’s head perk up as I passed, but I didn’t really notice until she ran up behind me and rammed me in the small of the back with her head.

“Ow! Jean, what the fuck?” I said, turning to see what the hell had just happened.

“Oh, nothing, Bob,” she said, hiding in Patrick’s office with only her head sticking out.

Then fucking Jan ran up and rammed me right in the spine with her head. Right below the dorsal fin, which is getting sore already from all the chafing under my shirt. “Fucking hell, Jan! What is with you guys today?”

“Oh, nothing, Bob,” said Jan, cowering behind the shredder. “Something I can help you with?” I can only see her from, like, the nose up.

Bam! “Aagh!” Now it was Jan again with her head, but I was catching on. It was th porpoise conditioning, Jean and Jan collaborating to drive the predator, me, out of their territory. Which is fine for porpoises in the ocean, but sucks when it’s half of the Payroll department driving you away when you’re just trying to get your mileage reimbursement straightened out.

But sharks are great can-do people in this kind of situation. “Jean, I just want to get my mileage straightened out. Ow! It’s thirty-seven cents a mile, fuck! Isn’t it?” I inched closer, holding out my mileage check.

Jean can’t resist it, reaches out a hand to look. “That’s right, Bob, let me take a look.” She reached out her hand for the check.

As soon as she got close enough, I ate her. Jan screamed and ran away, but then, that’s the brilliance of the porpoise defense strategy. One on one, they were no match for me, but when they teamed up, one of them was always able to escape to propagate the species. In this case, Payroll people.

Once I had this figured out, I just had to keep my Payroll personnel consumption at replacement level or below, to be careful not to eat them faster than they could hire or breed more, and eventually I got my mileage reimbursement straightened out.

That’s the benefit of my human side – planning like that, figuring things out. Regular shark would have just eaten everybody in Payroll, you know?

Episode I: Wal-mart doesn’t understand me

I needed some AA batteries for my radar detector. I could go to CostCo or Home Depot if I wanted a package of fifty, but I didn’t want a package of fifty, so I went to Wal-mart. Also, Wal-mart’s parking lot was a right turn from my office, which meant I wouldn’t have to wait for a traffic light. I have to keep moving or I get short of breath.

“Welcome to Wal-mart. Can I help you find anything today?” It was this guy my dad’s age or older, just inside the door, wearing a little apron. He was polite and seemed harmless, but I was feeling a little peckish, so I ate him. That caused a bit of a ruckus. People screamed and ran away, which is really stupid because it totally sets off my pursuit reflexes. I would have chased them down and eaten them, too, but I remembered what I had come in for. AA batteries, for my radar detector. I’m a human-shark hybrid, but that doesn’t mean I have to act like a shark all the time. I have some self-control. Plus I wasn’t all that hungry anymore.

It turned out that AA batteries were in Aisle 37, which is a lot of fucking aisles, if you ask me. It took way too long to find them, and I almost regretted eating the guy who wanted to help me. Except I never regret anything; shark, you know. No one else would help me, either. I guess they thought I didn’t want any help, or maybe it was all the blood and gristle on my shirt.

Or the fucking remora on my back.

Jesus, I hate those things. As soon as I noticed it I yanked it off – Aisle 23, Harry Potter books and tie-ins, like I need that – left it flopping on the floor, but before I knew it there was another one hanging from my chin. Only so much I can do. Sometimes I think this human-shark-hybrid thing wasn’t ever fully thought through.

Finally found the AA batteries and headed for the registers. They have way too many registers, like twenty or thirty, and only put clerks at two or three of them. There were lines at all of them, including express, and I hate standing in line. I get very restless. People have commented on this, how when I have to stand in line I get all fidgety, start walking back and forth, looking pretty edgy, short of breath, you know. Shark. Not the kind of guy you want standing behind you in the express lane, you know, especially if you have too many items. Apparently I make people pretty uncomfortable, I understand, with the fidgeting.

And then I eat them, which makes it all worse. But at least all the lines get shorter. Like the express lane at Wal-mart, where everybody just runs away after I eat the grandmotherly type who had at least twenty-five items in her cart, you know, for the express lane. I’m not even exaggerating. The girl at the register ran away, too, so I was getting really frustrated. Like, I just want to pay for a couple of AA batteries, and look what they put me through. Retail has just gone to the dogs.

So I’m just standing at the register, waiting for someone to come take my money, and I realize, What I am doing? I’m like, a shark. Well, partly. And what kind of shark stands around the express lane like some pussy, waiting for someone to come take his money? Fuck this, I say to myself, and head out of the store. Then there’s this, like, whinnng, sound, and I feel this sharp pain in my mouth. There’s a tooth broken off in there. So it’s crap, they shot me, part of the game, I guess, but with a fucking BB gun? Cause that’s what it feels like. I see this security guard waving this little toy pistol around, but he’s like fifty away and it’s just totally not worth the effort. I just ate two people, I’m barely hungry at all, and I still have my AA batteries. I head on out to my car. I pop out the old batteries, pop the new ones in. Bleep, bleep, bleep, I’m in business. Watch out, Smokey, here I come.

As I pull out of the parking lot, I probe the gap in my teeth with my tongue. The new tooth is already edging down into place.

Cool.