Mark is a Stupid Name

I was just getting out of an important meeting with the owners of some pompous airplane company. They weren’t particularly interesting or important enough to be as pretentious as they acted, but I’d need an airplane and a rich, powerful friend one day. I figured laughing at a few bad jokes or pretending to actually care about these pathetic drips was a small price to pay. I shook a few hands, told a few lies, and flashed enough smiles to shame a dentist, but it worked. They’re completely invested in my cause, and a free private jet is being built for me right now. In retrospect, I really should’ve written that cause down or something, but I like to believe my talents really shine through when I work without a script.1

The echo of my shoes tapping against flawless marble filled the hall as I leisurely strolled towards the elevator. Briefcase in hand, I pushed the down button and waited for the elevator to arrive. You know, on second thought this place is pretty swank; perhaps I should get a job here. God knows I’ll be through with the interview before the poor guy will have a chance to think. It’ll be easy enough to get a pass card, override the security, gain access to the company’s online bank accounts, and launder until my blood turns green. I laughed slightly at my thoughts; what’s wrong with these people? They were so gullible. I almost felt bad for tricking them, but I certainly couldn’t help it if they were too stupid to see through me.2

The irritating ping of the elevator dragged me from me thoughts. I hurried to get on; I’d spent far too much time there. The doors began to close when a pretty, blonde woman sprinted to make it onto the elevator before it swallowed me into the wall. She gasped for breath for a few seconds and silently took a place beside me. Well, the situation had suddenly turned from a little nuisance to an adventure; a challenge. God, how I love women!3

I glanced at her momentarily and gave her a warm and friendly smile. She looked snobby, like she expected me to notice her. If I could’ve put her in a miniskirt and hand her a backpack and she would’ve been every girl I’d ever known in high school. She smiled back artificially and quickly got a look at my briefcase, which seemed to prove my worth to her for the time being. There wasn’t actually anything in my briefcase, but it helps very much to look the part you’re trying to play. In a woman like that, my best chance to get at her was to appeal to her vanity. It’s so typical, every women cares about how she looks, and the prettiest ones are usually the most insecure. Get one handsome catch like myself to look her in the eyes and tell her how beautiful she is and she’s nothing but putty in his hands. 4

However, my favorite kind of woman has got to be the emotional type. Talking to them is the more entertaining than watching husbands squirm while I seduce their wives. I’m able to let go of all restrictions and say the absolute, most ridiculous things I can think of, and they eat it up! Sometimes it gets so bad I have to bite my lips to hide my laughs through fake tears. If only all people were that stupid!5

The ping of passing floors rang through the elevator as I tried to begin my mission. “Hello, my name’s Mark,” I held out my hand for her to shake. 6

She looked at me wearily, like she wanted me to shut up and get away from her, “I’m Karen,” she said through a forced smile while placing her hand in mine. 7

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I noticed you’re wearing SUPERBRANDNAME shoes. They’re absolutely stunning on you,” I told her, the slightest of smirks on my face, “Then again, I’m sure you could make rags look beautiful.”8

She lit up.