I sat in my 4th floor office at the Taft Building on the corner of Hollywood and Vine. The day was sweltering and the 1927 building felt like a sweat box. Through the western wall, I heard the Singer sewing machines from the Mother Plucker Feather Company as seamstresses made pillows and angel costumes. Through the opposite wall, salesmen from the chocolate-covered potato chip company pitched their dreck to local markets.
I worked as a phone salesman for a vinyl record pressing plant. My job was to contact record companies to procure their vinyl pressing business. I committed myself to fifty phone pitches a day. This meant another hour of calls before I could go home. Sweat dripped from my brow into my eyes. I reached for a bottle of Fiji Water on my desk and took a long cool sip.