Текст книги "Catch the Wolf of Wall Street"

Автор книги: Jordan Belfort

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I plunged forward into my first years of adulthood. “Anyway, after I graduated from college, I decided to go to dental school, because I wanted to make lots of money. It's funny how ridiculous that seems now—that I thought dentistry would be a path to wealth—but I guess all that malarkey my mother had whispered in my ear when I was growing up had had an impact on me.” I shrugged. “In fact, I thought my only other option was to go to medical school, but becoming a doctor seemed like an insanely long haul. Between internship, residency, fellowship, it just seemed too far out of reach. And then I overslept for the MCATs, which pretty much sealed the deal. I mean, how was I supposed to tell my mother that I'd overslept for a test that she'd been waiting for the results from since I'd emerged from her womb? She would've been heartbroken!

“So I figured, as a good son, it was my obligation to lie to her, and I told her that I'd decided not to take the MCATs because being a doctor wasn't for me. I told her that dentistry was my calling.” I shook my head slowly, amazed at how I sealed my fate all those years back. “Anyway, we're now at the part of the story where the true insanity begins: my first day of dental school.” I smiled cynically. “You ever hear that old expression about all roads leading to Rome?”

Everyone nodded.

“Right—well, in my case, all roads led to Stratton, and I stepped onto the road on day one, which was orientation. We were sitting in the school's auditorium, a hundred and ten dental students, waiting to hear the first words of wisdom from the dean of the school. I remember this like it was yesterday. I was looking around the auditorium, trying to size up my competition, trying to figure out if everyone was as money-hungry as I was or if some of them were just there for the true love of dentistry, like to serve their fellow man or something.” I shook my head, as if my last few words defied logic.

“The room was packed—about half men, half women. The dean was standing up front, behind a cheap wooden podium. He looked like a decent-enough guy, in his mid-fifties and reasonably well dressed. He had a full head of gray hair that made him look successful, respectable, and very dental, at least to myway of thinking. But he did have this sort of grim expression on his face, like he could've been moonlighting as a warden in a state penitentiary.” Like you, Joel, you mangy bastard!“But, in spite of that, he still looked like a basically okay guy. So when he grabbed the mike off the podium, I leaned forward in my seat to listen.

“In a surprisingly deep voice, he said, ‘I want to welcome everyone to the Baltimore College of Dental Surgery. You all deserve to be very proud of yourselves today. You've been accepted into one of the finest dental programs in the country.’ And he paused, letting his words hang in the air. So far, so good, I thought. Then he said, ‘What you're going to learn over the next four years will assure you an esteemed place in society, as well as a life of reasonable comfort. So, please, give yourselves a warm round of applause, everyone. You sure as hell deserve it. Welcome, everyone! Welcome!’ and he lifted his mike in the air and everyone started clapping, right on cue.

“Everyone except me, that is. I was devastated. In fact, I knew it right thenthat I'd made a huge mistake.” I rolled my neck, trying not to let the memory upset me. “It was the way he'd used the word reasonable.It was a fucking hedge word, for Chrissake! That bastard knew—he fucking knew—that the golden age of dentistry was over, so he couldn't bring himself to say that we'd have absolutecomfort. Instead, he'd hedged and said reasonablecomfort, which is an entirely different thing.

“Yet, to my utter shock, when I looked around the room, no one else seemed worried. Everyone else was fine and dandy; they were all clapping their hands merrily—la-de-fuck-in-da!—andthey all had these expectant looks on their faces. The Dentists of Tomorrow! I'll never forget it, or at least I'll never forget the ironyof it, because while they were busy clapping, I was on the verge of slitting my wrists.” I paused and let out a deep sigh. With a hint of sadness in my tone, I said, “The truth is that I knew I'd made a mistake long before that. I knew it even as a kid.

“I mean, who was I kidding? I didn't have the patience to go through that much schooling!” I shook my head in resignation. “I was born with only half the equation: I was smart as a whip and had the gift of gab, but I lacked patience. I wanted to get rich quick; I wanted everything now. That was my downfall. And after making so much money on the beach all those summers, I had the taste of blood on my lips. I was like an accident waiting to happen. Like a high-performance race car zooming down the highway at two hundred miles an hour: Either I'd win the race or I'd crash and burn like the space shuttle. It could've gone either way.”

I compressed my lips and shook my head gravely. “Well, unfortunately, my instincts had been right on target. As soon as the applause died down, the dean put the mike to his lips and said, ‘I want to let you all in on a little secret: The golden age of dentistry is over.’ He nodded his head a single time. ‘If you're here simply because you're looking to make a lot of money, you're in the wrong place. So take my advice and leave right now, and never come back. There are better ways in the world to get rich; save yourself the heartache.’ Then he said a few more things, which blew right past me, because I was too busy looking for a fire exit. Then he twisted the knife in deeper. ‘Remember, your goal is to practice preventive dentistry. So if you practice your profession well, you'll be seeing less and less of your patients.’ And he started nodding his head, as if he'd just let out a major pearl of wisdom. Then he started talking again, although I was done listening. In fact, I was doing a bit of talking myself at that point, saying, ‘Excuse me, pardon me, excuse me…’ as I walked out of the auditorium right in the middle of his speech. I remember getting some funny looks from everyone, and I also remember not giving a shit about them.” I paused for effect. “That's how I became a dental-school dropout my first day. It was all the dean's fault. The only question was how to break the news to my mother.”

“That's terrible!” exclaimed the Witch. “She must've been devastated!” The Witch compressed her thin lips and stared at me menacingly.

Well, well, well! I thought. The Witch had a soft spot for my mother, after all! Apparently, my mother's goodness was irresistible. I said, “Yes, Michele, my mother would have been very upset if I had told her, which, of course, I didn't.” I shrugged my good son's shrug. “I mean, I loved her way too much to be honest with her. Besides, she was my mother, and I'd been lying to her since I was five.” I flashed the Witch an impish smile. “So why tell her the truth now, right, Michele?”

The Witch responded with no words, just two twitches of her nose.

Christ!I shook my head quickly, trying to rid myself of her spell. “Anyway,” I said, with a bit of a quiver in my tone, “I told my mother that dental school was going great, and then I hid down in Maryland for four months and worked out all day and laid in the sun. Baltimore's pretty nice that time of year, so the time passed quickly. I still had beach money left over from the summer, so I was living pretty well. In the end, I auctioned off my dental equipment to supplement things. All the drills and drill bits, the scalers, the gauze pads—they made us buy all this shit before we got started, so now I was stuck with it.”

Scratching his head, OCD said, “You really auctioned off your dental equipment? Seriously?”

I nodded. “You bet I did! In fact, I posted signs all over campus so I'd draw a good crowd.” I smiled proudly. “You see, Greg? I was aware of the importance of supply and demand even then. I knew that if I wanted to have a successful auction I'd need to have lots of bidders. So I advertised.” I shrugged another capitalist's shrug. “Anyway, you should've seen the auction; it was a real hoot. I held it in the dental lab, surrounded by beakers and Bunsen burners. Fifty or sixty kids showed up, most of them in their white dental smocks. I wore one of those blue plastic visors, like a bookie.

“In the beginning, they were all a bit gun-shy, so I played up the theatrics a bit. I started speaking really fast, like a true auctioneer would, and then things started to roll. ‘Okay, okay,’ I said quickly, ‘I got a beautiful high-speed hand piece, manufactured by our good friends over at Star Dental Labs. She's stainless steel, self-cooling, and spins at twenty thousand rpms a minute. She comes straight from the box, with a lifetime warranty. Just look at her– she's a real beaut!’ And I held up the drill for public inspection. ‘She's an absolute must,’ I said. ‘A must for any dentist who's serious about providing his patients with first-class dental care. Brand-new, she'll set you back nine hundred fifty dollars. Do I have an opening bid of two hundred dollars… Do I have two hundred… I'm looking for two hundred

“And some kid with a ferocious mop of red hair and horn-rimmed glasses raised his hand and said, ‘I'll take it for two hundred!’ to which I said, ‘Excellent! We have an opening bid of two hundred dollars from the very smart man in the white smock and horn-rimmed glasses. Do I have a bid of two-fifty now… I'm looking for two-fifty… Does anybody have two-fifty? Sweet Jesus! Come on, everyone! She's a steal down here! Remember, this drill is self-cooling and sprays out a jet of water to prevent heat buildup. It's state of the art all the way…’ And then some Asian girl with flawless skin and the body of a fire hydrant raised her hand and said in an eager voice, ‘I'll pay two-fifty!’ to which I said, Ahhh, we have a two-hundred-fifty-dollar bid from the lovely lady in white, who knows a bargain when she sees one. Good for you, young lady!’ And I went on and on until I had the whole room in a frenzy.”

I paused, catching my breath. Then, with great pride, I said, “I netted over three thousand dollars that day. And it was the first time in my life I felt like a true salesman. And I was good at it. My auctioneer's rap came pouring out of my mouth as if there was no tomorrow.” I smiled at the memory. “Toward the end of the auction, the dean came walking into the room, and he just stood there, staring at me. After a minute, he shook his head and walked away, too dumbfounded to comment. I'm sure it was the first auction at the Baltimore College of Dental Surgery, and I'm also sure it was the last. And it was a grand success, I might add.”

By now everyone in the room was chuckling, even the Witch and the Bastard. It was a good sign, I thought, so I decided to jump right into the insanity of the meat-and-seafood business: “What I failed to mention, though, was what inspired me to hold the auction that day.”

“You said you were running low on funds,” said OCD.

I shrugged noncommittally. “That had something to do with it, but it wasn't what was really driving me. What happened was that, a few days before, I received a phone call from Elliot, the Penguin. I was home at the time, lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, wondering what the fuck I was gonna do with the rest of my life. I was living in a tiny studio apartment, just outside Baltimore, and it had two pieces of furniture in it: the bed and a rotting tweed couch. The Penguin was living in Queens, and when he called me, he was in a very agitated state, almost out of breath. He said, ‘I found a way to make beach money all year ‘round. I'm working as a salesman for a meat-and-seafood company, and I'm clearing two-fifty a day in cash. They even gave me a company vehicle.’ I think it was the last part that shocked me most. ‘Really?’ I said. ‘They gave you a car? Jesus, that's amazing.’

“ ‘Yeah, it is,’ he answered. ‘And I can get you a job there if you want.’”

I thought back on the Penguin's words. “In retrospect, I should've realized that something wasn't on the up-and-up. Remember, Elliot didn't actually say they'd given him a company car. He said, ‘company vehicle,’ which is kind of an odd way to put it, you know? I mean, if you went to work at IBM and they gave you a car, you wouldn't refer to it as a company vehicle: You would say, ‘IBM gave me a company car!’ Still, the thought of making beach money all year ‘round was so enticing that I chose not to read too much into things. Before I hung up, I asked, ‘Are you sure they're gonna hire me, Elliot? I don't have any real sales experience.’”

I began chuckling. “You have no idea how ironic that question was.” I started shaking my head.

“What's so ironic?” the Bastard asked tonelessly. “I don't get it.”

“Well, companies like Great American Meat and Seafood– which was the name of Elliot's company—are alwayslooking for salesmen. The same goes for companies like Stratton Oakmont or Monroe Parker or Kirby vacuum cleaners or any other company that employs fast-talking commission-based salesmen.” I paused and took a moment to think back. Then I said, “At Stratton, we used to give our job applicants the mirror test—meaning, we would stick a mirror under their noses and wait for it to fog up. If it did,we hired them; if it didn't,it meant they were dead, which was the only reason we wouldn'thire them—unless, of course, they were already licensed stockbrokers. Then we definitelywouldn't hire them, because they knew too much. We wanted our brokers young and naive, hungry and stupid.” I shrugged. “Give me someone like that,and I'll make them rich, with no problem. But give me someone with brains and imagination—well, that's a bit more difficult.

“But, to get back to the story, I spent a few more minutes on the phone with the Penguin, listening to him chirp about how wonderful the meat-and-seafood business was. ‘It's all restaurant-quality food,’ he assured me. ‘Nothing but the best.’

“I mean, the whole thing sounded too good to be true, but I'd never known Elliot to be a liar. He was a bit gullible, maybe, but he definitely wasn't a liar. So I put aside my skepticism, packed up my 1973 Mercury Cougar, and drove up to New York to drop the bomb on my parents. It was February 1985. I was twenty-two at the time. I had my whole life in front of me.”

CHAPTER 7

THE BIRTH OF A SALESMAN

o you just picked up and left,” said the Witch, shaking her head back and forth.

“Yeah,” I said casually, “that's just what I did. And I had all my worldly possessions with me, which amounted to a suitcase full of dirty clothes and the shirt on my back. And, of course, I had the three thousand dollars I'd cleared from my auction.

“In retrospect, it still amazes me how easyit was to pick up and leave Baltimore. My studio was on a month-to-month lease, I had no furniture to speak of, and my financial obligations were basically zero. The only bummer was that I'd be living at home with my parents again, which I can assure you is no picnic. They were still living in the same two-bedroom apartment I grew up in, which was the same apartment I swore I'd leave after I struck it rich.”

I paused and scratched my chin thoughtfully. “In fact, they're still living in the same apartment today, in spite of all the money my father made at Stratton.” I shook my head in amazement. “Can you imagine? I mean, I even offered to buy them a house when things were rolling, but they didn't want to move. I guess you could say they're the ultimate creatures of habit.”

“So how'd you break the news to them?” the Bastard asked impatiently.

“Well, I figured it would be easier if they digested things in small chunks, so, before I left Baltimore, all I told them was that I'd dropped out of dental school; I didn't say that I landed a job as a meat-and-seafood salesman.

“I dropped that bomb on them in the living room, which was where all importantconversations took place. My father was sitting in his favorite chair, and my mother was sitting on the couch, reading a book. For some reason, I still remember what book it was– On Death and Dying.”I shrugged. “I don't know; my mother always liked those morbid books. My father, meanwhile, was busy watching his latest cop show and chain-smoking his lungs into complete oblivion.

“I took a seat across from my father and said, ‘I need to talk to you guys for a few minutes.’

“My father looked at my mom, and he said in a slightly annoyed tone, ‘Lee, will you turn down T.J. Hookerfor a minute?’ At that, my mother dropped her book and nearly ran over to the wall unit and turned down the Trinitron. That was the relationship between my parents, Mad Max and Saint Leah. The latter spent the better part of her day trying to keep the former from blowing an emotional gasket.

“I said to them, ‘Dentistry is not for me, guys. I gave it a full semester, and I know for sure now that I could never be happy as a dentist.’ That was a lie, of course, although I figured that if I told them that I'd dropped out the first day then they'd really be pissed. Either way, my mother was having none of it.

“ ‘I didn't think you'd be a dentist forever,’ she said. ‘I thought you'd open up a chain of dental clinics one day, or discover a new type of dental procedure. It's still not too late.’

“‘No, Mom; it istoo late. I'm not going back,’ and then I looked at my father for support. He was actually better in these situations. He loved a good crisis; they seem to calm him down somehow, even to this day. It was the small stuff that drove him crazy. I said to him, ‘Listen, Dad: I don't want to be a dentist. I want to be a salesman. That's what I'm cut out for, to sell things—’ And my mother popped off the couch and screamed, ‘Oh, my God, Max! Not a salesman! Anything but that!’ Then she turned to me and said, ‘Look what you've done to me already,’ and she lowered her head and pointed to a small patch of gray hair. ‘This is from when you cut tenth grade and smoked marijuana all day with that awful Richard Kushner.’ Then she pointed to a wrinkle on her forehead and added, ‘And this is from when you grew marijuana in the closet and said it was a science project! And now you're dropping out of dental school to become a salesman!’

“I was slowly losing patience with her. With a bit of edge in my tone, I said, ‘I'm not going to dental school, Mom, and that's final!’

“ ‘No, it's not final!’

“ ‘Yes, it is final!’

“And back and forth we went, until, finally, Mad Max stepped in. ‘Will you two stop it!’ he screamed. ‘I mean, Jesus!’ And he shook his head in disbelief. Then he looked at my mother and said, ‘He's not going to dental school, Leah. What's the use?’ And then he looked at me and smiled warmly. With a hint of a British accent, he asked, ‘What type of salesman would you like to be, son? What do you see yourself selling?’”

“Your father's British?” asked OCD. “I didn't know that.” OCD's tone dripped with surprise, as if someone had given him some very bad information.

“No, he's not actually British,” I replied. “He just speaks with a British accent when he's trying to act reasonable. That's my father's other persona: Sir Max. It's his lovable alter ego. See, when Mad Max becomes Sir Max, he puckers up his lips and speaks with a hint of British aristocracy. It's pretty remarkable, actually, considering he's never even visited England.” I turned the corners of my mouth down and shrugged, as if to say, “Some things simply defy logic and aren't worth pondering.” Then I said, “But Sir Max is the best. He never loses his temper. He's totally reasonable in all situations.”

“So what did you tell Sir Max?” asked the Bastard.

“Well, at first I hemmed and hawed a bit—talking about the possibility of selling medical supplies or dental supplies, something that would fit in with my degree. Then, as if it were an afterthought, I brought up the subject of Elliot Loewenstern and meat and seafood. My mother, of course, immediately began torturing me, using her own brand of Jewish guilt, which is your run-of-the-mill Jewish guilt mixed with passive-aggressiveness and sarcasm.

“‘My son, the meat salesman!’ she started muttering. ‘That's just wonderful! He drops out of dental school to peddle meat. A mother should only beso lucky.’ She added a few more choice words, and then the phone started ringing and Sir Max morphed back into Mad Max, and started cursing, ‘That motherfucking goddamn piece-a-shit phone! Who the hell has the gall to call this house on a goddamn Tuesday afternoon? Inconsiderate bastard! The fucking gall!’ And my mother jumped off the couch and ran to the phone like Jesse Owens, as she pled with my father: ‘Calm down, Max! Calm down! I'm getting it—I'm getting it!’ But Mad Max was still mumbling curses under his breath: ‘That rat bastard! Whocalls the house on a goddamn Tuesday afternoon?’”

With mock seriousness, I said, “My father reallyhated it when that phone rang! I'm telling you: Nothing drove him crazier.”

“Why?” asked OCD.

I shrugged. “For the most part, it had to do with my father being resistant to change. He hates it in any shape or form. In fact, for the last thirty-six years he's had the same address, the same phone number, the same dry cleaner, the same auto mechanic—he even has the same Chinese laundry service! And he knows all the owners on a first-name basis, so he'll say things like, ‘Pepe ^1*over at the dry cleaner said this, or Wing ^2*at the Chinese laundry said that, or Jimmy ^*over at the Sunoco station said something else.’ It's totally unbelievable.” I shook my head back and forth, emphasizing the point. “When the phone rings, it brings an unwanted stimulus into his environment, creating the potential for change. Whether the call brings good news or bad news doesn't matter to him; he flips out either way.” I shrugged again, as if this was just another expected happening at Chez Belfort. Then I said, “Now, under normalcircumstances, the worst thing my mother can say after she picks up the phone is, ‘Max! It's for you!’ But once Mad Max picks up the phone, he'll become Sir Max again, using his British accent. ‘Oh, how may I help you? Righty-o, then! Cheerio, my friend!’And he'll stay Sir Max until he hangs up the phone, at which point he'll turn right back into Mad Max again and curse his way back to his chair, then fire up another Merit.

“Anyway, when my mother answered the phone that day, it wasn't for my father. It was for me, and, of all people, it was the Penguin. So my father started muttering, ‘That cocksucking phone! It's always the same with it. And this fucking Penguin character! What rock did he crawl out from underneath? That stupid Penguin, waddling fool

By now we were all in hysterics. The Bastard recovered first. “So did Mad Max go ballistic about the meat business?”

“Not at all,” I replied. “The moment I hung up, I told them I'd landed a job as a meat-and-seafood salesman, which caused Saint Leah to start flipping out, which then caused Sir Max to reemerge.” I paused for a moment, then said, “No, my problems didn't start until the next morning, when the Penguin pulled up in front of my building in his company vehicle, which turned out to be a Toyota pickup truck. ‘What the fuck is that?’ I snapped. ‘Don't tell me this is the company vehicle you were talking about!’

“ ‘Yeah, ain't she a beaut?’ he replied, and then he popped out of the truck, dressed in jeans and sneakers, and he waddled over and put his arm on my shoulder. Then he stared at the truck and said, ‘Whaddaya think?’

“‘It's a real piece-a-shit!’ I snarled, and then I noticed a big white freezer box on the back on the truck. ‘What the fuck is that, Penguin? It looks like a coffin!’ I saw a trail of gray dry-ice smoke rising up from out of one of the corners of the box. ‘And what the fuck is that?’ I said, pointing to the smoke.

“Elliot flashed me a knowing smile, then he held up an index finger and said, ‘Here! I'll show you,’ and he went waddling over to the passenger side and opened the lid of the freezer box. ‘Check out the food,’ he chirped proudly, and he started pulling out boxes, one by one, and showing me the food. Each box was the size of an attaché case, and it had a different cut of meat in it or a different type of fish. And there was everything—filet mignon, shrimp, lobster tails, lamb chops, pork chops, veal chops, fillet of sole, salmon steaks, crab legs. He even had prepared foods, like chicken Kiev and chicken cordon bleu. I'd never seen anything like it.

“By the time he was done, we were literally surrounded by more than two dozen boxes, and I was more confused than ever. There was something bothering me, but I couldn't place my finger on it. ‘How do we get the restaurants to buy from us?’ I asked. ‘Are our prices cheaper? Do we have better food?’

“The Penguin looked at me deadpan and said, ‘Who said anything about selling to restaurants?’”

I looked at the Bastard and shook my head. With a hint of a chuckle, I said, “I think I knew everything right then and there, and all that came afterward was merely incidental. When I didn't run back upstairs and reapply to dental school, I sealed my fate.” I shrugged. “The next decade of my life—meaning, the very insanity of Stratton Oakmont—was now a foregone conclusion.”

The Bastard leaned forward in his seat, obviously intrigued. “What makes you say that?” he asked.

I thought for a moment. “Well, let's just say that, right then and there, I knew what I was getting myself involved in. I knew it was a”—I avoided using the word scam,not only because the meat-and-seafood business wasn't an outright scam but also because I didn't want my captors thinking of me as a career scam artist. Better they should view Stratton as a blip in an otherwise semi-law-abiding life—”bit of a hustle,” I said carefully. “Or maybe even morethan a bit. But I figured, since the food was so good, how much harm could I cause?”

I shrugged at my own rationalization. “Anyway, it was about a twenty-minute ride to the warehouse, and on the way Elliot explained the ins and outs to me. Everything was being sold door to door, either to homes or to businesses but never to restaurants. The food wasn't priced that way. ‘We sell at retail, not wholesale,’ the Penguin informed me. And while he didn't come right out and say it, he inferred that our prices weren't cheap. ‘It's all about convenience,’ he kept chirping. ‘We deliver restaurant-quality food right to their door. And we'll even pack their freezers for them!’ He kept repeating the last part, even called himself a professional freezer packer, as if that made up for the fact that he was overcharging everyone.

“Whether it did or didn't, by the time we reached the warehouse I had a pretty good idea of what was going on at Great American Meat and Seafood: There were no territories, no brochures, no existing customers to service, no salary of any kind; it was straight commission. ‘We're cold-calling machines,’ he chirped, as we pulled into the warehouse. ‘That's why we make so much money.’

“My job interview took place inside a ramshackle office at the front of the warehouse. It lasted eight and a half seconds, at which point I was hired. I hadn't heard of the mirror test back then, so I just assumed that I'd gotten the job because I was a friend of Elliot's. I didn't know they'd hire anyone with a pulse.” I shrugged innocently. “And then came the training program, which consisted of two days in a truck with Elliot. I sat in the passenger seat, observing, as he drove around aimlessly, knocking on people's doors, trying to sell the food. The rap he used was that he was a truck driver who had an overorder on his truck, and he couldn't get back to the freezer; so he was willing to sell everything at cost, lest the food thaw out and he lose everything.

“And, to support his claim, each box had an inflated price marked on it. As he was selling, he would point to the prices and say, ‘I'll take fifteen dollars off thisbox, and fifteen dollars off thatbox…’ and then he'd smile at his customer and add, ‘Hey, I'd rather sell everything at cost than let the food thaw out, right?’”

“He was outright lyingto his customers!” snapped the Witch.

I smiled inwardly. “Yes, Michele, he was outright lying to his customers. And I'll tell you that it definitely shocked me at first. It seemed totally sleazy, what he was doing. Totally slimy. But, of course, the Penguin had a rationalization for it. In fact, he had rationalizations for everything.

“We were somewhere on the South Shore of Long Island when I broached the subject with him. Elliot was behind the wheel, searching for ‘virgin territory,’ which was Penguinspeak for a neighborhood where no one had heard the pitch before. It was early afternoon, and I'd seen him do his spiel about half a dozen times so far, although he hadn't sold a box yet. I said to him, ‘I can't believe what a scam this is, Elliot. Are you sure this is even legal?’

“Elliot looked at me as if I'd just fallen off a turnip truck and said, ‘Look who's talking, you fucking hypocrite! Aren't you the guy who used to pinch the bottom of the ices cup to get extra scoops out of the barrel?’ And he expelled a gust of air. ‘This is no different, pal. Besides, people can't even get this food in the supermarket.’

“I shook my head and said, ‘Yeah, yeah, I understand that the food is great and everything, and I'm really happy about that, but it doesn't change the fact that you're a lying sack of shit!’ I paused for a moment, then added, ‘And as far as my pinching the bottom of the ices cup, I only did it because the cups were stacked upside down. So when I picked one up, it got pinched automatically.’

“ ‘Yeah, sure,’ chirped the Penguin. ‘It was all an accident. You could've stacked the cups right side up. No?’ He rolled his eyes at me. ‘Anyway, what I'm doing with the prices goes on everywhere. Seriously. Just walk into any jewelry store or electronics store and check it out yourself. Everyonedoes this shit.’”