Victor licked the salt off his fingers from the food court french fries. It was early afternoon, and the mall was buzzing with activity; Children squealing, parents pretending not to notice, high schoolers wandering.
Michael was on another of Victor's lessons. They'd started off the day with rule two: a leader takes care of himself. Victor had told Michael to dress in fitness attire because they were going to the gym. Victor had proclaimed that it is of absolute importance a leader takes care of his body because he can only lead as well as his health allows.
Upon arriving at the gym, Victor was astounded to find that they had terminated his account six months prior. Victor argued with the young front desk worker until she showed on the screen that the only times he had been in the gym was to sign up and cancel. "You really shouldn't be tracking that type of stuff," Victor said as he stormed out. He complained to Michael about the lack of privacy all the way to the mall.
Instead of showing Michael how to keep his body healthy, he decided they would do the opposite; eat enough junk food to see how bad it would make their bodies feel.
"This stuff is really awful for you," Victor slurped his empty cup and stood from his chair, "Want a refill?"
"I don't think they do refills."
"That kid's twelve, I think I can talk my way into a refill." Victor signaled to Michael to look at his pocket, where he was rubbing a five-dollar bill between his fingers. "I think he'll budge."
Michael wanted to point out the drinks were a dollar but instead handed him his cup and said, "Coke."
Michael watched as Victor slid the money to the short chubby high schooler behind the counter. The kid removed an earbud and gave a questioning look before sliding the bill to his pocket. Victor gave Michael a nod as the kid gladly filled up the drinks.
When he got back to the table, he sat in the chair directly beside Michael. "We'll revisit this lesson in a few hours when our bodies have begun digesting the food. For now, let's move on. I assume you read the section I asked you to? This one's important. Show no fear and take care of yourself has all been about your individual qualities. Target poor people is the first lesson about others."
Michael nodded he'd skimmed through the chapter the previous night. He did his best to pick out key points in between Victor's ramblings of how he was not a poor person.
"Did you find anything shocking?"
"Well, yes. I don't mean to impose, but isn't the Bissett Academy the most expensive private school in the region?" Michael inquired.
"Ah yes, twenty-thousand a year." Victor smiled, proud. "It is seven thousand more than anyone within a hundred miles."
"Doesn't that contradict the lesson?"
"No." Victor was smiling bigger than Michael thought necessary. "We'll come back to that." He placed a hand uncomfortably on Michael's shoulder, "Look at that family." Michael looked across the food court, where Victor had gestured. A lady was sitting with her husband. Next to their table was a stroller strapped with shopping bags. "Is she wearing clothes?"
Michael coughed on his coke and wheezed out a, "Yes," between coughs.
"Do you see the bags?" Michael nodded. "She has clothes, and I would bet my inheritance; she has plenty of more clothes at home. Yet she has four plastic bags of more clothes strapped to her stroller." Victor paused as he gave Michael a smirk as if he had solved a great puzzle.
"She's at the mall. She's shopping."
"Exactly!" Victor said excitedly. "She came here today to buy items she does not need. Do you know why?"
"Because she wants clothes?"
"Because she wants to present an image of herself to the world." Victor turned towards Michael. Their faces were uncomfortably close. "Poor people spend their money to create outward appearances of wealth."
"Bissett academy is 60,000 a year though, poor people can't afford that."
"No, they cannot. So that's why we target them. We have close to a thousand students at the school ages six to twelve." He took a sip of his soda. "The typical student pays 5,000 a year, or 550 a month. Some students pay the full 60,000, and those students are from the wealthiest families, but most of our students are poor. We offer fake scholarships to target poor people."
"Doesn't that lower the prestige of the school?"
"Hardly. The parents who have children on scholarships are willing to brag to their social circles about their child's prestigious school. We give them the ability to brag. They'll be quick to mention the 60,000 tuition, and slow to disclose that they are paying only a fraction of it. It's all about appearances Michael. We are profitable for the same reason clothes keep selling; outward appearances." He stood from his seat, "Let's have a stroll around the mall, I'll show you a few things."
Michael followed Victor back to the chubby kid at the counter. "We'll have two cinnamon rolls to go."
The kid typed it into the register. "That'll be six-fifteen."
"I don't believe it is." Victor nudged Michael. "I believe you took five dollars from me on a free refill. You wouldn't want me to have to talk to your manager, would you?"
Michael cringed as the kid's face turned pink. He begrudgingly slid open the display and crammed two cinnamon rolls into a small sleeve.
"Nothing comes without a cost." Victor smiled as they walked away from the stand.
Victor paraded Michael around the mall, showing Michael the various scams stores ran to attract poor people. "This isn't a sale! This is a markdown to slightly above the price they need to sell it for." He commented loudly inside a jewelry shop before promptly getting asked to leave. They went from shop to shop as Victor huffed and laughed at the various items individuals were purchasing, and the scams he believed were in place to sell them.
After several hours of wandering, Victor finally told Michael the lesson was complete. They walked through the sliding door exit and were hit by a wave of early summer heat.
"Sir, would you like to buy a ticket?" Michael turned to see a greasy man holding a jar and a roll of red raffle tickets. His mouth and nose were covered by a white medical mask.
"No thank y—"
"What do you win?" Victor pushed himself in front of Michael and didn’t even try to hide the look of disgust when he saw the man.
"It's an all-expense-paid week-long vacation. The profits go to charity." The man rubbed his hands through his greasy hair, "It's only one dollar a ticket..and we've only had a handful of people buy today, so the chances are good."
"No thank—"
"He'll take one hundred." Victor stepped back, allowing the greasy man and Michael a chance to look at each other in shock.
"I don't want to."
"He doesn't have to."
"Sure he does, I pay his salary. He can afford it." Victor gestured Michael to pay the man.
Michael opened his wallet and pulled out a twenty.
“This is all I have.”
Victor opened his own wallet and handed Michael two more twenties. “He’ll take sixty. I’ll take the forty from your paycheck.”
Michael gave Victor a questioning glance to make sure he was really supposed to make the purchase, then handed over the money.
"Just write your contact information here."
They stood in silence as the man carefully counted out five hundred tickets. "Thank you so much, God bless and good luck," the man gave a short bow as they turned to find their car.
Once inside, Victor let out a laugh he'd been suppressing since Michael had paid for the tickets, "There's no vacation!" He laughed.
"Why did you make me buy sixty tickets?" Michael was frustrated but figured his father-in-law would pay him in the long run.
"To show you that there isn't a vacation. You bought sixty tickets, there were maybe ten in that jar. If there were a vacation, you'd win it. He's selling a feeling of hope. One of the greatest ways to sell to the poor!"
The greasy-haired man watched as the sucker's car pulled out of its space. He was slightly disappointed that he didn't have to use the sales pitch he'd been rehearsing the entire morning. He was confused as to why they'd purchased so many tickets. They hadn't even been told anything about the trip. Sometimes things are just extraordinarily easy, he concluded.
"Excuse me, sir, what's your raffle for?"
He turned to see a lady pushing a stroller that had several plastic bags hanging off the side. Her husband was trudging behind her.
"The raffle just ended." He frowned and turned away.
"I'll buy ten tickets." she blurted out.
"Sorry," he opened the jar and dumped the tickets into the trash, "The raffles over."
The greasy man clutched Michael's contact slip between his fingers.
Oh, the fun is about to begin.