Mission One: Selling a First Impression

I ran into my room to prepare for the first challenge: making a first impression on Sylar. Easy, cheesey, right? Wrong! My room was a mess; somebody had vandalized my belongings! I blame David Letterman (Why? Because he's just not funny.)

There was no time to start an investigation into the matter. The challenge was underway and the first rule of selling paper is watch out for the edges. But the second rule is always be on time.

Knowing Sylar, my manly 1950's duds would not do. I had to stand out. It was time for my make-over. I dialed a number on my phone and shouted orders, "Hurry, get over here to Sylar's mansion. Bring the Hair Care 2000 and extra towels!"

"Who is this?" the voice on the other end asked.

Moments after redialing the correct number and recommanding the correct Claire Bear, she was here. The process took roughly twelve minutes and suddenly I was stylin' with a nice tropical backdrop.

With my new look, I headed to Sylar and the other contestants.

As I walked past the contestants, I knew by their smell that I would win. They all smelled of skunk, every one of them.

They looked ghastly at me as I approached; many cupped their hand over mouth and nose, no doubt gasping in amazement at my surprising sex appeal. I even heard Elle say something like, "Noah, I never knew," or something about Peppy Le Peu.

But my sexiness alone was not my forte. Years as a paper salesman taught me how to close a deal with a first impression. I confidently sat my briefcase onto Sylar's coffee table as I took a seat in front of him.

"Mr. Glasses?" he asked.

"Hello, Gabriel," I replied clicking my case open.

"My name is Sylar!" he screamed, then calmly added, "ooh, did you, like, bring me chocolates and stuff?"

"Better than chocolates, ma'am. I have here the highest quality copier paper ever mass produced, better even than the hand-sheeted paper of the Polynesian Pygmies." I handed the cross-dresser a page of the fine material. "Have a sheet."

"No, thanks. I went earlier."

"How much would such quality cost, you ask? At Dunder-Mifflin, you'd have to take out a 2nd mortgage. But with Primatech's low-interest monthly finance plan and free bi-annual shipping on top of our already low prices, you'll save enough to send the kids to Harvard!"

He looked confused. "Um...what kids?" he asked.

Taking the opportunity to drop a subtle hint, I batted my eyelashes better than any nine-year old wonder-brat, flying post-pubescent alien-boy and electrifying boss's daughter every could combined, in a manner learned only through years of shooting people. As I displayed my lashes' dexterity, I answered him confidently, "Ours."

I could see he needed time to think my offer over. I had him right where I wanted. That puzzled look on his face, the wrinkled nose, it could only mean one thing: He was stunned by my impressive offer.

I nonchalantly set my card on his leg and rose. With a surefooted turn, I walked away. As I left, I could swear I heard him whisper, "Did he smell like skunk?"