Too Good to be True

         The old man slumped in his chair.  “I just don’t know,” he began slowly, keeping a half-closed eye on the fast-talking salesman.  “When I called that 800-number and said I wanted to learn more about your product I didn’t realize there would be so much pressure!”  He sighed and rubbed his forehead.

         “I have other appointments, sir, so if you’re not interested, I’ll be on my way.  You do realize this is the one and only chance you will ever have, don’t you?” the salesman pressed, preparing to leave.

         The older man grunted, removed his glasses, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.  “How do I know it will work,” he questioned, pointing at the salesman with the arm of his spectacles.  “You didn’t say anything at all about your Miracle Meds helping Parkinson’s patients until I said I have Parkinson’s.”

         “Well…uh…the Miracle Med line helps patients with…uh…whatever ails them.  It’s a…uh…a smart pill, yeah.  Different diseases create different chemical markers.  These pills contain receptors that can distinguish which of these markers are the strongest.  It absorbs into your blood stream and targets the strongest chemical markers.  Once they’re eliminated, the smart pill targets another, until there are no more left.  Soon, you’ll be living a disease-free healthy active lifestyle again.”

         The salesman’s last pitch was met with a groan.  “I think I’ll wait,” the older man concluded.  “If your ‘smart pill’ is so smart, it’ll come down the mainstream of medicine soon enough; I’ll catch it then.”

         “Sure…OK…fine,” the flustered salesman sputtered, “It’s your loss.  The Miracle Med Company doesn’t plan to market the pills to mainstream medicine.”  Exasperated, the man began packing his sales paraphernalia into his case, occasionally glancing at the old man to see if he would change his mind.

         “Excuse me for a moment,” the old man said, leaning his full weight on the edge of the table to get out of the chair.  The table tipped, sending several vials of pills scattering across the kitchen floor.  “Oh, dear,” he cried, batting a vial beneath the range with his cane.  “Let me help you,” he offered.

         “I’ll get them,” the irritated salesman insisted.  “You go and do…whatever it was you were going to do.”

         The old man hobbled towards the bathroom.  Once inside, he straightened his back and stretched his cramped limbs.  Winking at the stranger in the mirror, he stooped back over his cane and returned to the kitchen.

         “Did you get them all,” he asked.

         Latching the lock the salesman smiled, “Yes, I believe I did.  You’re sure this is your final decision?”

         “I’ll have to wait.”

         The salesman strode to the front door, “Good-bye, then, Mr. Ashton, and good luck.”

         The old man closed the door and waited until the salesman drove away before casting the cane aside.  Oh hands and knees, his cheek to the kitchen floor, he peered beneath the range.  “Ah-ha,” he exclaimed, grasping the vial, “let’s see what we have here.”

         He held the vial to the light and looked at the pink pills inside, waiting for his call to go through.

         “Hello, ContraCon Labs,” answered the familiar voice.

         “George, Ted here.  I have the merchandise.”

         “Excellent.  Bring it on in and we can begin testing.”

         Ted slipped the vial into his pocket and headed for his car, but not before grabbing his cane and getting back in to character.  “Don’t worry, Dad,” he said, eyeing the photo on his visor.  “Our tests will expose the truth about these snake oil salesmen!”  The engine roared to life and Ted backed out into the street, eager to keep the promise he’d made to his father.

         “Let’s get to work,” he urged, bursting through the ContraCon Lab doors.  “These con-artists have swindled the life-savings from too many older folks.  It’s time we show them up as the frauds they really are.”  He set the vial of pills on the countertop, scrubbed his hands, and donned a pair of latex gloves. 

662 words

         Based on the January 10, 2008 Writer's Cramp Prompt:  Write a story or poem about a new miracle medication available to the general public.

****Writer's Cramp Winner****

:::TO BE EXPANDED:::