Sales Resistance

When Consumption means prosperity, when the Pulitzer Prize is awarded to advertising copy, when the Salesman is the most respected citizen in the land.... What chance has a non-consumer?
On his way home from the concert, Perry Mansfield whistled a pleasant melody from an old Stravinsky classic. But then, troubled by his conscience and that of his psychiatrist, he stopped to study the program again.
What was that modern symphony? Oh yes, The Flivver . The music was supposed to have its roots in antiquity when someone started converting the metal wealth of the earth on an assembly line. Those screeching noises were drill presses and lathes and automatic hammers. The syrupy melody was the saintly salesman who disbursed the wealth of gadget and machine like melted butter across the bread of the land.
Perry tried to like it. But he didn't. And that disturbed him. It meant his psychotherapy wasn't working. Dr. Stone would run him through the mechanical analyzer again and scold over the results.
His simple act of walking home instead of riding an anti-gravity putterseat labeled him as a misfit. But it seemed silly to rent a flying stool just to travel two blocks.
The fact was, he liked to walk.
Perry sighed, discouraged, as he waited for the fluorescent scanner to identify his insides and open his front door.
It opened. The lights came on. Recorded music, somewhat tuned to his mood, poured from concealed amplifiers.
And then he noticed the note clipped to the door.
His hand trembled as he took it down. The beautiful pastel gray of the enclosing envelope was an anachronism itself, and therefore marked unmistakably its almost priestly origin.
The platinum engraved card inside said simply:
A Master Salesman has chosen you for his next call.