"Heard you've got a sale on robots," Red-tie said, challengingly, as he stepped aside for his wife.
The woman who stepped off the elevator smiled, showing a lovely dimple, and Anson beamed on her. The tiny flake of a hat perched atop her auburn hair reminded Anson of the comb on a Rhode Island Red.
"Not robots, sir," Anson corrected diplomatically. "The Plasti-Cast Roboid is not exactly a robot."
"Well, anyhow, trot one out, and let's see what it looks like. Millicent will never be satisfied until she's seen one of the things." He glared dramatically in the general direction of his wife, who pretended not to notice.
Anson led them into the Gray Room. He mentally went over the applicable rule: Rule 23; Always introduce the marked-down merchandise first. It may provide the customer with an incentive for buying something better.
"These are last year's models," he said, with just the right flavor of distaste in his voice. "Of course, you may expect a slight reduction ... a small percentage...."
Red-tie was muttering. "Damned mechanical things, full of wheels and wires. What's to keep 'em from running amok and killing us all!"
"But dear, they don't have wheels anymore," protested the woman, timidly. Her face was pretty, Anson decided, but it was obvious that the man would be the deciding factor in this sale.
He made a mental note: Rule 31: Pick the individual of a family group who seems to hold the deciding voice, and SELL! He remembered a portion of a sales talk he had memorized a few days before, and took it up, almost chanting:
"... our Roboids are grown, much as crystals are grown, in great vats in New Chicago. A Plasti-Cast Roboid is guaranteed...."