Sales

Small concessions are made, inroads into your honor, until one day you sit wondering if you should use the death of a client to force a sale. Do you ship a post dated order with the dead man's name as a PO? The clock on the screen shifts from yellow to red, as the delay on this clients screen is noted by the computer's idiot brain. A tiny flag will appear on a report, ammunition angst you. You wonder what sort of monster you might just be. You spend the commission in your head. You think of how many bullets come out of the boss's arsenal if you close the deal. Then you work the essential math of conscience, "Can I live with this?"