Life, 1912-07-18 · page 28 of 44
Life — July 18, 1912 — page 28: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a serialized short story (continued from page 1441) rather than a political cartoon. The illustrated scene shows the protagonist Bessel, an increasingly hostile man, confronting a department store employee. The satire targets **the abrasive, aggressive customer archetype**—a man who verbally bullies service workers (a subway guard, a floorwalker, a cashier) over minor inconveniences. Bessel's belligerence is presented as ridiculous: he insults people's intelligence, refuses directions, demands instant service, and threatens violence over a routine refund that takes ten minutes. The story appears to mock how entitled customers treat minimum-wage workers with contempt and profanity. The irony is that Bessel's aggressive behavior solves nothing—he still must wait, still gets no special treatment—yet he continues his tirade. The "five thousand dollar idea" presumably refers to whatever business scheme motivates his urgency, making his mistreatment of workers over trivial delays even more absurd.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
1444 A Five Thousand Dollar Idea (Continued from page 1441) baseball game——” or three circles with his cigar in his right hand, and Johnson discreetly withdrew, Bessel slammed down the papers on his desk and started uptown. He got tangled up in the subway crowd. “Step lively aid the guard, ap- parently looking at Bessel personally. Bessel turned on him. “You keep a civil tongue in your head; do you hear?” he chortled. “You dubs don’t know your business. I'll stand where I please. See?” “You'll stand where I put you,” said the guard. “T'd like to see you put your hand on me,” replied Bessel, with a sneer. And then began a series of vitupera- tive broadsides, each one delivered with the skill and experience that comes from long practise. Bessel not only told the guard politely what he thought of him, but he did it in the choicest. kind of Gotham language. This sort of thing was in a way a diversion. Bessel suddenly remembered that he had a credit slip in his pocket at one of the big department stores for some goods that he had paid for and which they could not deliver. He got off the » and walked through a long block to the crowded department store. The first man that he sighted in this sea of human beings was a tall floorwalker, prominent with his Adam's apple and his frock coat, the signs manual of all conventional floorwalkers. “Where do I get the money on this?” asked Bessel “Up in the balcony,” replied the floorwalker, scarcely glancing at the paper. Bessel went up in the balcony. “Where's your credit department?” he asked the first girl he met. “Right in back in the rear down the main floor.” “I suppose you think you know,” said Bessel. “Do you know anythin at all? I was told to come up here. Just then he caught sight of another floorwalker. “Look here!” he roared. “You “BPE = tell me where to get this slip cashed, and you tell me quick! I don't pro- pose to be caromed around this place any longer.” The floorwalker began to point: “You go down these stairs, and then you turn—” “IT don't believe you know any more about it than anybody else in this josh house,” said Bessel, with a sneer. The floorwalker was on his dignity. “You might wait until you get the full directions,” he said, stiffly. “ And you might keep a civil tongue in your head, considering the fact that you are getting about cight dollars a week,” replied Bessel. “There is the sign,” continued the floorwalker, pointing to a colored sign down below, “where it says ‘refund’ You see?” “You're a first-class dub all right,” replied Bessel, as a parting shot; and he started off to the refund counter. There he had to stand in line for about three-quarters of a minute, which didn’t improve his temper. He finally got near a medium-sized blonde, who sat back of a wire cage. “T want the moncy on this,” he s: thrusting in the paper. The girl looked at it. “Tr'll take about ten minutes.” “What!” “Ten minutes.” “What do you think I am?” roared This is a fine bunch of fool- Why should 1 spend my val- uable time here? You get that cashed for me right off the bat, or I'll clean up the whole place.” “Can't do it any sooner,” replied the girl, wearily. “You can complain to the ” Bessel grabbed up the paper, and, furious, started through the crowd. His first thought was that he would ro up to the superintendent. Then he looked at his watch, and went out into the street. He got on an uptown car. his fare. “Give mea fer. He paid ty-ninth Street trans- » Fifty-ninth Strect transfers,” Feplied the conductor, “What do you mean?” “What I say.” Then the conductor, who had a face about the color and specific ‘avity of a well-cooked lobster, said: “You might throw away that cigar.” “Oh, LT might!” replicd Bessel. “Well, I’m not taking anything from a cheap skate like you. I'll get you fired all right.” “T'd like to see you try it.” “Well, you wait. This fusillade was kept up until Bes- sel got off the car. He walked along the street in the direction of the board- ing house, where his sister w s located. It was a charming day. The air (Continued on page 1451) HIS FIRST POCKET comicbookseom