To Be a Millionaire pt. 1

Fitzgerald Fillmore III wanted to be a millionaire.

That is, at least, what he informed every customer who had ventured into his successful and booming business. Most people tended to look at him as if he had instead told them, he'd always dreamed of being a rhinoceros. "Dude," one slouching teenager with a nose ring had drawled. "You're a car wash owner."

Fillmore had taken up a great offense at that statement. He was not just a car wash owner, he huffed, indignantly. He was the extraordinairy owner of the magnificent Quick Quack Car Wash: We Know You Need Us!

Fillmore had thought of that slogan himself, and as he now stood outside his shop, gazing up at the glistering neon sign embellishing his brick building, he couldn't help but feel a great burst of pride swell up inside. All memory of a certain punk kid with bad posture faded. "Perfect!" he declared. "I certainly knew how to make this business boom; ey, Bobster?"

Bobby, languidly dragging himself out of the station directly before Fillmore, rubbed his head. "But we haven't got anyone today, Boss."

Fillmore waved a dismissing hand in the air. "The day is still young!"

Bobby twisted his head back and peered at the sky a moment. "I think it's 'bout two in the afternoon, Boss."

"One forty-three, to be precise," corrected Fillmore, tapping his trusty watch. "But if they won't come to me, I'll come to them, ey? I'll stand on the street and wave in some unsuspecting customers!"

Bobby looked at him uncertainly for a moment, then shrugged. "If ye's say so." He eyed the empty street before turning and trudging back up to the station, muttering, "Not many people out today."

"It's a scorcher, that's for sure!"

The sun was bright and hot in the sky, chasing away any wisps of clouds, and burning the sky a deep, brillaint blue. Fillmore recalled hearing the radio weather forecaster announce the high today would reach a searing 98 degrees. Unfortunately, he could not remember the low.

He walked down the slope of the car washes' entrance, to the sidewalk bordering the empty street. Sweat was already beginning to dampen his hands and forehead, and he pushed up the sleeves of his dress shirt. "What an absolutely beautiful day!" he told the empty lot across the road. "A little warm indeed! But if a man wants to be a millionaire, there are some extremities he must accomplish."

And while standing in the heat was not exactly appealing, Fillmore would do it. To become a millionaire, one must be persistent, he thought. He was satisfied with that thought. It was a good thought.

He stared hard at the empty lot, feeling a great burst of passion swell up inside. "Do you know of a millionaire that became what he is today overnight? Oh no, my friend. He worked at it! He strove to have that title! He fought to have that money!" Fillmore felt his lips tingle on the last word. He loved the sound of money. He loved money.

Clasping his hands tightly together, he raised his eyes to the heavens. "Yes, that - that - is what I fight for daily! If only I may cradle in my loving hands those soft and tender bills, and hear the wondrous clanks of coins, ringing in my ears. It is my desire, the very yearning of my soul. But oh how, the road is long and weary... Money does not come easily and simply, but it requires great patience and perseverance. My customers are cheap and frugal people. They don't want the Queen Supreme, but the Squeaky Clean. They wish to have that extra five dollars. They are unwilling to help an aspiring millionaire."

Fillmore felt a great anguish arise in his soul. He spoke even louder, his voice echoing over the dry acres. "It is toilsome day after toilsome day, tedious car wash after tedious car wash, impatient customer after impatient customer. Yes, business booms, but after five months, I have scarcely made five thousand! There are expenses, there are components to be bought, there is a slow employer, there is this naked road few dare to venture, before me."

He shook his fist at that naked road. "But a poor and destitute childhood will not define who I am today! A millionaire is who I aim to be, and a millionaire is what I shall be! I am no longer a weak and frail child! Poverty shall not defeat me!"

There was no applause or standing ovation.Only silence rang in his ears.

The sun continued burning a hole into his balding head. 

A crow cawed as it flew overhead.

Fillmore lowered his hand.

He suddenly felt rather foolish.

A low humming sound caught his attention. He raised his head to see a gleaming black Maserati speeding towards him. Fillmore brightened. He pushed his discouragement away. Lifting his hands into the air, he waved his arms dramatically and began booming, "Come one, come all! Only fifteen dollars and thirty-eight cents for a Queen Supreme Clean that will make your beauty shine!"

As the car approached Fillmore noticed it's lustrous shine, and spotless windshield. His fingertips twitched. "No matter how lovely and beautiful your car may appear, our Queen Supreme will give it twice it's shine!"

He wondered if perhaps the driver could even hear him. But what did it matter? Advertisements did not wait to be heard. They simply did their job, and advertised.

"You do not want to miss your chance to enter this spectaculor and wonderful car wash that may change your life! -"

The car came to a screeching halt beside him, and Fillmore flinched, ears ringing. 

A sneering, dark face from behind the wheel leaned over to peer at him through the open passenger window. Black eyes scrutinized him cynically. 

Fillmore felt as if he were perhaps, about to be interrogated. He prepared himself.