For the record, I have no idea quite what this is. It’s supposed to be intentionally funny; it might be drivel. (Wow, I think my work is drivel -- I’m finally a real writer!) Either way, it was fun.
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He didn’t mind the childish nickname -- “Slick.” For in the decal-applicator industry, it was a compliment –- a reference to the fact that Dirk Thackery had the ability to virtually eliminate air bubbles from his projects. He’d stumbled into the business six years earlier, through a friend who was working the Burger King window circuit. After one too many “99 cent Whoppers” appliqués, Dirk decided to make his move up to some of the larger corporate clients. Pringles, Mr. Goodwrench, Compaq -– Mr. Thackery had soon made a name for himself that somehow “stuck.” The spotlight was thrust upon him, and his competitors had to face the music: When it came to the professional application of vinyl graphic emblems, Dirk Thackery couldn’t be rivaled. To borrow a term from the world of golf, he had the “Tiger factor.”
However, like any teen movie from the 80’s, things soon soured. And after the bottled water debacle of ’98, none of the industry insiders thought Dirk could bounce back. Dasani cried incompetence. Slick claimed that the water mogul had settled for an off-brand application gel. “I’m not a magician, gentlemen!” was one of his finer moments in the trial. He won, but not without the damage to his career in place. A high-profile lawsuit is the death knoll for a decal applicator -– you might as well be back in grade school, slapping Dole banana stickers on the side of a fridge.
He scrounged around for a couple of years, taking decal gigs that he would have laughed at only months earlier. Local pizza trucks, used dune-buggy storefronts –- things anyone with half an imagination and a book of dime-store stickers could do.
Then in 2000, in a move so gutsy that it can only be contributed to bleeding raw ambition or pathetic desperation, Dirk tried to re-invent himself by applying for the piece-de-resistance of decal jobs, the untouchable: the world of NASCAR. Somehow, he got the job. The fates of corporate hood decals had smiled upon Mr. Thackery.
It was a cut-throat business, and at first his rookie status stood out. His hood murals had more bubbles than a Lawrence Welk finale. But he persevered. He became the sponsor logo, the way DeNiro plunges himself into a role. For he knew that what made the difference between a good NASCAR decal-er and a great NASCAR decal-er was something intangible. You have to care about the sticker -– care about perfection. And he had been around the biz long enough to understand that vinyl positioning was everything -– a 90 degree rotation is all that separates the Nike swoosh from a retro candy cane.
In the end, his ambitious move paid off. Dirk moved up the NASCAR hood ranks: Mr. Bubbles, Doritos, and finally, the top of the heap –- Tide. And on a more personal level, he met a cute little sponsor rep that “adhered” her way right into his heart. Ten years later, “Slick” is still the best. Oh sure, besides the admiration of decal industry insiders, there’s not much fame or glory in his field of work. But it makes no difference to him. He’s not out for prestige. He’s just a man. A simple man. A simple man with a water-soluble sticker -- looking for a good hood. And at the end of the day, his precious daughter, Neutrogena, thinks he’s a hero. And that’s enough for a guy like Dirk Thackery.
1. Clowns -- Exceptions: Ronald McDonald and Bozo
