Ends and means - Kevin Corfield

Andy Truitt never fell for that socialist crap his liberal professors spewed about the big “C” being a dirty word. Far from it. For Andy, capitalism was pure, inspirational, a canvas for greatness. But now that he was grinding at his own venture, there was no disputing that entrepreneurship was frickin’ hard. He knew it would be—he followed more than one ex-Navy Seal badass on Instagram who preached the true pathway to lasting rewards takes discipline and sacrifice. Andy had hearted nearly every one of the motivational videos he watched, which was as good as enlisting into a mindset in Instagram land.
 
Sacrifice wasn’t an issue. You don’t become an art major without acknowledging sacrifice as a mandatory part of your future. Andy accepted living in a crappy little studio apartment that was even smaller than the one close to campus he abandoned. So what if he was a little farther from the action and the stink from the Chinese restaurant dumpster in the alley wafted through his ground level window at night. The downsides added up to low monthly payments. And Andy needed to limit expenses. Besides, he had everything he needed for now: a full-size bed, a TV stand with a 42” Vivo TV for nightly entertainment, a two-seater couch should he one day have a guest, a small fridge and freezer, a stovetop (that he never used), a microwave (that he used often), kitchen sink, bathroom with a shower, and most importantly, a workstation for his MacBook Pro and a 27” monitor where he did his designs.
 
“Who’s complaining? Not us, right Fred,” Andy would say to his black-haired rescue on more than one occasion.
 
Fred’s purrs and hazy-eyed stares seemed to indicate agreement. Not a big meow-er, Fred was easygoing that way.
 
The art major side of Andy had planned for struggle. But what drove him, and emboldened his dream of creating an empire, was the double major business side of Andy. Data, business strategies, marketing plans, Andy knew what they meant and how to deploy them. Not that he was ready to join the Fortune 500 C-suite anytime soon, but he was way more business savvy than his art student peers at North Carolina State.
 
Former peers, actually.
 
That relationship ended when Andy only had six credits to go.
 
“Mister Truitt, I see a welder’s helmet, torch and gloves on a welding mat. But what I don’t see is the assignment you were given,” Professor Bartley scoffed. “Care to elaborate?”
 
Andy feigned contemplation, strands of wild unkept dark curls dangling down his forehead.
 
“It’s 3-dimensional white space,” Andy said.
 
His small band of fellow sculpture students laughed. Professor Bartley, the cool teacher who rode a vintage Indian motorcycle around campus, did not laugh.
 
“Uh-huh,” Professor Bartley said.
 
He got off his wooden stool and approached Andy’s sculpture project that was absent a sculpture.
 
“Very deep. Very thought-provoking,” Professor Bartley said, standing over the helmet, torch, and gloves on the welding mat.
 
He lifted his eyes to meet Andy’s. “And very lazy.”
 
The students nervously tittered—thankful that they weren’t Andy.
 
Perhaps there was a scrap of artistic sincerity to Andy’s approach, but truth is, he saw no value in spending another tick of the clock on an art form he had no intention of pursuing in any shape or form, so he didn’t.
 
An F grade followed. Followed by an F, with a you after it, delivered by Andy to NC State.
 
Pursuing a solo venture fit Andy. He didn’t have to kowtow to anyone. Or oversee anyone. But he still had resources. There were plenty of people online doing their own thing who could do their own thing for him—like manufacture the merchandise he designed. He’d create a T-shirt or hat design. Post it. Sell it. His online partner would manufacture and fulfill it. All Andy needed was a laptop, graphic design skills, and a pulse on what would be popular with the online shopping public.
 
Of course, Andy didn’t choose just any partner to manufacture his merchandise. There were standards that had to be met if he wanted repeat customers and word about his brand’s uncompromising values to spread. Quality, sustainable materials mattered. Craftsmanship mattered. Not having little kids in China slaving away and getting cramps in their little sweatshop hands mattered. Diverse workforces mattered. Political and charitable affiliations mattered. Every little nitpicking thing mattered to the generation he was trying to appeal to the most—his generation. So Andy did his research, no shortcuts, and found a print on demand shop in Portland, Maine to manufacture his goods—a shop he could confidently spotlight on his Ecommerce homepage. How can you not think pure, durable and responsible when you think of a small, independent shop in charming Portland, Maine? Andy thought. It automatically triggers images of do-gooder, hip workers in flannel LL Bean shirts and knitted beanies.
 
Andy promoted and sold his merch on all the social platforms that mattered. TikTok. Pinterest. Instagram. He sold on Etsy and Amazon Marketplace, too.
 
Sold is being generous.
 
The problem wasn’t where, to who or how, it was what.
 
What did people want?
 
For months, from mid-morning to late night, Andy sat before his screen at his workstation in pursuit of an answer to that question. A leaning tower of greasy pizza boxes rising from the wood floor next to him.
 
His media budget modest, Andy focused on students at the big three colleges in the triangle—NC State, Duke and UNC.
 
He designed merch with ironic witty sayings. Went deep into party school braggadocio. Explored D&D for the nerds. Dark and moody for the goths. Experimented with optimistic for the good little conservatives. He even succumbed to school spirit chants like, “Go Wolfpack.” But no matter what he served up, none of his merchandise took off.
 
What’s my “I’m With Stupid,” Andy wanted to know. Who’s my Hello Kitty character? Look at Supreme, he thought. What’s that other than a random word in a simple white font in a stupid red box. And it became a billion-dollar brand. How’d that happen?
 
If Andy didn’t tap into the zeitgeist of his generation soon, he feared he was going to have to get a job as a junior designer at some lame ad agency and sell his own merch as a side hustle. Becoming one of everybody else wasn’t an option for Andy. So what was it? What was he missing? What could his generation get behind?
 
Andy knew it was cliché, and he hated cliches, but it was time to think outside the box.
 
It came to him in the dark of night.
 
Fully formed.
 
Instantly, he saw an entire line of hats, T-Shirts, sweatshirts and stickers he could emblazon his new logo on. Like Supreme, it was simple. But two words instead of one.
 
Groggy, Andy reached for his phone on the end table next to his bed, jostling Fred from his slumber atop the comforter. He tap-tap-tapped his idea into an Email that he swooshed to himself so it would be there waiting for him when he woke in the morning.
 
Brenda Johnson interrupted regularly scheduled programming.
 
Before uttering a word, Brenda’s unsettled eyes whimpered that she didn’t have the breadth of experience to deliver a news report of the magnitude she was about to deliver. Typically, Brenda practiced laugh responses to witty banter before going on air. And rehearsed turning her head just so, chin a little raised, so viewers could swoon over her profile shot. On this mid-day Wednesday, there wasn’t time for any of her pre broadcast trifles.
 
“Reports are coming in of a mass shooting in the downtown area,” Brenda said to camera, a detectable quiver in her voice. “Many casualties are expected. The Raleigh Police Department urges residents to stay out of the area. If you live downtown, lock your doors and stay inside. The suspect or suspects are considered armed and dangerous and still at large. The event began at…”
 
Aerial footage from the station’s copter didn’t reveal much, other than an enormous police, paramedic and fire department presence on Fayetteville Street in the heart of downtown. The state Capitol building majestically standing at one end of the street lined with restaurants, bars and businesses, Fayetteville was easily recognizable.
 
The “event,” which is how Brenda continued to refer to the shooting, occurred at lunch hour when downtown was at its pedestrian peak.
 
Twenty-five minutes into the coverage, the station broadcast footage of a body covered in a white sheet being loaded into the back of an emergency vehicle. Not long after, Brenda cut away to a male colleague for eyewitness accounts.
 
“It happened so fast,” said a thin, dainty man who was waiting tables at an outdoor café at the time of the shooting. “I heard it--whop pop pop—and just froze. And then everyone started diving for the door to get inside.”
 
“He was running as he was shooting,” a shocked, still shaking young woman said.
 
“He was running?” the reporter asked.
 
“Yes. Like it was a drive-by, but he was running. He just ran across the street spraying bullets.”
 
“Did you see what he looked like?”
 
“All I saw was black. He was in black. Black everything. Head to toe. Just a black blur and he was gone.”
 
“There was nothing I could do,” said a traumatized, paunchy Latin man with dark red blood stains on his guayabera shirt. “I tried to shield her. There was nothing I could do.”
 
“This guy didn’t want to get caught,” a city sanitation worker said. “This wasn’t no death wish. He did what he came to do, shoot people up, and like that” he smacked his hands together, “he was outta there.”
 
Another eyewitness blamed it on President Biden, predictably. And claimed it never would’ve happened under Trump. The reporter moved on quickly and didn’t ask any follow up questions.
 
“It’s just so senseless,” an elderly woman said, a tremble in her voice. “Senseless. It makes no sense.”
 
The entire event lasted minutes at most, eyewitnesses attested. The shooter appeared. Fired off a round. Darted across the street firing off another round. Then kept shooting as he fled. It was more than enough time to devastate the community. By early evening, the confirmed dead neared double-digits.
 
“Oh the humanity, Andy said out loud, smirking.
 
Standing next to his workstation, he twisted his body side to side, stretching and loosening up his back. Then pushed his chin with his knuckles side to side to stretch his neck.
 
He’d been busy.
 
Andy aimed the remote at the TV and lowered the volume. Most of the news about the shooting was old news now. Keeping his eyes on Brenda, he eagerly admired her new blonde highlights. He thought it made her look a little sexier. Maybe even a little naughty.
 
“Me-ow. Right, Fred?”
 
Fred, curled up on the couch, had no comment.
 
His body stretched, Andy slid back into his seat before his laptop and monitor. He’d already done most of the design work leading up to this day, but he realized he could go even bigger. There were arm bands, flags, banners, even license plate holders he could add to his lineup.
 
Possibilities abounded, but there was a limited window of opportunity.
 
Crunch time.
 
Andy dug in.
 
Sometime past midnight, still at his workstation, Andy’s eyelids closed up shop taking him to darkness.
 
A purr from Fred didn’t awaken Andy, it was a ping.
 
First, a gentle ping.
 
Then another. And another.
 
As dawn turned to light, the pings became more rapid, one ping on top of another, evolving into a cacophony of pings.
 
Andy awoke, startled.
 
First, the confusion of having slept at his workstation.
 
Then, a widening grin as he realized the pings were coming from his laptop.
 
Jackpot.
 
Each ping represented a sale.
 
Andy slid his finger across the touchpad, stirring his laptop, which revealed two words in a simple bold font at the top of his merch site: Raleigh Strong. Underneath, images of T-Shirts, sweatshirts, caps and stickers bearing the Raleigh Strong logo Andy had created.
 
He quickly checked Google analytics.
 
The pings didn’t lie. Sales were good. Very good.
 
“Holy shit, Fred,” Andy said to his hazy-eyed friend, who had joined him atop his workstation to see what the scuttlebutt was about. “It worked.”
 
Andy shifted his attention to the closed closet door. A closet which barely had enough space for his utilitarian wardrobe. Tucked into a dark corner hidden by his long black winter coat—a critical part of his business plan. He’d thought about disposing it. Breaking it into pieces and tossing its parts into different dumpsters throughout the city, like he’d seen in movies. Chucking it off a bridge into the Neuse River had been a consideration too. But Andy was glad he kept it. This idea of his, this was so much bigger than Raleigh. Raleigh was just the grand opening. Next up, Athens or Tuscaloosa. Then on to Knoxville, Ann Arbor, Columbus. The entire nation was in play.
 
There would be growing pains, but not for Andy.