First time
Supporting sentences
l The last day
In total, there were eight paintings in the
booth I was assigned. And, I’m not proud to say, I only sold one.
The exhibition lasted for five days, from
Wednesday to Sunday. Normally, the weekends are the days that most deals are
made. Therefore, I when I sold my first painting on the second day, my
confidence hit the roof. I believed that the effort I was putting in the sales
business was beginning to pay back. After that i began working even harder and thought that everything was within my handle.
But Friday and Saturday came and went.
Nothing.
That wavered my ego a little bit but i was still positive that the last day, would be the day that most people would come and purchase paintings.
Sunday arrived.
The morning passed without anyone's inquiry about the painting. I started feeling a little unsettled, and fidgeted with my own hands.
"It'll be fine," i told myself. "Nobody wakes up that early on weekends, give it a little time. And stop scaring yourself you idiot."
I didn't even had lunch for fear that i might miss any customers. But still, evening approached quietly and still, the paintings remain, unsold. Now panic was surging wildly in my veins, fear clutched my heart and i started screaming violently inside my head. I started desperately pushing the customers even more and almost forced a conversation with whoever was passing by.
Until the very last minute, a spark of hope lingered in me. But it was cruelly taken when the doors of the exhibition closed.
I broke down and wept.
I couldn't even believe that this was happening. I felt as if i was trapped in a nightmare, helplessly clawing my way out. I was so confident that everything would be alright!
And for the first time of my life, I realized that I was wrong.
But Friday and Saturday came and went.
Nothing.
That wavered my ego a little bit but i was still positive that the last day, would be the day that most people would come and purchase paintings.
Sunday arrived.
The morning passed without anyone's inquiry about the painting. I started feeling a little unsettled, and fidgeted with my own hands.
"It'll be fine," i told myself. "Nobody wakes up that early on weekends, give it a little time. And stop scaring yourself you idiot."
I didn't even had lunch for fear that i might miss any customers. But still, evening approached quietly and still, the paintings remain, unsold. Now panic was surging wildly in my veins, fear clutched my heart and i started screaming violently inside my head. I started desperately pushing the customers even more and almost forced a conversation with whoever was passing by.
Until the very last minute, a spark of hope lingered in me. But it was cruelly taken when the doors of the exhibition closed.
I broke down and wept.
I couldn't even believe that this was happening. I felt as if i was trapped in a nightmare, helplessly clawing my way out. I was so confident that everything would be alright!
And for the first time of my life, I realized that I was wrong.