"Ellie? Can I just say: that's a beautiful name. Hardly ever meet anybody named Ellie...but I'm biased: my sister was named Ellie, she was such a wonderful person. Started a non-profit rescuing extinct baby elephants in the African bush. Just one of those people who like to serve...but the cancer go the best of her and we had to say goodbye -- last week. Been pretty rough -- the mourning, crying myself to sleep at night --, but it really touches my heart to meet you, Ellie, because you know what? You remind me of her. Yes, you do. You really remind me of her...and I want to something nice for you, Ellie. I don't normally do things like this, but I'll tell you what: I'm going to sign you up for New Deal Mint's Diamond Plus tier -- normally a hundred sats a month, but I'm gonna give it to you entirely for free."

Steve Roach, tall, handsome, mint salesman, at the counter talking to Ellie, who is really just a barista, but Steve learned a while ago that sales happens at all levels of an organization, and so he's pushing the hard sell, selling the New Deal Mint. New Deal is one of the oldest mints in America...probably; certainly one of the oldest in Arizona, everybody knows it's the oldest mint in Globe -- even if they don't use it anymore. Fast Money Mint came in and ate its lunch and now everybody buys their lunch with Fast Money. Steve would have liked to work for Fast Money, but they weren't hiring and hiring was what Steve needed, so beggars can't be choosers even if being a salesman is really just choosing to be a beggar.

Ellie mouth fumbles her reply, too many Steve words too fast, "Manager doesn't get in tell tin, could you like to order a cup of coffee or something?"

To which, Steve: "You know, I really gotta run, but let me give you this QR. You just tell the owner to scan this and that it's gonna give you zero mint fees, zero fees when you exchange to lightning -- and I'm even going to waive the set-up fee if you move more than 50 thousand sats into the mint. We're just looking for a few impressive, hard-working, main street Americana kind of small businesses to showcase how New Deal Mint is the best mint in town for woman-owned businesses such as yours."

Steve snappy-stepping out the door, bewildering an elderly couple on their way in with his gladhands, but that's fine because he's already eying his next target: the bookstore across the street. Steve has grand machinations to fat stacks of sats, but he's gotta sell a mint to make one. So for the now, for the meanwhile, for the windup, he's pitching New Deal and making a commission and playing to the locals

New Deal Mint was in it for the principles, a real cypherpunk endeavor, some kind of anarcho-capital-crypto-liberty thing -- which should have been Steve's first warning sign -- which was Steve's first warning sign: some mint started by an OG with a mind to exit the system. But Steve figured OG meant old coins and old coins were big coins. So he showed up bright and early, sharp and shaved, chiseled jaw ready for quick-to-working.

The commission was pretty good: 10k sats per business, but the business was bad: old guy operating the mint with a health that wasn't healing. Steve only found out after a month of nothing -- not one sale -- that the name of New Deal mint was mud because it had gone down for a whole week in December, payments failing like snowflakes in a blizzard. Old guy said it wouldn't happen again to which Steve said "Yes, of course" with an audible wink. But he didn't walk 'cause the commission was good -- so he told himself, not wanting to admit no other open doors at the moment.

"Taking into account taxes and licensing and counter-party risk and political party risk and the fact that I know for fact that Fast Money's using a data center that's smack over a fault line, right under a volcano with probably wild terrorists that take those kinds of places over all over the place -- ransom your data for millions, you can't afford not to switch to New Deal mint. We keep your data right here, home grown in Arizona. Why, you probably grew up with Steady Bob -- that's what we call him 'round the office. Steady-hand Bob the Bitcoiner. When he got started, did you know, mints weren't even charging fees? Only reason New Deal charges anything now is to limit the traffic, otherwise we'd be overwhelmed -- probably half the country'd be using New Deal, and ol' Bob, he doesn't want the hassle of millions of customers. He just wants to serve his local community. Can't say that about those out-of-state boys over at Fast Money."

At the bookstore, Steve is striking out and soon walking out, not that the owner wasn't in, he just wasn't in to New Deal Mint: giving Steve an earful about Christmas business lost when the mint was down. Back out in the sun soaking street, Steve is thinking he needs cowboy boots, one of those big shiny belt buckles the old guys wear...and maybe a cowboy hat. Sun's hot.

"Look, I'm not trying to sell you anything, no pressure, no selling," this is Steve at the one door down barber shop. "Let me put it this way: if I had to sell New Deal Mint, it wouldn't be a mint worth selling. We've got the fastest conversions to lightning, smoothest intramint payments -- and near half of everybody here in Globe is on New Deal, so you're always getting the best deal. And up time? Those fancy out-of-state boys don't care about a little ol' place like Globe, but New Deal is your neighbor, got offices practically down the street from here."

Gas stations are out. National corporations and franchises all get deals with the national mints: grocery stores, fast food, none of them are gonna use a local mint. But that's fine: bread and butter for mints like New Deal is all the small businesses in town -- so Steve was thinking when he started. But small businesses don't want small financial institutions. Steve is starting to thinking that maybe it wasn't just a little down time that got New Deal down.

Steve is sidewalk staring, not giving up, not quitting -- not having the choice to quit. Past choices being what they were, Steve wasn't finding it easy to find employment when New Deal found him. So this is it and Steve's thinking this is gonna have to make it.

"You know how many employee accounts New Deal let's you have? This bad boy gives you unlimited accounts. Accounts for your front register, for your power bill, for you payroll, accounts for your mom." But even the thrift shop next to the church isn't committing, just an old lady maybe-ing and Steve feeling more like a customer than the custom-getter, but still trying, reaching deep "I'll tell you what, ma'am, I'm only doing this because you remind me of my mom, you know how every boy has a soft spot for his mama, such a beautiful woman, you're quite beautiful, too..."

Steve, slapped cheek stinging, end of the road standing, which way to go wondering, feeling less than a million sats -- a lot less -- doesn't now know where to sell. Afternoon is waning and shadows gaining, when a fellow street-walking stranger cough coughing "Want to buy some coke?" while not even stopping. Steve is stopping, and thinking, and then turning around and selling: "You know what? I do want to buy some coke, yes I do." And now Steve is buying to make a sale, "I bet you are paying too much in mint fees. New Deal doesn't charge any fees on mint-to-mint payments, and if you carry a balance more than fifty thousand sats, we don't charge fees on Lightning payments either." And suddenly seizing on market opportunity, Steve is inventing new product lines, "But, if I had to guess, fees aren't your problem. Your problem is KYC. I'd guess you lose your accounts pretty darn near often, maybe can't even get an account in the first place. Well, let me tell you, friend, New Deal is just the mint you need. Just scan this QR."

First sale finishing, Steve now considering how he's going to be convincing the old man, Steady Bob, Bob who is ill and looking tired, into law-breaking, rule-flexing, turning a blind eye to unsightly things. New sales might be requiring a hard sale.

[1536 words]