The secret to any good con is confidence. It doesn't matter what you're selling—it's all about how you sell it. And that's why today, in the town square, Felix, the broke street vendor, is temporarily retired. Today, I am Monsieur François, a brilliant inventor freshly arrived from the exotic city of Longistan. Of course, "Longistan" doesn't exist, but if it did, no one here would be able to say otherwise.
I adjust my fake mustache for the umpteenth time as I feel the suspicious gazes of the other street vendors around me. They know who I am. They've probably lost count of how many times they've seen me fleeing from the police, my goods flying through the air. But today, I'm in disguise—a refined seller, straight from the distant lands of the East. Or at least that's what my elegant hat and borrowed coat should say. Whether they'll believe it is another matter.
I open my box, pulling out small, shiny bottles filled with a liquid that's basically sugar water with some suspicious dye. But no, today it's the "Incredible Instant Energy Revitalizer." Perfect for exhausted workers, ambitious merchants, and young dreamers with more money than sense.
— Ladies and gentlemen, attention! Come marvel at a scientific revolution that will change your lives! — My voice echoes, powerful, confident. People stop, curious. They stare at me with interest, though still wary.
I continue, putting that special tone in my voice, the one that makes people listen just a little more attentively. A gift I inherited from my mother, or at least that's what she said before disappearing with a traveling piano salesman.
— Have you ever imagined having the energy to work sixteen hours straight in the factories without feeling the slightest bit of fatigue? Well, that's exactly what this amazing product offers! A revolutionary invention straight from the most respected universities of the capital! One bottle, and you'll have the vigor of a young athlete and the stamina of an ox!
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A few people stop, curious. An elderly lady adjusts her glasses, glaring at me with such suspicion that I think it's better to turn my face to the other side, holding my mustache firmly in place with my fingertips. A young workshop apprentice steps closer, biting his lip, already interested.
— Does it really work, sir?
I let out a theatrical laugh, placing a hand on my chest in mock indignation.
— What a question! My young friend, of course it works! Not only does it work, it's recommended by the most renowned scientists in the city—I swear! In fact, I've already sold dozens of them this morning, and just look at how energized and excited I am!
My near-perfect performance is interrupted by the fake mustache slowly falling off, stuck to my skin by some cheap glue I bought with my last coins. I quickly bend down to fix it, but the young man looks at me suspiciously.
— What happened to your mustache, sir?
— Ah, well... adverse reaction to my own revitalizer! — I improvise desperately. — This happens when you consume it in excess, see, it's very potent. But don't worry! It won't happen to you! I've already had five doses today!
The young man seems relieved, though confused.
At that moment, I notice a familiar movement in the distance. Blue uniforms, batons swinging, grumpy expressions. The damn police, always on my tail.
— Are you interested, my boy? — I ask hurriedly, shoving two bottles into his hands before he even responds. — Today for half the price! One-time offer! And you better run, because it's so good they'll want to confiscate it!
Before he can protest, I grab my makeshift box, hold the fake mustache, now hanging from my neck like a bad-luck charm, and start running through the narrow streets, shouting to anyone who will listen:
— Sold out! Product sold out! But we'll have more tomorrow, I promise!
As I run, I realize that no matter how many times this happens, I haven't given up. I still believe, deep down, that my perfect con is just around the corner. Or at least, on a corner farther away from the police.