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Bell Curve


You're in 9th grade, and your science teacher has high hopes for you—a Nobel Prize winner, a high-tech innovator. But as much as you love biology and chemistry and all that scientific jazz, you really, really love selling anything and everything. Raffle tickets, Girl Scout cookies—they make it, you sell it.


You're getting top grades in college, and you're toying with the idea of going to med school or grad school, but you still feel the seductive pull of the marketplace. You get a summer job at the local Big Pharma company, and you love it. Every potential sale is a challenge. You're closing deals right and left.


You're the rookie at a bigger, better Big Pharma company, but you've got the smallest territory of any pharma rep. You tell yourself this is how you will perfect your game. Ninety-hour weeks, snarling doctors, sometimes dubious drugs, and car trouble don't phase you. Soon, you've got the best sales numbers in the company. Too bad your spouse is complaining that you're really married to the job.


One of the biggest-selling drugs in the company has been tampered with, and the adulterated drug has killed several people. After a successful PR effort, your company has picked you as the rep to woo back disgruntled customers. Mission accomplished, and you are showered with trophies, testimonials, honor, glory, and a mountain of money. Life is good, even if your marriage isn't.


You are the big kahuna, in charge of all the pharma sales reps at the biggest, baddest Pharma company on the face of the pharmaceutical Earth. New house, new marriage, new investments—things would be perfect but gosh, you still have that itch to get out of the office, hit the road, and make the sale.