“How do we sell this ladder? Well, where does a ladder take us? Higher. It lifts us up. Just as Jacob climbed to Heaven, the ladder lets us climb above ourselves. Beyond… ourselves.”

“No offense, Don, but I think we might be better off stressing the Little Giant Ladder’s multiple configurations. Whether you need a 4-foot stepladder or a 15-foot extension ladder, it’s easy to change its height.”

“Isn’t that what we all want? To change, to try on another height, another configuration, another face? To be something else? To be someone else?”

“Well, uh, maybe, but I think most of us want a versatile, easily-stored ladder to help us reach varied and difficult spots in our homes, garages, and yards. Hey, would you mind putting that cigarette out?”

“A new father painting his baby’s nursery with tender caresses of a brush. A darkened bulb replaced, chasing away the shadows with light. The ailing farmer determined to fix every creaky hinge on his barn before he, finally, dies. Just a ladder? No. A suit of armor against the entropy of the world. Take away the ladder, and everything falls apart.”

“I told you, you can’t smoke in here. And why do you keep staring at out that window? Can I talk to your boss, please?”

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