The salesman rode the bull with the swagger of a man three beers deep, his tie askew and his sales pitch slurred but enthusiastic. He waved his briefcase overhead like a rodeo trophy, promising free bottle openers with every purchase. As the bull spun, he hollered, “This vacuum sucks—just like me at mechanical bull riding!” By the time he hit the dirt, he’d sold a round of drinks, a couple of warranties, and convinced the bull to join him for happy hour.