If you have been reading this blog for any length of time you
will know that my neighborhood sees a large volume of door to door
solicitation. This week, I got two of the most interesting:
The first was a pair of Caucasian males in a pickup truck. I
was outside mowing the lawn when I noticed their vehicle stop in front of the
house opposite mine. The driver exited the truck and conveyed his desire to
talk to me through gesticulation. Once I stopped the mower engine, he shook my
hand and inquired as to how I was doing. This question was quickly followed by
the statement, “You look like a man that can appreciate a good steak.”
While I didn’t doubt his sincerity, I just didn’t feel
comfortable purchasing a ribeye from a total stranger in a Dodge Ram.
Furthermore, I couldn’t bear the shame of being hospitalized for food poisoning
and being forced to admit, “Well it could have been that chicken breast Billy
Ray sold me out of his glove-box…” Can you imagine the shame my newborn son
would feel when he was old enough to ask what happened to his father and my
wife was forced to tell him that my unwillingness to pay market price for
ground beef had been my undoing?
I watched as he and his partner struck pay-dirt a few houses
down where at least three consenting adults could be seen handing them money in
exchange for plastic bags of what I can only assume was USDA choice. For the
next several days I fully expected to see an estate-sale sign appear in their
front yard.
The second, and most interesting, visitor that week was Eric.
Eric was an African-American male in his late 20’s wearing a white button-up
and necktie. He carried a small, black portfolio case and when I answered the
door he introduced himself and told me that he was selling magazines and books
on behalf of Inner City Sales, a company that recruited at-risk youth and gave
them the opportunity to better themselves.
Quickly assessing me as a staunch middle class Republican, he
emphasized that this sure was a better use of his time than “sitting around and
collecting welfare or gangbanging.” I nodded as if to concur with his conclusion,
and he continued that he had a young son he was trying to support through his
earnings. From there the conversation went as follows:
Eric – “I am from New Jersey. You ever
been to Jersey?”
Me – “Been to New York, but never New Jersey.”
“Good, it
is awful. Anyway, are you familiar with HBO?”
“Uh, sure.
Home Box Office?”
“Naw man,
Help a Brotha’ Out! How about buying a magazine?”
“I really
don’t need any other magazines..”
“I thought
you might say that. Luckily for people like you we have the Double-O plan!”
“Double O?”
“Yeah,
other options. What about books? Do you like books?
“I do enjoy
books… What is the cheapest book you’ve got?”
“I got a
book about turtles.”
“Turtles?”
“Yeah man,
like sea turtles.”
“What does
that run?”
“$20”
“Well, that
seems a little step for a book about tu….”
“Plus $10
handling.”
“Eric, I
just can’t bring myself to drop $30 on a book that vaguely discusses turtles.”
“Don’t
worry sir. Since you look like the kind of person who only wants to help others
we can send the book directly to a children’s hospital or orphanage as a
donation.”
While Eric’s salesmanship was
polished and the program sounded admirable, I am not sure an overpriced book
about salt-water reptiles is exactly the path to self-sufficiency. What are the
odds he is going to happen upon the one household just chomping at the bit to
get their hands on “The Sea Turtle Almanac” and a 2-year subscription to Conde Nast Traveler?
I do wish Eric and the beef brothers
all the best and I hope that somewhere in town there is a family eating bargain
priced filets as they marvel at the unparalleled longevity of one of the
ocean’s most majestic creatures.
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