Bookfield

Sales School Part 1

2007-08-26T07:30:00.000-07:00

Mom had driven me to LaGuardia airport from home, so, the airplane landing seemed like the first step of my first journey that I had ever taken alone. The sound of the wheels touching the ground was muffled from inside the plane, but the force of wheel against pavement pulled my head back slightly. I was on my own. As we taxied I strained to see the Nashville Airport terminal. It was a small cinder block building only distinguishable from other small airplane hangers nearby because of the white letters on it bidding me, “Welcome to Nashville”. I was glad the airport was small, because it would be easier to spot the expected welcome group from Parchment. The plane parked a hundred yards or so from the terminal and I undid my seat belt. I took my green duffel bag and tan sales case down from the overhead storage compartment and waited to exit.

I walked with the other passengers into the terminal. One by one, the other passengers were claimed by waiting loved ones. “Grandma, Grandma!” exclaimed a little boy who rushed forward to hug the elderly woman walking ahead of me. Couples and families embraced, reunited. For them the trip was over. The crowd of passengers dissipated quickly. Off to their homes and families, I supposed.

I surveyed the crowd. The terminal building was small enough that I could see from one end to the other from the gate I had arrived at, there were only four gates. Supposedly, a group of other college students, like my self were arriving in Nashville today and a bus was to be provided to take us all to the hotel. I saw no groups of people fitting that description or even anyone who was alone, like me. I walked across the speckled, moss green linoleum floor to the ground transportation booth, but it was Sunday afternoon, and no one was on duty there. Ticketing was just a few paces up ahead and so I went there and looked at the arrivals board. My flight was the last to arrive that afternoon; no more flights were scheduled that day.

Ten minutes into my first independent foray and I was marooned at the goddamn airport. I looked around the airport and the number of people there had already dwindled down so that they could be counted on one hand. The people I was supposed to meet weren’t here. The bus wasn’t here. I sat down on one of the bowl like black plastic chairs to think. A tear rolled down my cheek. I had expected the comfort of meeting my new friends, and having the travel arrangements taken care of. I felt stressed by the situation. It wasn’t going as planned.

But what if the bus was merely delayed and on its way? It could be transportation was planned for me, and it just wasn’t here yet. Maybe I should wait a while before I worry too much. So I waited twenty minutes. I tried to relax, but as each minute went by, and I looked at my watch, my tension only grew. Every five minutes or so I walked out side of the terminal and looked down the street both ways to see if any thing was coming. The bus didn’t come. Surely if it was coming, it would have been here by now. Finally I felt justified in taking some action. No one could say that I didn’t wait.

I fished around in my pocket for change and opened my sales case to hunt for Parchment’s phone number. Finding both, I got up, picked up my duffle bag and sales case and found the pay phones. I put a quarter in the slot and dialed Parchment’s number. The phone rang and rang. I guess no one was there because it was Sunday. I tried another Parchment number, also with no response. I looked at my watch. I had been in the airport for forty-five minutes already. There was a Nashville phone book on the shelf under the phone and I pulled it out. I looked in the yellow pages under hotels and found the Hermitage, where I would be staying. I dialed that number.

“Good afternoon, Hermitage Hotel, how may I help you?” the woman at the other end answered.

“Hi, this is Sue Fairview, and I’m with the Parchment group. I’m at the airport waiting for the bus to the hotel, and its not here.”

“I’m sorry, the last bus left there over two hours ago. You’ll have to take a cab to the hotel. Don’t let the driver charge you more than twenty-five dollars. See you soon, bye!” She said in that cheery down home voice.

I hung up the phone. Twenty-five dollars! I only had one hundred dollars on me to last the whole week! A fourth of it was gone just like that. My worries crested and another tear fell down my cheek. I retreated back to the same black chair and sat down again. I held my head in my hands. I didn’t want any one to see I was upset, not that there was anyone there to see. I sobbed as quietly as possible. Would I have been better off if I had stayed home? The quick thought of home made me marshal my resolve to be independent. I tried to minimize the inconveniences I faced so far. This was just a small set back. I knew I could overcome this.

I got up, picked up my things and walked outside again. There was not a cab in sight. I swallowed hard and went back into the terminal to the phone. I looked up the number of a taxi cab company and dialed. I could hardly understand the southern accent of the individual that answered the phone. The wait would be twenty minutes. I stood outside waiting, some how feeling that if I sat in that black chair; I would not find the resolve to leave it again.

Finally, the cab arrived. The driver sprang out of the car to open the trunk for me. He was a black man in his fifties, I’d guess. The short tight curls of his hair were white, and his eyes were tinged with red at the corners. He picked up my duffle bag and sales case and put them into the trunk.

“Are Y’all alone?” he asked.

“Yes.”, I said despondently. “Hermitage Hotel, please.”

He shot me a sympathetic glance as we got in. I guess he could tell I had been crying. He tried to cheer me up by talking about the Grand Ole Opry. He though that Minnie Pearl was funny. I had hopes of doing some sight seeing, not ever having been in Nashville before. But I kept focused on the cab’s fare meter. What would I do if he tried to charge me more than twenty-five dollars? Would he take a longer route to try to gouge the fare? How would I know if he took the shortest way? I looked out the window. I expected to see high rises, maybe a skyscraper, like in New York City. Highways, streets, route numbers I didn’t recognize, and nondescript buildings were all I saw. The meter kept adding up my fare. I couldn’t tell if we were any closer to downtown. After a while I saw a green highway sign for downtown Nashville, and to my relief, the cabbie went that way. The buildings were not very high here either. The meter was already near twenty dollars. What if the fare was thirty, or more? Without warning, we pulled over.

“Hermitage Hotel.”, the cabbie suddenly announced. We both got out of the car and he opened the trunk and brought my stuff to the curb. “That’ll be twenty dollars please.” I opened my wallet and handed over the money for the fare. He took it saying, “You take care now, y’hear.”

“Thanks.”, I muttered. I picked up my bags and looked at the hotel.

I looked around the lobby quickly to see if any of the Parchment group was there. Again I saw no one who fit the bill. I walked up to the check in counter. The woman behind it looked friendly and just being there made me feel better. I was silly to worry so much about getting here. I made it and that’s what counted. “Good afternoon, and welcome to the Hermitage, do you have a reservation?” It was the same woman I had spoken to on the phone from the airport.

“Yes, I’m Sue Fairview, I called earlier from the airport. I think I have a reservation.”

“Oh yes, glad you made it. Was the cab alright?”

“Yeah, it was only twenty dollars.”

“Good.”, she said as she rummaged through the reservations. “Okay you are in room 515 on the fifth floor. We had a little over booking problem and some of you Parchmenters have had to double up. You’ll be staying with a nice young lady named Mary.”

“I have to share my room?” The thought was immediately unacceptable.

“Yes I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but nothing else was available, and she was the only other female checking in with Parchment. I’m sure you two will get along just fine.”

It didn’t seem that I had any other choice in the matter, so I took my room key, picked up my bags and went to the elevator. I had roomed with strangers before in college. My freshman roommates were strangers at first and friends later. If Mary was the only other woman there, perhaps I’d better get to know her sooner any how. We’d probably be roommates for the whole summer. On my way down the hallway of the fifth floor I noticed for sure that the hotel had a scent of mildew and also a musty smell. It didn’t seem to be air conditioned either. I found the room around the corner from the elevator. I paused outside the door. If Mary was in there, perhaps I should knock first. I did, but there was no answer. I opened the door without problem and got another surprise. There was only one bed.

I surveyed the room completely. There was no couch, no rollaway bed in the closet, no place but the one bed for both of us to sleep. Mary’s things lay about the room. There was a suitcase, and clothes thrown over a chair. It looked like she had already been there, changed and left. I picked up the room phone and called the front desk.

“Hello, this is Sue Fairview in room 515.”

“Yes how may I help you?” Again, it was the same woman from the front desk.

“There is only one bed in 515 and there are two of us checked in. Could you please send up a rollaway bed?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, but the group from Parchment this year is so big that we have already used all of our rollaways. The bed in your room is a double bed. We sent all of the cots to rooms with two people and single beds. Again, I apologize for this...”

“Thanks anyway.” I hung up the phone and sat on the only bed. I breathed a heavy sigh. After a few minutes of convincing myself that everything would be alright again, I went to the bathroom and freshened up to prepare myself for meeting the other Parchmenters. I looked at my sales case, and opened it one more time.

I had received my sales kit from the Parchment Publishing Company some time before my sophomore finals. Inside the cardboard shipping box was a light tan fiberglass sales case that looked rather like a large tackle box. The enclosed letter explained that in the remaining weeks of the semester I was to study the enclosed sample books, memorize the demonstrations for each book, read the enclosed inspirational paperback books by Dale Carnegie, and sign the registration form. The registration form indicated that I agreed to follow the direction of sales management to the best of my ability. Failure to do so could result in immediate termination. I signed reluctantly.

The sample books consisted of a Family Bible Library, a Bible Dictionary, a health book, and a set of educational books. The Family Bible Library was actually a ten volume set that sold for about $100. From that, Parchment would get $35, and I could keep the remaining $65 as profit. The Family Bible Library, or FBL, was a sort of an encyclopedia of bible stories. Non-denominational and written for youngsters, it was illustrated with sketches and photographs and was bound in an ivory colored leather-like material with embossed gold lettering.

The Bible Dictionary was actually a dictionary of the words used in the Bible with scriptural cross references. Bound in a textured brown vinyl with gold letters, it resembled a Bible. The selling price was about $30; my profit was $20 for each sold.

The health book had a red cover and was a basic how-to guide to health. It covered nutrition, first aid, and the like. It sold for slightly less than the Bible Dictionary.

The educational books covered basic science, American history, and etcetera. The construction of these books was a bit cheaper and the coverage of each topic seemed superficial at best. What struck me most was that the focus of the American history book was notable assassinations, Lincoln, JFK, RFK, and Martin Luther King. I could see value in the other books, but did not have any interest in selling the educational books.

The demonstrations were sales scripts that when performed for the customer would result in a sale. The ‘approach’ script was designed to gain entry to the customer’s house. It went like this:

“Hi there Mrs. Jones! My name is (insert your name) and I’ve been calling on all of the church folks in the neighborhood. Just wanted to come by and see you. You all do go to some local church, don’t you? May I come in?” The sample customer’s name was always Mrs. Jones. The actual name was to be determined beforehand from the mailbox or a neighbor.

The script also included what can only be described as stage directions, like, ‘Complement the customer on the first thing you notice in the house. Sit down facing the gathered family on your sales case, opening it behind you.’ There was a scripted demonstration tailored to sell each book or set of books. Most memorable was an introductory line in the FBL script that read, “Mrs. Jones, don’t you wish that Bible study could be as exciting as the Fourth of July?” Each script was several pages and all together it seemed like a lot to memorize. There was also a closing script which focused on filling out the order slip. The customer’s name, address, number of books to be ordered, and amount of down payment (half of the total was suggested by the Company) were all to be completed. Books would be delivered at the end of the summer. Conspicuously absent was any wording dealing with whether the customer wanted to buy the book or not.

I closed the sales case. I summoned up the courage to take the next step of my adventure, and left the solitude of my room and went down to the lobby to meet up with my group.

Sales School Part 2

2007-08-26T07:29:00.000-07:00

I waited in the hotel lobby alone. There weren’t too many people there, and none of them were college aged. Where were they? How would I recognize them? I bided the time by looking around from my secure vantage point, a chair placed against a wall of the room. The red and gold carpet was faded and the pile was beat down. Some spots were worn bare. Dark, heavy curtains hung over tall, dramatic windows of hazy glass. The ceiling was ballroom height and lit by chandeliers with a noticeable number of unlit bulbs. The air was close and musty. At one time this must have been a grand and elegant place, but now through years of neglect it seemed cheap and used.

Time went by and my thoughts went back to what had brought me here to this hotel lobby. What had brought me to accept a summer job with so many unknown aspects. There was a real scarcity of summer jobs in suburban Long Island, where home was. My chances of finding something there were nil. Last year was a complete nightmare. I was home alone with my Mom. She and Dad had divorced when I was thirteen. Mom was irretrievably embittered by the experience and took it out on the only other person in the house that summer; me.

She would scream at me that my inability to find a summer job was my fault because I didn’t want one enough. She’d say, “You spoiled, lazy, snot nosed brat! You think that money grows on trees! I work hard all day to support you ungrateful brats. Your fucking, good for nothing, bum of a father never sends child support. You’re growing up just like him. You don’t give a shit about helping me out. Get out and earn your keep!” She’d yell, “Get out there and pound that pavement!” There was always a tiny voice in me telling me that I couldn’t be all that bad at such an early age, but I took what she said to heart anyway.

I didn’t drive yet, nor did I have a car, so any job I found I had to be able to get to by bicycle. Public transportation did not exist there either. This kept jobs at all of the shopping malls out of my reach. Mom expected me to ‘pound the pavement’ for eight hours a day, every day, until I got a job. It took me weeks to find one last summer, and each day that I returned home I feared that if I hadn’t pounded the pavement long and hard enough, Mom would pound me verbally. She was not above becoming unpredictably violent either, and although this was sporadic, I feared her. I had feared her my entire childhood. She had three inches on me and at least 30 pounds. Sometimes she would chase me out of the house and not let me back in until after dark. My twin sister and brother had made their quick escapes as soon as they could. My brother attended an Ivy League School and worked summers there in the greenhouses, and my sister worked at Saratoga Race Track the first summer and Parchment the next. Taking Mom’s haranguing during high school had been enough for my brother and twin.

My first summer home, I found a job at a local hotel as a pool side cocktail waitress. I remember my interview. This big fat ugly Italian guy with sleazy written across his face was hoping I would attract customers to the hotel. “Do you look good in a bikini?” he asked with great interest.

“Yes, I look great in a bikini.” I answered reluctantly, but with ‘go get them’ career like enthusiasm. I guessed I would look okay in my blue bikini with the tiny white checks. But I certainly wasn’t any bombshell. At nineteen, I was five foot four and one hundred pounds, really petite and naturally thin as only a teenager could be. I had shoulder length dirty blond hair and green eyes and freckles. People have always told me I was ‘cute’ and had a wonderful smile.
“Would you wear thigh high white patent leather boots?” he drooled.

“Um, no. I mean, its summer, I have some nice white sandals with a heel.” I was pretty scandalized by the thought of the bikini, wearing boots was too much. Was he going to ask me to be a prostitute, or what? But it was a job, and I was desperate. He settled for the sandals, what a relief.

That job was pretty degrading, although thinking that someone would actually want to see me in a bikini raised my self esteem somewhat. All summer the hotel had very few guests. I didn’t end up serving too many drinks and feared I would be fired. A few of the people were staying at the hotel the whole summer. They were very nice, and used to order sodas from the bar, so that I would look busier. I got to know these ‘regulars’ and when they found out I had been captain of my synchronized swimming team in high school, they would pay me a buck to do a synchronized swimming trick in the hotel pool for them. It was kind of bizarre, but it was nice to cool off, and I liked it better than being a cocktail drink waitress.

At first my Mom was pleased that I had found a job. But in just a few days she was shrieking at me again. “I can’t stand the sight of you just sitting around the house after work! Just get out of my sight! You’re so lazy. That job isn’t really work. Strutting around a pool all day! You hardly make any money in tips. I can’t figure who would want to look at you anyway. It’s not like your busty or anything. Why don’t you get a real job, or a second job?” She’d lunge at me and I’d run out of the house in fear for my life. When I’d return to the house she would say she missed me when I was at school during the semester and she wanted to hug me. I was afraid to get that close to her because she might reverse moods suddenly. I tried to stay out of her way and just survive the summer last year.

I was bound and determined for that not to happen again in the summer of 1976. It was the two hundredth anniversary of our country’s independence on the fourth of July and in late August I would turn 20 years old. I would be an adult, not a teenager. INDEPENDENCE. That’s what I wanted most. Independence from my abusive, degrading, controlling mother. Independence for me. I needed to know if I could make it on my own. I considered staying in my college town for the summer, but I had heard that jobs were scarce there as well, and Mom wanted me at home, under her thumb. Both my sister and brother had already made their escape from Mom, and I was all that was left for her. I considered declaring myself financially independent from my mother, but she promised that if I left her without my dependent tax deduction, she would disown me and never send me another penny. She wasn’t kidding. Her threat truly frightened me and I didn’t think I was ready to challenge her, never having been financially independent before.

When I heard about the job with Parchment from my twin sister Evie it seemed the perfect answer. Mom would support it, because it was a job for the whole summer. Yet, I would be away from home for the entire summer and free from the threat of abuse. Better yet, it would be a true test of whether I could make it on my own. It would be a step in my search for independence. I never could get Evie to tell me much about what the job was like, though and that left me a bit suspicious about the whole enterprise.

But here I was in Nashville, now having to deal with the reality of my choice. The whole summer of 1976 was an enormous unknown to me. I had taken this job selling bible books door-to-door. I was to be trained for one week at the Hermitage Hotel in Nashville, and then sent to a Southern location for the summer. This unknown location, to be determined by others and revealed to me the night before my departure, would be my sales territory and home for the duration of the summer. I chose to view it like the Tolkien’s Trilogy. Frodo made a perilous journey of there and back again to fight Sauron’s evil forces and destroy the one ring. No evil forces were in sight for me, I’d just be selling books, but it was a journey that would take me to who knows where and back again. I would try to face the unknown, and my fears on a day-by-day basis.

So, there I was waiting to meet my fellow sales people, who had already checked in but were out and about. Most of them were from the mid-West. I waited for what seemed like an eternity (I hate to wait) but was at least an hour. Finally four college-aged people came into the lobby. I watched them from my safe perch, feeling suddenly shy and not daring to rush up to them immediately. A young man in an untucked orange tee shirt and jeans was the standout in the crowd. He had tanned and solidly built guy with striking farm boy cuteness and a sun burnt nose. His short hair was darkest brown, his eyes were piercing blue, and he sported a small moustache. He was at least six feet tall and well muscled. I pictured that he got that way hauling bales of hay, or some other rigorous farm work. I don’t think I had seen any guys as handsome as him in my whole college.

My urge to join the group won over my shyness, and I walked up to the young man and introduced myself. “Hi! I’m Sue Fairview. You wouldn’t happen to be from Parchment, would you?”

He looked me over from head to toe in a manner both rude and flirtatious and said, “Yes, nice to meet you. I’m Chip, and this is Mary, this is my brother Davie, and this is Gregg. We are all from Missouri.” He smiled broadly, quite pleased with himself, it seemed.

I never would have guessed that Davie was Chip’s brother, he was so unlike him. He was shorter and less sturdy looking than Chip, to begin with, had buttery blonde curly hair, but he had same blue eyes. He had an angelic face, and I knew he was a nice guy, just by the sight of him.

Gregg’s most noticeable feature was his height. He was six feet four inches or so I would have guessed. He was also quite handsome. He had very short brown hair, almost a crew cut, but the long bone structure of his face, especially his strong chiseled jaw, was beautiful in a very masculine way and he carried off the look quite well. Let’s face it, he was a hunk too.

Mary was taller than me, maybe five foot six inches. She was sinewy and her bone structure was sturdy. She had wide and strong looking hands. She looked like she could lift those bales of hay right beside Chip. She had pale blonde hair and pale blue eyes set far apart on a wide but pretty face with high cheekbones. She had a small mouth with thin beige lips and a straight nose. She had a very square jaw though, that seemed out of place on her face and gave her a somewhat hard look.

“Um, I’m from Long Island, New York. Glad to meet you.”

Chip continued to speak on behalf of the group. “I’ll be your sales manager this summer. I am also managing Davie and Mary this summer. You and Mary will be roommates and share territory for the summer.” Mary and I searched each others’ faces for answers to all of those unasked questions between us. I could tell that both of us wanted to get to know each other quickly, since we would be spending the whole summer together.

I felt relieved to make contact with my colleagues. They all seemed so nice so far. We all went upstairs so that Chip could introduce me to his boss, the sales director. He explained that sales directors oversaw sales for a region of the country. Robbie, our sales director, had twenty or so managers reporting to him, and would be in charge of sales school this week. More weeks of training would take place after ours as colleges let out for the summer, and the total number of sales people in the U.S. would be up around a thousand or so.

We caught up to Robbie’s group in the hallway, which was suddenly crowded with Parchmenters. “Sue, this is Robbie, our sales director.” said Chip. Robbie looked up from the crowd of Parchmenters obviously trying to score points with him. He looked older than the rest of us, maybe thirty. But somehow he looked boyishly immature at the same time. His shock of thick black hair fell over his white small featured face. His eyes were dark brown and I saw nothing discernable when I looked into them. He kept a poker face while he sized me up. Robbie shook my hand firmly with his soft hand and said in a flirtatious manner, “Hi, so nice to meet you.” He squinted his eyes at me and continued. “You do look a lot like your twin sister Evie. But, I think she’s cuter than Evie, don’t you Gregg?” Robbie moved around as if to see me from all angles, or check out my ass.

“Yeah.”, replied Gregg as he also looked at my face in an analytical, but not disinterested way. They went on about details of this comparison and I felt uncomfortable being the center of attention at all, but somehow flattered at the same time. It’s disconcerting to meet strangers that know your twin, and so recognize you instantly and know something about you already. I smiled and pressed my back against the hallway wall for support. Maybe they thought I was cuter because my hair was longer than Evie’s, and of course, she had a boyfriend already.

Robbie gave us stapled copies of the week’s agenda, and Mary and I went to our room to look them over and get acquainted. “Well, I guess I’ll start by telling you about myself.” Mary said. I’m majoring nursing in college and I’m from Kansas City and I belong to the Church of Latter Day Saints.” She had an open and friendly manner. “It’s your turn.”

It was the typical introduction given between college roomies. “I go to school at the State University of New York at Cayuga and my major is biology. I was raised as a Roman Catholic, but I don’t go to church anymore.” I was reluctant to tell her that I was an atheist. I thought that since she was religious, it might come between us. “I am from Long Island, New York.”

“Wow you’re the first New Yorker I’ve ever met. So you live in the city?”

“Not really, I was raised in the suburbs. Where my school is there are mostly dairy farms and apple orchards. It’s about three hundred miles from New York City.”

“Oh, I didn’t know there were rural areas like that in New York.” She changed the subject. “I guess we have to share the bed tonight.” She didn’t really seem as put out as I did about it.

“Yeah, I called for a rollaway and there weren’t any available.” We smiled at each other. We both found ourselves in the same predicament. Future largely unknown, thrown together in a small hotel room, expected to be ready to sell books door-to-door at God knows where in just a week; we bonded quickly out of necessity.

We reviewed the week’s agenda together. “Gosh, events were scheduled every day starting at 7:00 AM and they don’t end until around midnight!” I said. “So much for sight seeing in Nashville.”

“Yeah, Chip told me we would be too busy for that. But we all go out as a group to meals together; Chip, Gregg and Davie and us, and that will be fun. Of course you will come with us.” It did sound like fun, and she seemed so excited to include me that I couldn’t wait until dinner time. Finally I was with other people and felt like I belonged.

Sales School Part 3

2007-08-26T07:27:00.000-07:00

Eventually there was a knock on the door and it was the guys, Chip, Davie and Gregg, letting us know it was time for dinner. We all took the elevator to the lobby as one happy little group. Everyone was so energetic and upbeat. The five of us exited the hotel and struck out walking for the Shoney’s Big Boy about five blocks away. Like many groups walking together, we walked down the sidewalk in twos. I was next to Mary, and we chatted away happily about college life. Chip walked up beside us as if he wanted to talk to me. Mary moved in front with Davie. Gregg was ahead of us.

“How was your trip down to Nashville?” he asked looking into my eyes and smiling.

“The flight was okay, but the bus from the Hermitage wasn’t there and I had to pay for a cab.”

“That’s too bad. I hope it didn’t cost too much. At least you’re here with us now, and I’m glad that you came.” He put his arm around my waist in a friendly way. I returned the gesture, giving him a little pat on the side. It felt so supportive to have his arm around me, but I expected that he would withdraw it after a brief time. He didn’t. So we walked all the way to Shoney’s arm-in-arm. I wondered if he was flirting with me and the thought of it excited me because he was so damned handsome.

When we got to Shoney’s, Chip removed his arm from my waist before any of our group could look back to see. It just kind of left me wondering what that was all about. Chip sat next to me at dinner. We all had greasy hamburgers with fries and coleslaw. Chip and Gregg joked how they ate all of their meals at this Shoney’s last year because it was cheap, and it was the only place that served breakfast at six o’clock in the morning. We agreed to meet there the next morning, eat breakfast and return to the Hermitage in time for the seven o’clock meeting. We finished dinner and walked back to the Hermitage. Again I walked next to Mary. The men walked behind us, laughing and joking. Mary and I were still getting to know each other, and we didn’t pay particular attention to the guys’ conversation.

Mary and I went to room 515 together. According to the schedule, this would be our last opportunity to get a good night’s sleep. Also, we had to be up by at least five-thirty in the morning to meet the guys at Shoney’s. We put on our night gowns and lay down on the bed. She had already chosen the left side, which was alright with me. It was too hot in the room to have anything but the sheet over us. The busyness of the day was over and I started to think. I guess she did too.

“Sue, where do you think we’ll end up for the summer?”

“I don’t know. The furthest south I’ve ever been is the most northern part of South Carolina.”

“I’ve never been south before either. I mean except for this trip to Nashville. What was it like in South Carolina?”

“I don’t really remember. I was only thirteen and my family went to see a total eclipse of the sun.”

“Really, I’ve never seen that.”

“What I remember most was that it got twilight dark during mid day, the birds stopped singing and the passing cars put their headlights on.”

“I’m a little bit scared.” she suddenly admitted.

“Me too. But at least we’ll be together, and that we know for sure.”

She reached her hand out to me and we clasped our hands for a few minutes. It was very comforting to have her there close to me with all of the uncertainty ahead of us. I felt almost ashamed for asking for a rollaway bed and then telling her I did. I don’t think that she had asked for one.

The entire group, about 150 people met together Monday morning at 7:00 AM for the start of training. We all sat in the hotel conference room on folding chairs with our identical light tan sales cases at our feet. I sat next to Mary. The twenty or so sales managers were all seated in the front row. First we were welcomed while ‘Me and Mrs. Jones (we’ve got a thing goin’ on)’, an old song by Billy Gregg, was played over the loud speaker system. We then listened to a motivational talk. The person who gave the talk was upbeat verging on manic.

Some group sloganeering took place after that. A slogan would be cheered by Robbie and the managers, and the audience was asked to repeat it. We never repeated it loud enough for Robbie, though, and so the repetitions went on until I for one, was hoarse. It reminded me of the Marines, when recruits have to say, “Yes sir!” to the commanding officer as loudly as possible.

Next, the key factor in selling books, the approach, was demonstrated. On the risers at the front of the room, a working screen and storm door was set up. It was supposed to be Mrs. Jones’ front door. Robbie stood behind the door and played the role of Mrs. Jones, the potential customer. One at a time, sales managers had to go up onto the stage, knock on that door, give the approach and role play with Robbie. The first manager who went up would demonstrate the perfect approach. I strained to see and listened carefully. He knocked on the door three times and then retreated a few paces from the door. Robbie stopped the action and explained how essential this move away from the door was. We did not want Mrs. Jones to feel threatened when she opened her door. We wanted her to be drawn to us, to lean on the door, grasping the handle, straining to hear our every word. The demonstration continued. The manager said, “Hi there, Mrs. Jones! My name is Mark Treland and I’ve been calling on all of the church folks in the neighborhood. Just wanted to come by and see you. You all do go to some local church, don’t you? May I come in?” He made a slight gesture with his hand towards the door as if to precipitate it being opened. His delivery was slow, and deliberate. He used a southern drawl and his eyes twinkled in a friendly and sweet manner. His face looked sincere and focused as if Mrs. Jones was the only human being on earth that he had any interest in. He was absolutely mesmerizing and I was twenty feet away. Robbie gave the desired response. He, as Mrs. Jones, unquestioningly opened the door.

“Wow, could I do that?” I wondered to myself. The skits continued. The next manager came up to the door in a cocky manner and knocked. I guess he was really nervous and forgot to back away from the door. Robbie yelled from the other side, “Get away from my door or I’ll shoot!” Everyone laughed at the manager that had erred.

“Let me try again…” he pleaded, knocking on the door again and backing off.

“Next!” yelled Robbie curtly from behind the door. The audience laughed again. Every manager had to go up alone and face that door with Robbie behind it. None of them were allowed to succeed, and all of them were mocked for their failure. Robbie slammed the door in their faces, and screamed at them. At first the managers were confident, but as each one was mocked, the next was progressively more nervous when facing the door. Robbie explained that we should not be intimidated or personally offended by a door slammed in our faces. We should expect it. Every slammed door brought us closer to an open one, and a sale. Each ‘no’, brought one closer to a ‘yes’.

I heard what he was saying, but found myself deathly afraid that I would be called upon to go to the front of the room to give my approach, and be mocked, even though I knew in advance that only the managers would be called. It was clear to me however, that we were all vulnerable to public shaming, as was seen fit by Robbie at any time. I sure as hell was going to try to stay on his good side, and I guessed that that was the point of the opening demonstration too.

I was really glad when the group teaching part was over and we broke into little groups to practice the approach. We broke into work groups of four or five people plus a sales manager to role play the approach and later give the completely memorized book demonstrations to each other. I hadn’t completely memorized all of the book demonstrations yet. I knew the one for the Bible Dictionary and Family Bible Library, but was shaky on the Health book and educational set. The practice role playing was a good opportunity to learn the demonstrations once and for all, and there certainly was motivation to do so. To my relief, I was not the only one who didn’t know them all by heart. Mary knew them better than me, but she needed work on the Health book demonstration too.

We were taught to learn a southern drawl as soon as possible. The sales managers took turns coaching us using their past experiences. At any time, one could be called on to give a demonstration publicly or to Robbie entirely from memory. I feared this. It would be like a college oral exam in front of all of ones’ peers, no stress there. Right. All of the subsequent group events were high pressured. Sales managers who role played demonstrations in front of the entire audience were chided and debased for failure to sell books to the always difficult ‘Mrs. Jones’. Group repetition of Parchment slogans continued daily. We practiced saying, “You cute little bugger, don’t you ever die!” to ourselves. Chip’s group, including me, went to breakfast, lunch and dinner together. No free time was scheduled, and typically to complete all assigned work, we stayed up until 1:00 or 2:00 AM each day. Needless to say, we only got about 4 hours of sleep each night.

I remember telephoning my mother one night. I told her that I felt that Parchment was trying to brainwash us. I was surprised when she replied, “Well honey, you can always come home.” Enough said, I was determined to stay. I couldn’t stand the thought of giving up and going home in the first week, or ever. I’d never hear the end of it about my failure from Mom, and more was at stake here. I had to earn my independence; no one said it would be easy. Right then and there, I made a pact with myself that I would do what ever I needed to keep the job with Parchment and survive the summer. I didn’t need to be brainwashed to learn to judge for myself how best to succeed selling books. So some or most people might be brainwashed, but not me. I could remain intact, thinking for myself.

That night I asked Mary, “Did you know that the tactics that the company is using are the same kind used for brainwashing groups of people? Do you think that the company is trying to brainwash us?”

She replied in a somewhat frightening monotone, “I am sure that everything the company is doing is in my best interest...” I felt kind of like the body snatchers had gotten her.

During the whole week, Chip continued to be flirtatious with me. A day after the walk arm-in-arm to Shoney’s he asked me, “Did you like that? Did you like my arm around you?” This was followed by a longing look.

“Yes.”, I said and I returned his look. He reached out and squeezed my hand and smiled. He leaned forward and gave me a little kiss on the lips. His lips were warm and wet. My heart pounded with excitement and I hoped he couldn’t hear it. He looked around as if to make sure no one had seen us, then we parted to attend our next meetings.

Later that night he took me aside in a hallway and asked if I liked him, and if I wanted to tour the hotel with him. I wasn’t exactly sure what he had in mind, but said, “Yes.” I was so attracted to him that I didn’t really feel in control. We held hands as we walked down the stairs to the basement of the hotel. There we found a deserted storage room filled with discarded mattresses and broken furniture. We sat down on a pile of mattresses and started kissing seriously. His hands roamed over my body and I held onto his strong shoulders.

Suddenly Chip whispered, “Don’t you think God would like to see us as he made us?”

At first I didn’t understand what he meant, so I said, “Excuse me?”

“Like God made us, when we were born.” he repeated seductively.

It was as if someone had thrown ice water on me. What did God or religion have to do with what he apparently wanted? Twisted! I was put off by his abruptness, too. I didn’t really go with him exploring the hotel with it in mind that we would have sex. Apparently he did. A relationship or even a date would have been nice. I decided that the whole venture with Chip was a terrible mistake. He thought that this disgusting line would make me strip for him? It was so insulting. I also wondered what other women bought the line. I sat up and said, “That line works for you?”

“Um, what’s the matter? I’m sorry; we can just hold each other if you like.”

“I’m really tired Chip and I’d like to go back to my room.” I didn’t voice my disgust with his tactics, however, because he was after all my sales manager. He did not seem offended, nor did he pressure me. He gallantly walked me to my room, to make sure I was okay. When I got there I didn’t tell Mary what had happened because she had been friends with Chip for a long time and I had no idea what their relationship was.

During the week we also learned all the details we needed to know to sell books. We learned how to scout the territory, read mailboxes and memorize names, and make connections through local churches to the residents. We learned how to manipulate the customer by getting that first ‘yes’ that gained entry to their home. From the time they opened the door to when the books were delivered at the end of the summer, and final balance collected we would control their every response. We learned how to pressure and intimidate the customer into making a purchase and handing over the deposit, even if they really didn’t want to. We would begin to fill the sales slip out before any sale was agreed to. Delivery was a deliberate exercise in control. We were supposed to rush in the door, and begin unwrapping the books all over the floor with great excitement hopefully attracting any children in the house. Mrs. Jones would be too ashamed not to accept the delivery and pay us the balance after that. Every aspect of day to day selling and survival was covered. We learned how to ask Mrs. Jones to feed us for free so that she would be shamed into it by saying, “I’d give you a quarter, Mrs. Jones for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.” was the recommended line. There was even a separate lecture for women sales people on how to not become a victim and how to spot and handle troublesome men. That lecture did not do much to allay my fears that being out and about all summer could make me vulnerable to God knows what.

The schedule for every sales week of the summer would be the same. On Sundays, all money collected from the previous week was to be ‘remitted’ to the company with the week’s sales statement. The ‘remitted’ money would be held in an account for each sales person. The sales statement included expenses, number of hours worked each day; number of demonstrations delivered each day, daily and total sales, and all deposits. Attendance at Sunday sales meetings was required. Failure to miss two meetings in a row was grounds for termination. On Monday morning one was not to eat until one had sold a book to get the money for breakfast (hopefully). Working hours were from 8:00 AM to 9:00 PM Monday through Saturday. The goal was for us to work at least 80 hours per week. We were supposed to sell books every week of the summer, leaving one or two weeks at the end of the summer to deliver the books we sold. Our last day of the summer was to be spent being debriefed back at headquarters in Nashville. This was also when accounts would be settled and we would be paid what was earned all summer.

The goal was to sell enough books during the summer to make money to live on, and have money left over to bring back to school. To do this we needed to knock on enough doors, and get into enough houses so that we could give 15 full demonstrations every day. Parchment had it all worked out that this formula would result in the basic number of book sales to meet the goal. To be able to make all of these demonstrations in one day we had to spend no more than 20 minutes in each house. “Pretend your sales case is a time bomb you are sitting on ready to go off in 20 minutes if you don’t get out.”, said Robbie. “Every ‘no’ leads to a ‘yes’. Every slammed door brings one closer to the sale. Work the territory like a spider spinning a web, be methodical and don’t skip houses. All territory is good territory, there is no such thing as bad territory.”

Some of the ‘trainees’ suffered under the stress of the week. I remember one young man sat on his sales case in a corner of the hallway trembling and repeating the demonstrations over and over to him self. Each time he made a mistake he would chastise himself out loud. He and a few others ended up dropping out during sales training week because the stress was more than they could bear. Gossip about these ‘failures’ was abundant. Mostly these people were ridiculed because they couldn’t cut it. We were better than they because we stayed on.

Any complaint about the training or schedule was not well received. As a matter of fact, any show of doubt, dissent or even weakness was rewarded with a private, or worse yet, public browbeating by Robbie or a sales manager. I tried my best to stay in line and comply with any directives. We were also taught that under no circumstances were we to share our weaknesses or pain with any colleagues and especially not with our roommates, as it was bad for morale and might spoil their sales too.

One afternoon we visited Parchment headquarters in an industrial park outside of Nashville. The halls were lined with photos of successful sales people going back for years. I think that they went back to the 1930's. The black and white photos from that time were all of white men with crew cuts and many with horn rimmed glasses. Further down the hall, the pictures were in color and I saw an occasional woman or black who was a star sales person. Minorities and women were very rare, and I wondered why.

Financial aspects were more rumored than covered out right that day. The scuttlebutt was that a good summer for first year sales people was $3,000 to $5,000 net earnings. Success in the second year meant net earnings of $7,000 to $8,000 per summer, although earnings of $15,000 and up were not uncommon, and sales of $20,000-30,000 were rumored for people who sold three or more summers. Of course, in the second summer one could be a sales manager and get a cut of sales peoples’ earnings from the company’s share. In other words, Chip was going to get a cut of Mary’s, Davie’s and my sales this summer.

There wasn’t really enough room for us to practice our demos inside the building and it was really noisy in the halls with all of the sales people repeating demonstrations to each other. Chip suggested that I go outside on the lawn with him to practice. At first I was a little suspicious of his invitation, but when I got outside, Mary and Davie were already out there. It was much more peaceful outside in the sunshine. Mary and I quietly practiced with each other, taking turns being the sales person, or Mrs. Jones. Mary was a kind study partner. What we were doing was not unlike cramming for finals at college. Chip took turns practicing with us and giving us the benefit of his experience. What I remember most about that afternoon was the killdeer swooping around the building in the bright sunshine calling, “kill-dee, kill-dee, kill-dee…!”

Excitement started to build toward Friday night, when territories were going to be announced. There was whooping and laughing in the halls when people found out their location assignments. Some quietly voiced disappointment with a particular locale or selection of roommates. I was glad that since Mary and I were the only women in sales school this week we already knew we would be roommates. Parchment would never have men and women room together. Finally, Mary and I learned that we were assigned to Athens, Georgia, a small college town not far from Atlanta that was also home to the University of Georgia. We had the whole town and surrounding Clark County to ourselves, and would, of course, be roommates. Neither of us had ever been that far south before. The area was unknown to us, but at least we knew where we were going.

A ride had been arranged for us with other sales people whose territory was adjacent to ours in Oconee County (south of Clark) and we were to leave from Nashville early Saturday morning.

Athens, Georgia Here We Come

2007-08-26T07:26:00.000-07:00

After numerous packing delays, we actually set off for Georgia. Mary and I sat in the back seat together and tried to plan how we would settle in Athens as the car passed state lines from Tennessee into Georgia. We couldn’t wait to see the area we would be living in all summer. It was a longer car trip than I thought it would be and we did not arrive even to the Atlanta area until after dark. The driver tuned the radio to a local station and right away a tornado warning was announced. Three tornadoes had been sighted in the Athens area, right where we were headed. I hadn’t figured on tornadoes. I was petrified of tornadoes. We never had any on Long Island and from what I did know they caused indiscriminate destruction and death. Heavy rain pelted the car windows and I could not see much of anything outside in the inky blackness. If a tornado did come, would we see it in enough time to escape? Would we hear it, sounding like a train approaching us? I only heard the thunder, rain, the car’s engine and the wind shield wipers slapping back and forth. The mood in the car was subdued to say the least. The driver strained to see the road ahead. Lightening flashed, illuminating everything suddenly. It was like that the whole way from Atlanta to Athens.

Finally we arrived in Athens. The guys dropped us off at a cheap motel on Broad Street, apparently the main drag. It was raining too hard to even glance around outside, and we grabbed our stuff out of the trunk and ran inside the motel. Even so we were soaked by rain blowing sideways. The rooms were $30 a night. That was really splurging, considering the target rates the company had taught us. Also, I had very little money left from what I had brought with me to Nashville. But, we had gotten there too late to make other arrangements. The storm was audible even in our room. I wondered if the threat of tornadoes was over, and doubted it. I wasn’t sure if we had been safer in the car than under the motel’s roof.

Although there were two double beds in the room Mary asked if we could share one as we had in Nashville. She was frightened by the storm and the uncertainty of our prospects. So was I. I did not object. Actually I welcomed the comfort of our being together. There was no question that we were a team.

I managed to sleep rather well, probably from the lack of it during the week in sales school. The next morning was sunny and bright. The storm had passed. We checked out of the hotel and explored Athens on foot. Parts of it were quite lovely, especially the historic parts of downtown and the fraternity area of the campus. It would be wonderful to live in those areas for the summer. We bought some local news papers and spent Sunday looking through the classified ads for lodging, and visiting rentals. This was difficult because according to the company’s budget plan we were to pay no more than $15 per week. We looked at some beautiful fraternity and sorority houses on the University of Georgia campus, but these were way too expensive.

We stopped and telephoned Beverly, the mother of a former Parchment sales person, whose phone number the company had provided us with. She sounded very nice and said that she had company that night, but we could stay at her house on Monday and Tuesday night. I was astounded by the hospitality of her offer. She also offered a few hints of where to look for lodging in Athens. We were relieved to have someplace to stay those two days, but as the afternoon approached we were in a panic as to where to stay that night. We had spent all most all of our funds for the motel the night before. I was pretty anxious about not having a place to stay. It occurred to me that just last week my biggest problem was missing the bus to my hotel from the airport. But, I knew that I had to be strong, at least Mary and I were in this together. I had faith that together we would find something.

No Room at the Inn

2007-08-26T07:25:00.000-07:00

When all of our leads dried up, we decided to follow another company teaching and seek lodging for the night at a church. We could see church steeples not far away and walked towards them. We stood outside the biggest, showiest, church we could find, the Prince Avenue Baptist Church, trying to get up the nerve to ask the pastor for a place to stay. I felt like we were begging, but resisted the temptation to ask Mary for her thoughts. While we were standing there, a service let out. Well-to-do looking people streamed around, not noticing us. But, two college girls focused right in on us. They came over an introduced themselves. “Hi, I’m Jessica and this is Carolyn.” They spoke in a perky, flirtatious, high pitched southern drawl that seemed to come from the back of their throats.

“Hi, I’m Mary and this is Sue.”

“We stopped because you guys look lost.” Jessica said. They both giggled.

“I guess in a way we are.” Mary said. “We are in Athens for the summer to sell Bible books and we just got into town last night. Seems like we haven’t found a place to stay yet.” Mary was better suited for handling these people than I was with my Yankee accent.

“No place to stay for the night? That’s terrible! You can stay with us in our dormitory! We go to the University and the semester is over and there are lots of empty rooms. Let’s go tell Mommy and Daddy.” With that, they ran off toward two older couples standing further up the church walkway. We stood there not knowing what to do. The girls spoke with their parents briefly. The parents eyed Mary and me suspiciously. In no time the girls ran back to where we stood. “Y’all are so cute, like lost sheep; we just want to adopt you!” They said. “Mommy and Daddy think we’re crazy, but we don’t care, so you’re coming with us.” I didn’t know what to say, except thank you. The girls’ parents loaded us and all of our stuff into their cars and drove us to the dormitory. Jessica and Carolyn chatted on and made us feel so welcome.

It was comforting and familiar to be in a college dorm. Jessica and Carolyn insisted on fussing over us. To our surprise, they prepared a traditional southern dinner for us that night. They took great joy in being the first to introduce us to southern fare. We sat on the floor of their dorm room as they opened the containers brought from one of their parents’ homes. There was southern fried chicken, black eyed peas, and greens. The fried chicken was succulent and crispy with a perfect amount of seasoning. The black eyed beans, which I had never even seen before, were completely unlike the any beans I was used to. They had a subtle bean taste with hints of salted butter. The collard greens were chopped and blanched and topped with bacon grease. That home cooked meal really satisfied more than just my appetite that night. It’s got to be one of the best meals I’ve ever had.

Jessica and Carolyn were so pleasant and optimistic that they breathed hope into me. They also told us that the Prince Baptist Church had free prayer breakfasts at 7:00 AM on Thursday mornings, and they would love for us to come. I wasn’t really that interested, but Mary responded with enthusiasm.

Thursday seemed awfully far away to me.

Jessica and Carolyn had brought extra sheets and blankets from home so that Mary and I would not have to sleep on bare mattresses in the unoccupied dorm rooms. They really took joy in adopting us and seeing to all of our needs. If there was such a thing as a true Christian spirit, they had it. In the morning, we thanked them profusely and I was sorry to leave them and the campus setting that reminded me of a more predictable time at school when ahead was only the unknown.

First Day of Sales

2007-08-26T07:24:00.001-07:00

Monday was our first sales day. I was somewhat excited to try my hand at selling, but overall not anxious to knock on doors. We decided to try to sell books in the morning, to get some money, and continue our search for a place to stay in the afternoon. In the evening we would contact Beverly about lodging that night. There was a motor home park not far from the campus, and we decided to try our luck there. We split up. Mary would go to the trailers on the left of the access road, while I tried the right. We would meet at noon.

This was it, my first house, my litmus test. I read the names on the mailboxes. I went up to the first trailer, Mrs. Brown’s. I gathered up my courage, knocked on the door and then retreated a few feet (as I was taught) so as not to be threatening. She took a long time; had she heard the knock? But there she was, opening the door.

“Mornin’”, she said. She was an older black lady. She held her head down and I couldn’t get a good look at her behind the screen door, but I could see her head of grey hair.

“Hi there Mrs. Brown! My name is Sue Fairview, and I’ve been calling on all of the church folks in the neighborhood. Y’all do go to some local church, don’t you?” I chimed.

“When I can, dear.”

“Well, I just wanted to come by and see you. May I come in?” She didn’t answer, but retreated into the home, leaving the only the screen door closed behind her. I took this as a yes and timidly opened the screen door and entered her home. A bead of sweat trickled down my forehead. The approach worked. I got in!!!

I tried to search for something to complement, but it was really dark inside the mobile home. It wasn’t much cooler than outside. She was already seated in the living area in an easy chair up against a shade covered window that was the brightest source of light in the room. I could only see her in silhouette. I sat on my sales case in front of her, opened it and removed my Bible Dictionary. I was completely focused on delivering the demo perfectly. I wondered if she could even see what I was doing in the dark as I turned the pages of the book to show her references to the scriptures. She listened attentively and asked me to look for something from her favorite scripture. My knowledge of the Bible is rudimentary, and I was glad that I could locate it for her. I took it as a good sign.

My demo finished, I moved to the closing. But she stopped me. “I’ve enjoyed your visit.” she said. “I’d be glad to buy one of your books, but I’m blind.” She turned her head slightly into the light and I could see a milky cloudiness over her eyes.

“Oh, I didn’t notice.” I said after a pausing to hide my utter surprise. “I’m very sorry Mrs. Brown.” Then it killed me to say what the company taught me, but I did. “A book like this would make a great gift for the grand kids too.” My back-up pitch failed though.

“I’m sorry honey, but I have no money anyhow.” She got up to show me the door. I left, hating myself for continuing to pitch her. How could I have not noticed that she was blind?

At least I had gotten into my first house and completed a demonstration. Maybe I didn’t do so badly after all. I needn’t tell anyone that my first demonstration was to a blind person. The experience quashed my irrational dream of being an instant success at selling books, though.

Serial Rapist

2007-08-26T07:23:00.000-07:00

I continued to go from trailer to trailer that morning. I had to skip many because the folks were not at home, and I didn’t really get into many others. I felt pretty de-motivated by the time I met up with Mary again.

“Hi. Great to see you again.” I said to her. “Did it go okay?” I was dying to ask her out right how she did, but I knew that the Parchment rule was that it was not okay to ask.

“Everything is fine.” she said blandly. Her poker face kept me in the dark as to how she had really fared. I thought I noticed an upbeat mood, and maybe that meant that she had sold a book. Maybe if I told her how I did, she wouldn’t be offended by my breaking the rules and would reciprocate. After all, she couldn’t really intend to go through the entire summer without sharing her experiences with me.

“Well, I’ll tell you first.” I started. “I didn’t sell anything, but managed to get in a few demonstrations.” Then I just waited for her response.

She smiled. “That’s great Sue, but be careful, we’re not really supposed to tell each other things like that.” Guess I’d never know if she’d made a sale yet. Moreover, she was sticking to the rule about not discussing sales results, good or bad with her roommate. I was disappointed because I had hoped she could see beyond this one rule.

We went to the town tourist information center and got two maps of Athens. We sat on a cement bench and opened our maps. They were up-to-date and had little dots representing each house. We decided to divide our territory in half so that each of us could pick one of the halves. We looked over the little house dots and tried to split the map fairly. Broad Street bisected the town evenly from East to West, and she chose the northern section of Athens. I took the Southern section.

It was lunch time, and we knew from our car ride the night before that it was not a long walk from there to the Varsity, a campus fast food restaurant. We ordered grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch, and to my horror the fry cook behind the counter slathered both sides of the white bread with mayonnaise. I was used to butter, lightly applied to one side of each slice of bread. “Could I have less mayo?” I asked.

“HOLD THE GREASE!” yelled the waitress to the cook. We sat at a metal picnic table outside. I had my first Southern iced tea. I didn’t know it already had sugar in it, so I added more. It was unpalatable, and I was so hot and thirsty. They taught us at sales school to drink a glass of water every hour while selling, and I had not managed to get any all morning.

After lunch, we looked at rooms to let in houses of retired couples in the center of town. This area, between Broad Street and Prince Avenue was an old neighborhood. The houses were huge and looked like they were built circa the 1800's. Most had three stories, were white, and had large pillars in the front around their ample porches. I remember looking at one house in particular. When the front door opened I could smell urine. The old man had had a stroke and now lived sitting on a potty chair. His wife was also ancient and looked overwhelmed with caring for him and the house. I focused on just getting away from the stench. The room was $10 a week. They were nice people and felt pity for them, but there was no way I could stay there.

We had no luck. Places were either too expensive, or just unlivable. It took so much time walking from location to location, that before we knew it the afternoon was over and we telephoned Beverly to pick us up. She lived in a very nice middle class neighborhood on the East side of town. She showed us pictures of her son, who had sold for Parchment some time ago. We stayed in a bedroom upstairs that had white eyelet lace covers and curtains. That evening she gave us dinner and we talked while eating.

“The first thing I ought to let you ladies know is that there is a serial rapist on the loose in downtown Athens. It’s terrible. The victims are young white women. They are raped and then stabbed to death. There have been three murders so far and the police seem to have no leads. You ladies have to be really careful out there.”

We stared at her wide eyed, not knowing what to say to this. “Gee, thanks for letting us know.” said Mary.

Our hostess continued to instruct us. “The murders have been in the part of downtown not far from the projects. It’s really just across Broad Street that the neighborhood is all poor blacks. What ever you do, don’t sell books there because they’ll shoot at you. Anyhow, those folks will want your books, but never come up with the money at delivery.”

“Really?” I asked. “They’d go ahead and order the books when they know they can’t afford them?”

“Yup, they’re too weak to say no, I think. Look, there are lots of great neighborhoods to sell in here in Athens. How about if I drive you to one in the morning after breakfast?”

“Wow that would be great. We don’t want to put you out though.”

“It’s no problem really. I just think of when my son was out there all alone selling books and I hoped that nice people were looking out for him. The least I can do is help any one Parchment steers my way. It’s my pleasure, really.”

The area Beverly proposed was in Mary’s territory, but Mary said that it was alright with her. Beverly also said that she would call some friends of hers to see if they had rooms to let. She was a tremendous help.

Close Call

2007-08-26T07:22:00.000-07:00

We slept well, and in the morning Beverly drove us north on Prince Avenue and out of town. She let us off in a suburban development and we spent the day going house-to-house. I didn’t sell any books, but I didn’t seem to have much trouble getting in doors. I estimated that given a full day of selling I could do 15 demos a day easy. I also got al bit more comfortable with the demos. Mary and I rendezvoused after a while. We decided to hitchhike back to town. She was going to follow-up on some lodging leads, and I wanted to start selling on my own and in my own territory. We could meet at a central location later.

We crossed the street and walked to a gas station where we could pick up a ride. I went to the ladies room, and when I came out Mary was waiting for me.

“Hey! It’s all taken care of. I found us a ride with a really nice guy.”, she said excitedly.

“Great!” I said as I rounded the corner of the gas station. I could not believe my eyes. The guy had shoulder length, unkempt oily hair, was not shaved, was dirty, and wore torn clothes. He looked worse than a bum. His car was a beat up old station wagon full of dents and rust. One of the car’s doors hung off of its hinges and I wasn’t sure how it stayed on.

“Mary”, I said, “I don’t think we should take this ride. I mean, look at that guy.”

“Ya know you New Yorkers just don’t trust anyone. This is the South, its different here. He’s just dirty because he works.” she whispered as the guy came up to where we were standing.

The guy smiled and said, “You girls need a ride to town? I’m goin’ there.”

“Mary!” I whispered furiously hoping all the while the guy wouldn’t hear me. “There is no way that we should take this ride with this guy! I refuse to get in his car.”

“Look, I need to make this one decision. Don’t you trust my sense of judgment about people?”

Meanwhile, the guy had walked back to his car to replace his car’s gas cap. He stood by the back passenger side door, and opened it. “Nothin’ to worry about. I’ll take y’all to town.”

Mary got in the back of the car and sat down. It seemed that I could either, abandon her, make a scene or get in. I sat in the front seat next to the driver. “Okay,” I said, “You can take this road straight into town.”

“No problem. This road, straight into town.” It was strange that he repeated me.

Everything seemed okay for the first half a mile or so. After that I saw that there was a right hand turn onto a one lane road. To my horror, he made that right hand turn. I looked over at the guy, but he just kept driving. I couldn’t think of anything to say. I was frightened and my adrenaline started to flow. The fact that the road seemed to cut through a woods only heightened my fears. There were no houses or even buildings in sight. I hoped like anything that Mary realized that this was potentially a very dangerous situation. I was too petrified to turn around and look at Mary. I didn’t want to alert the driver to my heightened sense of fear. The car was going about 40 miles per hour; it was too fast to jump out.

We drove on this deserted road for another half a mile. A pickup truck was pulled over to the right up ahead with four people in it. The two guys sitting in the front were wearing caps and had their feet up on the dashboard, and the two in the back of the truck had their feet up on the sides of the truck.

“Hey look!” said our driver, “Its some buddies of mine. Now we can have a party.” He began to slow down and pull over to the side of the road behind the truck.

I was in a panic. Visions of the two of us gang raped entered my brain. I only hoped that Mary also understood that we must get away from this dire situation immediately. I put my left hand on the handle of my sales case, and my right on the door lever. I planted my feet firmly on the floor of the car. I was ready and I had a plan.

Before the car even came to a stop, I had opened the car door. Holding my sales case in my clenched left hand, I jumped out of the still moving car. I had to make some quick steps so as not to be dragged or loose my balance, but I stayed on my feet. Dust swirled up around me. As the car continued to move past me I grabbed the back passenger door handle with my right hand. I pulled as hard as I could on the handle while pressing the release button, and the door flew open wide. I reached inside the car grabbed Mary by the front of her shirt and pulled both her and her sales case out of the back seat and away from the car. Fortunately she was somewhat prepared for this outcome and landed on her feet with sales case still in hand. With my hands on her shoulders, I turned her around to face the highway we had just come from and yelled, “Run!” I gave her a little push to make sure she got my point, but she needed no urging. We both ran for our lives while hanging onto our sales cases all the way back to the main road. With fear motivating me, I felt no fatigue or much of any physical discomfort the whole way. I turned once to see if the guys were coming after us, but they were not. All of them got out of their vehicles, but they didn’t come after us on foot. They just watched us run. My fear was that they would come after us in their vehicles.

Back on the main road, I could tell Mary was as scared as I was. I had never seen her usually relaxed gaze transformed into this panic stricken wide eyed glare before. Perhaps I looked much the same. We still feared that they would come after us. We were desperate to get another ride while we continued running back towards the gas station. We waved frantically to passing cars. We must have looked like two crazy women to the cars that sped by. No one stopped.

A state trooper car passed and he saw us. He made a U-turn and pulled over in front of us. He waved for us to get in the back and we did. “Boy are we ever glad to see you!” I said. “You won’t believe what just happened to us!”

He cut into what I was saying. “Did you know that I could arrest you girls for hitchhiking? I could take you in. Do you know how dangerous hitchhiking is?” he lectured.

We laughed at that and told him what had just happened to us. He shook his head. “You were lucky. I’d go back there and look for them, but odds are they’ve left. Looks like you’ve learned a lesson today, so I’ll take you into town.” He continued lecturing us by telling us about the rapist- stabber on the loose in Athens, all the while keeping an eye on the digital radar detector readout from the oncoming cars. I asked how fast folks needed to be going to get pulled over. He answered, “Well now, look at these guys they’re goin’ 60 to 70 miles per hour or so. When I’m on my way somewhere it’s going to take the real speeder to get my attention, like 80 or more...whoa, here we go! Hang on!”

I saw the readout: 85 miles per hour. The trooper slammed on the brakes, and made a sharp left turn at 40-50 miles per hour. The rear end of the car spun around behind us, the tires shrieking as they left black marks on the pavement. He gunned the engine and headed down the deep grassy drainage ditch that was in between the opposite lanes of traffic. The car bottomed out as we headed up the other side of the gully. We had already turned to the direction of the road before we left the grass. Our spinning wheels jerked onto the pavement and the car shimmied as we accelerated to over 100 miles per hour in just seconds. The speeder had not slowed and it took a bit of pursuit to catch up to him, but he did pull over when we came right up behind him with all of the car’s lights flashing. The trooper leapt out of the car and wrote the ticket.

End of Homlessness

2007-08-26T07:21:00.000-07:00

The trooper managed to drive us all the way back to town without further delay. Finally we were back in town. Mary and I planned to meet back at 9:00 PM in the parking lot of the MacDonald’s on Prince Avenue. I set off on foot to my territory. In neighborhoods adjacent to Milledge Road I made about eight demos by eight o’clock, and started back on the hour walk to MacDonald’s. I met Mary there. She had called Beverly, who found a potential place for us to stay, with a friend of the family, Mrs. Epps. Mary had already seen the room, and seemed set on it. It was just on Meigs Street a couple of blocks west of Milledge and we were expected at 10:00 PM so that I could see the room. It was a nice old neighborhood that we had seen houses in before. I was surprised when Mary pointed it out to me, because the house was enormous. The Greek Revival house had three floors and white columns out front. We rang the bell on the side door, they never used the front, and the maid answered. She let us in and took us to see Mrs. Epps. The house had that southern close musty, smell of mildew, but otherwise smelled okay. Mr. and Mrs. Epps were in a small television room immediately left of the door. Apparently, Mr. Epps was not ambulatory and lived his days in that room. Mrs. Epps rose from her lazyboy chair to look us over. She was a nondescript thin elderly lady. She took us up to see the room herself. It was available starting Thursday night. The room was on the second floor in the right front corner of the house. The dimensions looked to be 18 feet by 18 feet and a cool breeze came through the curtained windows on the front and side walls of the house (a good sign). The floors were wide plank hard wood and there was a hooked rug with a rose design on it. There were two single beds and one wooden chair painted white. The walls were painted very light blue and the bed quilts and curtains were cotton with a small blue flowered pattern. It was clean and cozy looking. We would have to share a bathroom with another tenant, a man. There was no shower and the old white bathtub was huge and its feet were shaped like clawed animal paws.

The room was $20 a week, and Mary and I could split that amount. We also would have use of the house kitchen which seemed to take up one quarter of the downstairs, it was so big. The kitchen was not as clean as the room, though, and smelled like moldy bread. We took it, and were to move in the following morning. On Wednesday night, the room was not available; but Mrs. Epps said that she had a sun room with two beds in it that we could stay in until Thursday. We would stay at Beverly’s that night and she would drive us and our things there first thing Wednesday. What a relief to have a place to stay.

First Big Sale

2007-08-26T07:19:00.000-07:00

I gave 17 demos on Wednesday, after our move, but did not sell any books. I was concerned because I had not sold anything at all yet, and I was supposed to call Robbie on Thursday to check in.

That night we stayed in the sun room behind Mrs. Epps’ bedroom. I would never have guessed that it was on the third floor. The maid took us up the stairs to Mrs. Epps bedroom which covered about half of the size of the house. I guess it had been a master bedroom. Up against the rear wall was a king size canopy bed with Mrs. Epps in it. As that huge bed was lost in the room, was Mrs. Epps lost in that bed. She looked like a tiny dot with covers drawn up around her. She motioned to a door to the right of the bed which led out to the sun room. Mary and I slept on twin beds surrounded by screen windows. Being on the third floor, the room gave the impression that one was in a tree house. The morning sunshine woke us and we were covered with dew. We tiptoed out, so as not to wake Mrs. Epps.

Thursday morning Mary and I went to the Prince Baptist Church’s prayer breakfast that Jessica and Carolyn had invited us to. It was held in the basement of an industrial looking building down the street from Prince Baptist Church. Even though we were on time, 7:30 AM, forty or so people were already there. We later learned that the praying part starts shortly after 7:30, so people come earlier than that for the food. Breakfast was served cafeteria style. Steaming stainless steel trays were still full of eggs, bacon, sausage, home fries, pancakes, waffles and grits. I piled my plate high, skipping the grits. During the summer I tried grits with every available spice, dressing or syrup, and never did find them palatable. We ate quickly, so as to be finished before the prayer.

An elder of the church stood, welcomed the crowd and asked for a moment of silent prayer. I bowed my head, prayed to who knows who that I would sell a book, and looked through the top of my eyeglasses for the signal to raise our heads again. Next came the testimonial part of the meeting. Folks stood one by one and revealed spiritual moments they had. This public participatory form of practicing religion was new to me. Most I had ever seen before was a congregation singing hymns. My first thought was, gee, I hope they don’t call on me. What would I say besides, “Thanks for the meal?”

One young woman who seemed to be a contemporary of Jessica and Carolyn stood to welcome a new member of the congregation. He was the star quarterback of the Georgia Bulldogs Football team. He waved and I noticed that he was the only black person in the room. It struck me as odd that the congregation was all white save for this one young man.

Well, they didn’t call on me or Mary for that matter but the service lasted until 8:30 and we were late for the book field. Actually that was one reason that I didn’t go back to the breakfast prayer meetings much. Also, I felt guilty eating their food, and not really praying. What if some day they did call on me? I certainly had nothing spiritual to offer.

I again set out walking to my territory. Exploration was impossible on foot, so I picked up exactly where I left off the previous day. My first house was a ranch that was white with brown trim. I noticed that it had a pretty backyard porch. I knocked on the door and the woman of the house let me in. She led me directly to the backyard porch and invited me to sit on a chaise. I did and gave the demo for the Bible Dictionary perfectly.

Before I could close begin my closing she asked, “Well what else do you have in that case?” I hesitated. This had never happened before. I figured that she was not interested in the Bible Dictionary and proceeded to give the demo for the Family Bible Library. She again asked what else I had, and I proceeded to show her the health book and then educational books. As soon as I finished, she cut me off and said, “I’m sorry. I can’t use the health book.” she paused. “But I will take the others.”

“Which others?” I inquired.

“Well, all of them!”

I was shocked, to say the least. “Okay, lets see now, that’s one Bible Dictionary, one Family Bible Library set, and one set of educational books.” I tried to sound as if it was a routine order, but I was flabbergasted as I wrote up the order slip and tried to figure the total. I didn’t even need the closings. I wondered if she really wanted all of these books, or secretly knew that I was flat broke and desperate to make a sale. The total was over $200 and she gave me half in cash as a deposit. I was flush! I thanked her profusely and left as soon as possible, lest she change her mind. I felt that this sale was the ultimate success.

I hastily found a pay phone to check in with Robbie. He answered on the second ring. “Hi Sue! How’s it going?”

“It was real slow until just recently. I just made a huge sale. My first!” I said and told him the amount.

“Yeah, but what did you get as a deposit?”

“I got half, and in cash!”

“That’s really good Sue, congratulations. But remember its only Thursday and there are two more selling days to the week. Now is not the time to rest on your laurels. If you’re hot, you should capitalize on that. I’ve spoken to Chip and he has agreed to come by and train you tomorrow in your territory. He’s calling in later; just give me the address where he can meet you. He’ll be by at 7:30 in the morning or so. Keep up the good work and don’t forget to fill out the weekly sales report and remit your money on Sunday. Take care, Sue!”

“Okay, Robbie. Bye!” Boy, it was great to call him with good news instead of the dismal news I would have had just an hour ago. I couldn’t wait to try to sell again after my success. I headed back to the houses.

Training with Chip

2007-08-26T07:18:00.000-07:00

Chip took me out for training in my territory on Friday of my first week out on the ‘bookfield’. In the morning, he picked me up in his white Mustang convertible and we drove out into the country to a place that he didn’t think I would be able to reach without a car during that summer. We stopped at a small but well kept white ranch house situated in the middle of a grassy field. The black folks inside were receptive to Chip’s approach and let us in. Pictures of John F. Kennedy, Bobby Kennedy, and Martin Luther King hung on the paneled living room walls along side of posed family portraits. The furniture was of dark, heavy wood, and the coffee table had the family’s leather bound family bible front and center. The carpet was shag. The whole family gathered in the living room to listen to Chip. The children looked wide eyed and nodded enthusiastically as Chip asked them, “Don’t you wish that bible study could be as exciting as the fourth of July?” He sold a family bible library set in no time flat using no more than the Parchment script exactly as written. The whole visit took 10 to 15 minutes.

Down the road some we visited a pale yellow trailer that was up on cinder blocks. Our knock was answered by a young woman. She was of normal build with dyed blond hair, blue eyes and an ordinary face. Her red nail polish was chipped, as was one of her front teeth. She wore a tube top and shorts. Chip’s eyes flashed, and he winked at her as he rattled through his approach. She stepped out of the trailer to see us, and Chip made a remark about how cute girls in Georgia were. She came over to the car to see what books Chip had in the trunk. Using the line, “they make great Christmas gifts too!” Chip sold her two sets of family bible libraries. She asked if Chip could drop by later some time so that a sister of hers could meet him and see the books too. Chip smiled broadly, of course he could.

Back in the mustang, we drove off further out of the populated area. The paved part of the road ended, and it became a dusty dirt lane. It was getting pretty hot out and the sun was high. I was about to say that I didn’t think there would be any more houses this way when the car started to make a noise. It sounded like something was dragging underneath, but Chip kind of smiled as he pulled over onto a grassy area under a tree. He got out of the car and peered under it.

“The muffler is dragging. The clip must have broken when we got onto the dirt road. It needs to cool off a little before I fool with it.”, he said. He got back into the front seat beside me. “That last house was an interesting example of what can happen out here on the bookfield.” he said in a lecturing tone. “Like that girl. She was attractive, tempting. I must admit that I haven’t always resisted temptation. The women are home alone, and can be so desirable. But I regret that I have succumbed because it took away time from selling books. You need to focus on the job. Just imagine you may be selling a book to a guy who is so gorgeous that you’ll cream your pants just looking at him.” He leaned closer and made eye contact. “Do you think you could resist?” He leaned forward and kissed my mouth as his hands began to move towards me. I was still physically attracted to Chip, but that was all.

“Yes, I could resist.” I replied, backing away from the kiss. But his advance did not stop, so I picked up my sales case and got out of the car. Furious at this tactic of his, I began to walk back towards civilization and I didn’t look back. I walked a few hundred yards before he caught up to me on foot.

“I was just testing, really. It’s part of the training. You did well.” He smiled and held his hands out in a conciliatory manner as he urged me back to the car. I hadn’t been pissed off enough that I was fully prepared to hitchhike all the way back to town. But his hands out made me relax, even though I really never believed it was part of the training. We started walking back to the car.

“Oh”, I said after thinking for a bit, “is that how you are going to train Mary as well?”

“What would you say if I told you that I already had? Would you be jealous?” He winked at me.

I just shook my head and stood under the shade of the tree while Chip searched in the trunk for a wire coat hanger. Finding one, he crawled under the car and lay down on his back in the dust as he rigged the muffler so it wouldn’t drag. When he was finished he stood and I could see that his face and body glistened with sweat, and the back of his white short sleeve shirt was stained with the reddish dirt Georgia is known for.

“Well, that’s enough training for today. I’ll drop you off in your territory closer to town. I need to go home and change my shirt.” We hopped back in the Mustang and drove on in silence.

Transportation

2007-08-26T07:17:00.002-07:00

Chip dropped me off at the Cedar Shoals subdivision south of Athens. I would be easy enough for me to hitch a ride back from there. I’m going to steal something from the sitcom The Odd Couple. If all territory is alike than all aspirin are the same too. I’m sorry, but contrary to the Parchment theory this looked like ‘prime’ territory. This neighborhood was the first I had been to where I saw little kids. It was such a shame that I would not be able to come back for a long time, since I was following the ‘spider web’ procedure for covering territory.

The place reminded me though, that another mission of mine was to borrow a bicycle for transportation. I always wondered who in their right mind would lend a working bicycle to a complete stranger for the summer.

At my third house, a man was gardening in the front yard. I started my demo right there, but we got to talking about what I had set out to do that summer.

“You, young lady have chosen a long row to hoe.” he said. I told him that I needed a bicycle for transportation. He was shocked that I was on foot. He led me around to the back of the house where four bicycles leaned against the wall. They were covered by an overhang and were not rusting too badly. He dug through the stack and pulled out a dark green three speed Sears Americruiser that was boy’s style and had a metal rack on the back. It also had flat tires. He got the pump out of the garage and filled the tires. He took down a cloth and cleaned the bike off. “Here try this out.” he said. Leaving my sales case behind, I rolled the bike down the driveway, hopped on and rode around the block. The bike was in fine shape and it felt great to be on wheels again. I used to ride my bike a lot at home, since there was no public transportation. The bike was stuck in third gear. When, I got back, the man had located a tire generating headlight from another bike and attached it the front and wheel of the green one. He also gave me a bungee cord to hold my sales case on the rack with.

“It’s great! I’ really like to borrow it.” I said.

“Borrow it? For how long?”

“For the summer. I plan to return it to you at the end of the summer.”

“Just take it. You don’t need to bring it back. At least someone who really needs it will be using it. It’s just sitting around here rusting.”

“I couldn’t do that sir. I will return it at the end of the summer. I really appreciate your kindness.” I insisted. He just gave me a wave and I rode off. I decided to return immediately to the territory where I was selling on Thursday. The bicycle felt wonderful underneath me. It rolled smoothly and seemed effortless after miles of walking. I covered the four miles back to Athens in no time.

Mary also managed to borrow a bike around the same time I did. It was a red ten speed.

[Author's apologies for the bad color here. I am dealing with changing gif to jpg. Guess it needs more work.]

Bike

2007-08-26T07:17:00.001-07:00

This is what my bike actually looked like, but in green.

Prince Baptist Church

2007-08-26T07:15:00.000-07:00

As I came around one block the houses appeared to be newer, and some were quite large. It was an affluent area. One door that I knocked on was answered by a Spanish speaking maid. I asked to see the lady of the house. She was summoned by intercom. I really didn’t think I’d get into this house at all. The lady of the house, Mrs. Franklin, was elegant looking in her caftan and cloth turban. Her brunette hair peeked out of the material. She was fortyish, I suppose. When I said the part of the approach about church folks, she perked up and said, “You’re probably here because my husband, Bobbie, is an elder of Prince Baptist.”

“Prince Baptist, I was at their prayer meeting this morning!”

“Well, come right in honey.” she chimed. She led me through an impressively decorated house. We went through the foyer, the living room and at least three parlors before we came to the back sun room where she sat with a drink that looked like a mint julep. The maid got me an iced tea.

“I’m sure you’ve heard all about Bobbie, um, Mr. Franklin. He’s been a church elder for over twenty years, and he’s on the city council. He’s raised the more money in charity events than anyone in town. Of course Prince Baptist has the biggest congregation in Athens, so that’s an advantage. Of course when we joined Prince Baptist it was much smaller. The congregation has nearly quadrupled since then, and you guessed it, Bobbie was an integral part of attracting folks to our church through business and personal contacts. You know, we do want as many of the ‘right’ people as possible.”

“I know what you mean.” I said, giving her the stock answer to any statement, that I learned in my sales training. I wasn’t exactly sure who the ‘right’ people were. I was afraid she meant white and or affluent folks, but did not think that asking her to be specific was a good idea. She seemed unstoppable in her monologue. I thought that I might learn interesting or useful things about the locale from her, and it certainly was a pleasant setting, and a very refreshing glass of brewed iced tea. So, I let her continue.

“Will you be in town long? You could join our church. You are saved aren’t you? Well of course you are, you already told me that you went to the prayer breakfast.”

I nodded agreeably. It was a lie, but it seemed like the thing to do. I didn’t want to create a problem by being honest.

“Our summer picnic is in July and you should come! You could meet my Bobbie. There will be nice young men who have accepted Christ there. You’re not married yet are you dear?”

“Um, no. The picnic sounds great, I’ll be there.” I said. More free food. I couldn’t turn it down. Besides, there could be lots of people to get interested in the books, or maybe just to make contacts with. I tried as subtly as I could to bring the conversation to a demonstration, but as soon as the topic was switched to why I was there, Mrs. Franklin looked down at the floor. She politely listened to the Family Bible Library demonstration, but had the maid usher me out as soon as would not be considered rude. I completed my required number of demonstrations, but didn’t sell anymore books that afternoon.

Mrs. Franklin’s neighbor’s house was next. I knocked on the door, and stood back. The woman who answered the door was young, well dressed and African-American. She let me in. We sat in the living room and it was immediately apparent that they were new to this affluent neighborhood, as some of their stuff was still in boxes. Her husband was home and joined us. They had no children yet, and didn’t seem very interested in the books. They kept looking at each other, confiding something that I wasn’t getting. “So, you guys just moved in?”

“Yes.”, the man replied.

“How do you like the neighborhood?”

The knowing looks resumed between them, and the wife began to cry. “That’s the problem you see. We don’t feel welcome at all here. The neighbors shun us, and we can’t join Prince Baptist. You should see the looks we get. We are considering moving, but to where? My husband got this great job so that we can afford this kind of place, and there aren’t any upscale neighborhoods for blacks here in Athens. When we have kids, we want them to attend the good schools here and grow up in a nice place. There is no such place here in town. Frankly, we don’t know what to do.” Her husband looked at her with concern and understanding, and then tears began to run down his face also.

He offered, “It’s not like anyone has burnt crosses on our lawn, or any overt bigoted thing like that, its just we don’t feel included in any way.”

I lowered my head and sighed. It was all so sad. “I know it’s really bigoted here in the South and I don’t know what I can tell you, except that I know what you mean and I feel for you.” Then, I began to cry softly for using a stock line to indicate that I commiserated with them. We all cried together for a while. The last I could offer them was that they could move to the North. I left the house and I could hear them still sobbing softly together.

Mary and I finally got to stay in our rented room on Thursday night. What a delight to have someplace to call home.

Some days later, still in the affluent neighborhood, on a bright and sunny afternoon, an obese man drove up behind me in a ’76 white Cadillac convertible with a red interior. His fingers glittered with gemstone rings. He eyed me and pulled over to speak with me. He introduced himself as Bobbie. I spoke with him a bit, and figured out that he was Mrs. Franklin’s husband without him telling me. He told me that he would give me his diamond pinky ring if I got into the Caddy with him. I declined and rode off.

Okay, so summing up, Mrs. Franklin was an alcoholic, Mr. Franklin, the church elder was a whoring fat man, and nobody in the neighborhood or their church liked blacks, unless they were ‘somebodies’. These self proclaimed Christians were all racist, sex mongering, drunk, hypocrites. Great neighborhood to live in; great church to belong to. And I did not tell a soul.

First Sales Meeting

2007-08-26T07:14:00.002-07:00

On Saturday night I dutifully completed my sales report, carefully noting my whopping one and only sale, and sealed all of my cash into the remittance envelope. The guys selling books in Oconee County, South of us, picked Mary and me up on Sunday morning and we drove to the sales meeting at a hotel in Marietta, north of Atlanta.

I thought that it would be great fun to go to the meeting. I figured that it would be instructional and supportive for us hard working folks. How bad could it be? At least we would not be asked to recite demonstrations. The meeting was held in a large conference room of the Marriott Hotel, just like other conventions are. I’d say there were about 100 people there. Everyone was smiling and Mary and I sat in the middle of the audience. The song, Me and Mrs. Jones [we got a thing going on] as sung by Billy Paul, was playing on the house audio system. I guess it was the Parchment theme song.

As I recall, after our welcome from Robbie, individual sales people were asked to stand up and reveal their sales total for the week. If they had sold well, they were to explain how they accomplished this. Pity the soul who did not have a good week, however, because they were publicly chastised. It was all planned. The management had seen the totals from our sales statements and orchestrated these ‘testimonials’. Again, I found myself dreading being called on.

Apparently, Mary had sold really well in her first week. She was asked to stand to report her first week’s total, which she did, and she managed to give a very politic reason, “I just followed my training!” Every one applauded, including me. I was really proud of her, and she gave me hope that I could do the same.

A young man was called on next and his total was not as impressive as Mary’s. Robbie snapped, “Hey! A girl sold better than you! Ha, ha, ha!” Everyone in the room laughed at the young man. “What are you going to do to improve your performance?” quipped Robbie.

The poor guy sputtered, “Um, I’m going to rededicate myself to doing my demonstrations and I’m going to really ‘want’ the sale!” There was a telltale hesitation and pain in his voice. He was caught off guard and humiliated. His answer was like spitting into the wind.

I just kind of died inside. How could they humiliate someone who was out there trying! And, if that wasn’t enough, Mary and I were the only women in the room, and obviously we ‘girls’ were not expected to sell as well as the men. If by chance we did, it would be used to chastise the men. My sales meeting bubble burst; I never wanted to go to another. But, attendance was required and this was only the first of many. I was grateful not to be called on that day. Was my week that bad compared to the others?

Later, I congratulated Mary on her great week and asked her if she could give me any tips. She was completely unhelpful, although not for lack of good intentions. She said that she herself did not understand the reason for her success. All she had done was use the demonstrations as written.

The rest of the day we were free to socialize and swim in the hotel’s pool. Most of the guys really let off steam. They acted out as if drunk, but I don’t think they were. I can’t say that I was in a party mood. I felt a little stunned. It was going to be a long summer.

Parking Lot

2007-08-26T07:14:00.001-07:00

Gregg and Bill, whose territory was north of ours offered to give us a ride back that night. Also, Gregg offered to give me some training on Monday. Bill was a sturdy fellow with wiry blond hair and a trollish, yet attractive, face. I was hoping to get home early from the meeting to rest up for the coming week, but we didn’t end up leaving until nearly midnight on Sunday. After driving until 1:00 AM, Gregg pulled the car over into a parking lot.

“Phew! I’ll tell you. I’m all in. I don’t think I can drive another mile without falling asleep. I just have to pull over and get some shut eye.” said Gregg. “Bill, are you awake enough to drive?”

“No. I was already asleep when you pulled over, and that woke me up. It’s okay with me if we sleep a little first. Unless one of you girls would like to take the wheel.”

“Neither of us drive.” said Mary.

“Are you sure you can’t drive any more? We’re only about an hour outside of Athens, aren’t we?” I tried to be the voice of reason. I just couldn’t believe that they wanted to stop here.

“Well, Bill and I are just too tired to go on, and you two don’t drive. What would you have me do?” answered Gregg.

Mary seemed accepting of all this, but I was upset. “Where in the hell are we going to sleep?” I asked.

“I’ve got two blankets in the trunk and we could lay them out and sleep on the parking lot.”

I had no money, having remitted all of it, and there weren’t even any cars going by to hitch a ride with. I felt trapped.

Mary and I walked a block to a nearby house and squatted and peed in their bushes. There was much giggling and nervousness. Urinating outside was a first for her, although I had done it before with my best friend during a sleep over, when we went outside and climbed a tree and peed from there. Still it was new enough to be worth giggling over.

Meanwhile the guys laid out the blankets in parking spaces and lay down. Upon our return, it was made clear that I was to sleep on Gregg’s blanket, and Mary was to sleep on Bill’s. This was such an obvious set up that I was angry enough to spit. I tried the back seat of the car, but it was too hot and the seat was short and had a big bump in the middle. I lay down on the blanket facing away from Gregg. A few moments later he tapped my shoulder, and when I turned he gave me a little kiss. “You know, I don’t bite”, he said in a bedroom tone. I rolled away from him.

Boy was that parking lot uncomfortable. I have a hard time falling asleep sometimes as it is. I told Gregg and he offered for me to sleep on top of him. I was so uncomfortable that I tried it. I did, with my back to his front. I’m sure he appreciated it, but I still wasn’t comfortable enough to sleep so I got off.

We awoke (I really didn’t sleep a wink) well before sunrise on Monday morning. We dropped off Bill and Mary in Bill’s territory. Gregg and I drove towards Athens on back roads. When eight o’clock rolled around, we weren’t close to my territory yet, but Gregg saw some ‘prime’ territory and wanted to sell some books for the deposit money. He counted out five or six houses for me, and left me on the road, saying that he would return to pick me up before I could finish them.

Pervert

2007-08-26T07:13:00.000-07:00

I started with a small white house under some pretty white pines. An old man opened the door and I was let in. The house looked shabby, and his clothes were worn. I decided to pitch the Bible Dictionary. He listened intently to my demo, and asked me to look up some things from his favorite scriptures. Other folks who heard the Bible Dictionary demonstration had asked me to look up words before. I took this to mean that the old man was interested in the book. Indeed a bit later he said that wanted to buy the book, and offered to give me the total price in cash as a down payment. Then he whispered something that I didn’t catch, and I asked him to repeat it.

He said, “Would you like to come sit on my lap now? Come on sweetie, no one will know, and I surely won’t tell...”

“No, thank you sir...” I offered respectfully, as I wondered to myself just what kind of weirdo this was.

“Don’t worry. Just sit right here on my lap. I won’t hurt you.” He was persistent, but there was no way I was leaving. I smelled a sale! I managed to write the order and get his money even though he came and sat next to me and put his hand on my thigh. I moved to another chair, and continued to close him out. By the time my job was done and his money was in my pocket, he was literally chasing me around the furniture. I ran out of the house, and a good way further, in case he was still chasing. I continued to knock on the doors Gregg had counted out for me. I did one other demo and that was all.

Soon enough, Gregg’s car came down the road, and I got in.

“Hey! You were right about this territory. I sold a Bible Dictionary at that little white house under the pines.” By coincidence we were driving right past the house as I told him. “But you wouldn’t believe how perverted this old guy was. He was trying to get me to sit on his lap, and by the time I got his cash he was chasing me around the house.”

“What are, nuts? As soon as anything weird happened you should have run out of there! God only knows what he could have done to you.” he said in a suddenly protective manner. He shook his head and lectured, “First of all Sue, you must never, ever, go into a house if a man is there alone in it. You can try to get him to come outside, or ask to speak to the lady of the house, but don’t go in there!” Gregg continued, “You were crazy to stay in there with that guy giving you a hard time like that. I won’t make you go back there to deliver the book, just give me the slip, I’ll deliver this order, and you keep the money. I can’t believe you did that.” He shook his head to emphasize the point. “I think we’ll drive to your territory now.”

I was touched by the way Gregg was looking out for me, but perplexed that he did not see his own behavior as similar to the old man’s. I was glad that he was willing to make the delivery and I did not to have to return to the house at the end of the summer.

I told Gregg about the Cedar Shoals neighborhood, and he was eager to see it. Once there, the first door we knocked on was answered by an Asian woman. Gregg made his approach while I watched, but the lady looked spooked by the two of us. She responded to the ‘local church’ part though and muttered she attended on Prince Avenue.

“Oh yes, Prince Baptist Church? I was at their prayer meeting last Thursday. You must know Mrs. Franklin.” I piped up. Gregg looked stunned, but the lady smiled and opened the door for us immediately. Gregg gave a good demo but could not sell a book there. The Asian lady kept flying squirrels as pets and I had never seen one. Who knew they were kept as pets? They were interesting and cute. She said that sometimes she would let them out of their cages to swoop around the house.

Once outside, Gregg said, “It’s great that you knew about that church. If it wasn’t for that she never would have let us in. Actually she looked pretty suspicious of us at the beginning. You’ve learned a lot about ‘getting in the door”. You’re a pushy bitch too. You’ll get in a lot of doors that way. You’ll do fine on your own now.”

I smiled at the ‘pushy bitch’ remark and thanked him for the complement. Had he said it in kind of a joking manner? He didn’t seem to mean anything by it. We got back in the car and left Cedar Shoals. Gregg dropped me where I had left off selling on Friday. I was glad to be on my own again.

Life on the Bookfield Part 1

2007-08-26T07:11:00.000-07:00

I remember waking up in the morning at the Epps’ house. A huge white pine grew outside our window, and a mocking bird who sat in that tree would start singing at sunrise. That is how I awoke. I usually was so fatigued from the previous day, that I had slept soundly and was ready for the new day. This all happened in the rosy part of the morning before I’d realize that I had to go out and knock on doors. Nothing spoils a mood like that. Nowadays, when I get up for work and feel sorry for myself, I try to remember what knocking on doors was like.

I learned a couple of things on the bookfield very quickly. Once, when I gave my approach, the man who had answered the door did not understand what I said. He called his wife to help him out. I was at a loss, so I tried to slow my delivery by a factor of two or three. They understood me then, although I thought I sounded comical, and noted that I was a Yankee. After slowing the tempo of my words, a drawl came almost naturally. I was using a drawl consistently by the middle of my second week, “Hai there miss-us Jones, mah name is Su-san Fair-vieeew, and Ah’ve been callin’ on aull the church folks in the neigh-bor-hood, Jus wan-ted to come bah an see yeew. Y’all dew go to some lo-cal church, don’t cha?” I can still do it now, albeit after a couple of drinks and plenty of prodding.

The drawl worked wonders, but folks could still spot me right off as a Yankee. For many I was the first New Yorker they had ever seen. I decided to capitalize on that recognition. I went to a local five-and-dime and bought a New York Yankees logo baseball cap in black felt with white letters. I’d tuck my shoulder length dirty blond hair into it. It kept the sun off my head and the bugs out of my teeth, but most of all it was my trademark. I never left the house without that cap.

I was able to get into almost any house I wanted just by knocking on the door and using the Parchment approach with drawl delivery.

It was just as easy to get drinks or food. It started when I realized that if Mrs. Jones would not buy a book, she would feel guilty, and would give me something to make up for it. The company told us that we needed to drink 10 ounces of fluid at least every hour in the heat. So I would start by asking for a glass of water. Typically, Mrs. Jones would then offer a soda, iced tea or food. I’m thin enough that many times Mrs. Jones would say, “You must be hungry!”

We were also trained to offer a quarter to Mrs. Jones for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich if we were hungry. This humiliating phrase worked every time, but was only required in the most desperate of situations. During the summer, most housewives were canning or putting up something. I would say, “Mmmm, smells good. What is that?” Mrs. Jones would take it from there, “Oh, you’re a Yankee, you’ve never had real southern fried chicken.”, or, “homemade succotash”, or, “my fresh peach pie”, or, “sausage and biscuits”, or, “fried okra”, or, “venison stew... Let me fix you a plate.” If I really wanted to make sure to taste Mrs. Jones” cooking I would say, “Well I did try that down the street at Mrs. Smith’s...” Mrs. Jones would always respond hastily with, “But you haven’t tasted real southern fried chicken until you’ve tried mine.” She might even make a gratuitous stab at Mrs. Smith’s cooking, housekeeping, or child rearing and that was always entertaining.

I tried to reward a paying customer by not hitting them up for food. But some of these people were just plain hospitable and offered food. It was rude to turn them down. They took real pleasure in it.

The biggest number of meals I ate gratis in one day was eight. That is not to say I couldn’t have gotten more, but that it was all I could eat in one day. I never went thirsty either. During the summer I put an additional 15 pounds on my five foot, four inch, 100 pound frame in spite of the increased activity from bicycling around the county. After a while, I really had no need to buy food.

But I did treat myself to pancakes at a diner at ‘five points’ (local name for the intersection of five roads in my territory) for breakfast that was at a halfway point some 5 miles out of Athens. Their cakes were too good to resist, and really fired me up in the morning. Sometimes I would get a bite to eat when I got back home at nine or ten o’clock in the evening. I became known for my eating ability, and would order a medium size pizza or four to five hamburgers for myself and consume them. Fortunately, the MacDonald’s on Prince Avenue was having a summer Olympics promotional game. With food you got cards with names of Olympic events. If the USA won a gold , silver and/or bronze medal(s) in that event the card was redeemable for free food. For example, the bronze earned a soda, while a gold medal would get a burger. The waitresses came to know me after a while and they would give me handfuls of cards at each visit. The USA did very well at the ‘76 Montreal Summer Olympics, and in no time I was eating free at MacDonald’s too.

My Religion

2007-08-26T07:10:00.001-07:00

I was born into the Catholic faith, but was an atheist. Though I never let on about that, early on I discovered that it was really best to lie to Mrs. Jones about my religion entirely. It only took one ‘reborn’ Christian trying to save me endlessly, for me to develop an entire fantasy religious life to prevent it from happening again. The typical conversation with the devoutly Christian Mrs. Jones went like this:

Mrs. Jones: “Dear are you saved? Have you accepted Jesus Christ into your life?”

Me, nodding sincerely: “Oh, yes Mrs. Jones.”

Mrs. Jones: “Oh, how wonderful, tell me how it happened!”

Me: “It was in high school. My boyfriend accepted Christ, and showed me the way.”

Mrs. Jones: “How beautiful! Did you marry him?”

Me: “We are waiting until we graduate from college.”

Actually, there was a kernel of truth to the lie. I did have an ex-boyfriend that was ‘saved’ after we dated. That was why we broke up.

Mrs. Jones: “What denomination are you? Will you come and pray at our church?”

Me: “We are waiting until we settle down to pick a church. I’ve been taking time to go to all of the churches in the Athens area. When is your church’s summer picnic? I would love to come and meet the pastor and congregation.” I had gotten some free food at church picnics too, which of course I never mentioned to Mrs. Jones, but I missed those held on Sunday because of sales meetings.

After the last statement about the picnic I would try to get back to the demo. But religious people dedicated to a particular denomination were a tough sell. They would always ask the denomination of our books. We were told to say that they were non-denominational, but that answer did not usually convince the devout customer.

Life on the Bookfield Part 2

2007-08-26T07:06:00.000-07:00

After the Mary hitchhiking debacle, I used my Long Island street smarts to invent a relatively safe method for hitchhiking. I would wait until a car came by with a couple in it and flag it down. I never accepted a ride with men alone in cars. If one pulled over I would ride away. It was even safer to hitchhike with the bike. I would hail a truck with a couple in it and insist on riding in the back with my bike. I never had trouble when I followed this method of hitchhiking. One day, when it was raining, I couldn't see who the couple was in the truck and it turned out to be two men. I was pretty wet and just wanted to get out of the rain, so I got in anyhow. Well, those two guys lectured me the whole way on the risk I was taking being out hitchhiking in a truck with two guys and how they could have their way with me and everything. I knew they were just giving me a well deserved hard time.

I had difficulty selling books during the first few weeks. My sales were mediocre at best. At the time I couldn’t figure out why, although I gave it a lot of thought. I was putting in the hours, and doing the demos as suggested by Parchment. I was really working my butt off with disappointing results. I wanted nothing more than to sell a lot of books and feel more secure at sales meetings, maybe even proud of myself. In retrospect, I guess I was going through a learning process. It was difficult to keep at knocking on doors and not making sales.

On my bicycle I had surveyed my territory from South of Broad Street, East of the Oconee River, and West of Route 29. Although it was a large area on the map, quite a bit of it was not ‘sales territory’. Almost a quarter of the space was the University of Georgia campus. There were no houses there. There was also a large public housing project area just south of Broad Street. I had been advised that it was not safe for me to sell there and so I didn’t. I carefully scheduled the remaining areas of houses, and at the rate that I was covering territory, I would have to sell outside of these areas within less than a month’s time. Somehow, my territory had to last until the end of the summer.

Early one morning, I also surveyed the house, or should I say mansion, I was living in. No one else was up yet when I went down stairs to explore. There were several large parlors on the first floor. In some there was no furniture, and in one the furniture was covered with white drop cloths. Everything was extremely dusty. It seemed to have been closed off and ignored for many years. The most interesting room was the dining room. In the center was a large crystal chandelier, and under it a table that could easily seat twenty or more people. The entire length of the room on both sides was covered with built in china cabinets. The doors of the cabinets were beveled glass, so there was no problem seeing what was there. The entire length of the cabinets were filled with beautiful china with delicate oriental or floral patterns, cut crystal glasses of every description, and impressively large and ornate silver services. I was awed by the size and opulence of this collection. Much of it was antique; I am sure it had been handed down in the Epps family for generations. On top of the cabinets were wooden decoy ducks. I found out later that the Epps family men were avid duck hunters and collectors of antique decoys. I wanted to look at the decoys up close, but I heard Mary get up, and I didn’t want to get caught snooping. I never went back to take another look at that part of the house.

Mary

2007-08-26T07:05:00.002-07:00

Parchment’s rule about not sharing day-to-day experiences with one’s roommate, so as not to de-motivate them, was having an effect on Mary and me. We both followed the rule. I desperately wanted to have someone to talk about my experiences with; I didn’t know how Mary felt about it. But, a rift grew between us. The lack of communication seemed to eat away at our trust and closeness. Sometimes I wondered if she just didn’t like me.

We were allowed to talk about things unrelated to our work. Once she indicated that she was interested in Bill (remember, the parking lot escapade). She had noticed how both Chip and Gregg were ‘sweet on me’, but my disinterested response seemed to shut down that conversation. She had known them both as great guys from her school. I guess they had never hit on her. I didn’t want to tarnish them for her by telling her what I really thought, nor did I think that it would achieve anything for my relationship with her to do so.

I wanted very badly to be friends with her. She was basically very different than me, but I liked her. I could have used the support. Wouldn’t the support value have of our confidence in each other have outweighed the value attributed to non-communication?

Strangely enough, I felt alone, even though I met with twenty or more people every day. Of course, those interactions were carefully scripted. There is no time for personal relationships of any kind when one works 80 hour weeks and attends out of town meetings on Sunday.

I have a strange remnant of a memory of being at one house where there was a new litter of yellow and black Labrador puppies. The lady of the house did not buy any books, but let me play with the pups. As if she read my mind, she said how lonely I looked, and asked if I wanted to talk about it. I guess I did, but I have no memory of what I said, or anything else that happened while I was there for two hours. It seemed a struggle to leave, like the lady had some sort of magnetism. When I finally left, the lady told me that I could come back any time to talk, but I never did. I could never remember where the house was. Weird.

Just around this time, I came home one evening and Mary was sitting unnaturally upright on her bed. She wore a big, white cervical foam collar around her neck. Her body was shaking visibly, but she wore an obviously brave face with some difficulty. “Mary, my God, what happened?”

“Oh, nothing...” she answered with her voice quavering.

For ten to fifteen minutes I tried to get her to tell me what was wrong, what had happened to her. She refused repeatedly, eventually bursting into tears. I hugged her to try to calm her. “I can’t tell you.” she said, “What if it ruins your sales?”

“Fuck the sales, Mary.” She didn’t like it when I cursed. “It would ruin anyone’s day just to see you like this and not know what was going on, or if you were okay. What’s important now is you.” That did it, and she broke down and told me that while on her bicycle she was hit by a car. The car, driven by a woman, bumped her rear wheel, throwing Mary from the bike onto the shoulder of the road. The woman never stopped. Some good Samaritans stopped to help Mary and took her to Athens General Hospital. She had spent most of the day there getting X-rays done.

The curvature of her spine had been thrown out of whack in a couple of places, but there were no fractures. She was in tremendous pain. The bicycle was being repaired. I don’t think she took any time off from selling, but she stayed off of her bike for a week or two. She found pain relief in seeing a chiropractor about once a week for almost the entire summer. Parchment’s insurance footed the entire bill.

We went to MacDonald’s, even though it was late, to assume some normalcy in our routine. Mary was really shaken. I thought that this breakthrough would overcome the non-communication rule imposed by Parchment, but I was wrong. Mary appreciated the support that night, but she intended to stick to the rules. Maybe she felt guilty about unloading her burden that one time, but after that we drifted further and further apart. We only discussed the truly superficial and inconsequential details of our experience that summer.

Devils

2007-08-26T07:05:00.001-07:00

Once, while selling books in a neighborhood bordering on the University of Georgia campus I came upon a house of devoutly religious Christians. I spoke with the lady of the house, who bought my lie about being saved, hook, line and sinker. But, like many of the devout, she did not trust the books I had as non-denominational. She spoke to me one on one as a fellow Christian and tried to explain why the books would have no use for her. She belonged to a small church on the edge of town with a congregation of thirty or so souls. They believed that they were the only Christians on earth that would truly be saved when the apocalypse came. I asked her why she thought God would ignore all of the other faithful Christians in the world and only save thirty souls.

“Because ours is the only church that understands the scriptures...” she declared, and she went into a biblical discussion that did not seem rational or understandable to me.

My next question was going to be how she could be sure that somewhere else on earth there wasn’t another church with a similar understanding as hers, but I deferred. I was tiring of the charade and just wanted to move on. No way was she going to buy a book. Her monologue on the apocalypse went on and on, and at one point told her that I really had to go.

She insisted on giving me, good Christian that I was, a warning. She wanted to protect my soul from the devil. “The devil has minions of servants and one of them lives on the corner of this very block. At all costs, she warned, avoid the white house on the corner. The devil living there could twist your Christian soul and you could be lost to Christ forever.”

I nodded and thanked her for the advice. She kept such a serious face on. She was not kidding. I couldn’t have been more curious after that. But, I continued selling to the houses in order; I would get to the ‘devil’s’ house in turn. Usually, I zig-zagged across the street from house to house to cover each street completely so as not have to double back. As I worked my way down the street I wondered to myself, would the devil buy a health book?

Finally I came to the corner house in question. I knocked on the door and stood back the requisite three paces so as not to intimidate Mrs. Sommer, or should I say, Madam Satan? She looked ordinary enough when she came to the door, brown hair and eyes; she looked like a typical housewife to me. So I proceeded with my approach in my most practiced drawl. “Hi there, Mrs. Sommer, my name is Susan Fairview and I’ve been calling on all of the church folks in the neighborhood. Just wanted to come by and see you. Y’all do go to some local church don’t you?”

She looked stunned and said, “That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard. How can you stand there on my doorstep and utter that ridiculous come on? What nerve, I mean really, how can you live with yourself?”

She did not slam the door. She stood quietly to see what my reaction would be. But I was overwhelmed, not by what she said, but how she said it. It was that distinct Long Island Jewish accent.

“You’re from Long Island!” I exclaimed.

“Yes, but how did you know?” she said looking shocked.

“Because I’m from Nassau County!”

“Me too!” she replied.

And so it turned out that the devil was from the same county as I was. I dropped the accent as best I could; boy it had totally fooled her. She let me in and I told her how I came to be at her doorstep that day. Her husband was a professor at the University. They had just moved there recently and were having a little trouble adjusting to the Christian atmosphere in town. We swapped stories and reminisced for about an hour. It sure was nice to see someone from home.

Bunny

2007-08-26T07:01:00.001-07:00

One house that I approached had a lovely grape arbor connected to the breeze way. My eyes gazed upward at it as I walked my bicycle up the slate path. I didn’t really look where I was going. Once under the grape leaves I heard the sound of big feet on the patio and looked down. Bounding full tilt directly at me was a black on white harlequin Great Dane. It was the biggest dog I ever saw. The markings were like a Holstein cow, the size led me to make the connection. It was coming at me relentlessly, and there was no defense possible. I just stood frozen holding the handle bars of my bike. The dog came up to me and leapt to an upright position. We stood toe to toe and the dog placed its huge paws easily over my shoulders. It licked my face stem to stern with a tongue not unlike a pink, warm, wet washcloth, wiping my eyeglasses right off. I fell backwards over my bike with the dog still on top. The dog did not budge and continued to lick my face.

Just then the owner, a woman, came to the door. She laughed at the scene before her and said, “Don’t worry, Bunny likes you!”

Princess

2007-08-26T07:00:00.000-07:00

One house that I approached had a very expansive front lawn. As I walked up to the house, I left my bike midway up the walk. The house was of split level design with a good sized cement porch reached by three steps. I knocked on the door and stood back to wait for Mrs. Jones to answer. But I heard nothing at first. I thought I heard a back or side screen door swing open, and a woman’s whispered voice, “Go get her Princess!”

While I stood wondering, I noticed a big yellow dog start a determined run around the corner of the house and towards me. The dog was not barking. Its attitude was business-like. I was worried because this is how I imagined a well trained attack dog would behave. As it came closer I saw the tell-tale ridge of fur on its spine; it was a Rhodesian Ridge Back dog.
I had no rocks with me to throw, no stick for defense. I panicked because I thought the dog was well trained and might try to bite my throat or some other vulnerable place. I dropped my sales case and I remember thinking that my only chance to protect myself was to kick the dog as it came up the three steps to the porch. The dog was baring its teeth but still not barking as it came up the steps. I stuck out my foot to try to kick it in the muzzle, but the dog grabbed my foot in its teeth. I expected to feel the pain of teeth piercing my flesh, but fortunately I had leather sneakers (JC Penney’s best) on and so I just felt pressure. I tried to move my foot violently to get the dog to let go, which in retrospect was pretty silly. The dog held tight, growled menacingly and continued to show me its teeth.

I now know that this sort of game is one of my German Shepherd Dog’s favorites. She clamps down on something and I try to take it away. I only win if I have a cookie to offer her in exchange.

The more I struggled, the more the dog held, and I chanced loosing my balance every time I moved. Then, I heard the door open behind me and Mrs. Jones asked, “May I help you?”, in her sweetest tone.

I didn’t hesitate to respond. “If you call off your dog, I will get off your porch.”

That did the trick. The woman snapped her fingers and said, “Princess!” The dog instantly let go of my foot, walked past me and went into the house. I kept up my end of the bargain and left the premises.

I was pretty angry that this dog was set on me; it was definitely more force than was needed to get rid of little harmless ol' me. All I could do was tell all of the neighbors about it. Some were surprised, and they all claimed not to know about the ridge back, but said they would be careful.

Max

2007-08-26T06:59:00.002-07:00

Typically I feel safe riding my bicycle in daylight through well kept neighborhoods with sidewalks and leash laws. But, on this particular day I got a surprise. The road I was on made a 90 degree left turn ahead. I rode straight for the turn. There was a concrete driveway dead ahead with house ten or so yards back. The garage door was open. It was dark in there, but I saw a large male German Shepherd Dog lying down. I didn’t feel like stopping, and it didn’t seem that this dog was feeling energetic enough to bother me. So, I ignored the dog and made the left turn at a speed meant to deter the dog’s hopes of a chase.

Out of the corner of my eye though, I saw that I was mistaken. I saw the shepherd gallop down the concrete after me. As I rounded the turn I saw that the road went on for a quarter of a mile straight down a relatively steep hill and made another perpendicular turn at the bottom. I thought I could out run that dog on the down hill on the bike, and besides, I had had a pretty good start. The chase was on. I pedaled for all I was worth and kept my face near the handle bars to minimize wind resistance. I did not waste any time looking back at all because it might slow me down. I could hear the dog barking purposefully behind me. He was getting closer; I could hear it.

As I neared the bottom of the hill I saw a problem. There was no way I could make the turn at the speed I was going and I had not out run the dog at all. I turned once, quickly, just to see how far back he was, and I hit something while I wasn’t looking. It was a recessed water drainage grate. I just held on for dear life as my bike’s front wheel went in, jolting me forward, then back. A picture of myself injured from the fall, lying on the pavement with the dog ripping me up flashed in my mind. I hung on. Then the rear wheel rolled into the ditch and out with such force that the bungee cord released, catapulting my sales case off of the rack and into the air. I couldn’t look because I had to keep the bike from sliding out from under me as I recovered from the bump and tried to negotiate the turn. It was all I could do to keep from crashing.

Then, an unexpected thing happened. My sales case hit the dog when it landed. I heard a yelp and a crash. The box hit the dog’s left foreleg. The dog immediately turned to run away, crying and getting along on the remaining three good legs.

My sales case was a disaster. The hinges snapped, the lid came off, the bottom was cracked, and my demo books were everywhere. The spine of one of the books was also damaged. Fortunately, I was in one piece. I reassembled the case and strapped it together with my spare bungee cord. I was kind of shook up. I considered going back to the house to yell at the owner for not having his dog tied up. I was also a little worried about the dog. It was injured because of its owner’s negligence. But I didn’t go back until much later in the day, when I had finished selling in that neighborhood.

I drove my bike onto the side walk in front of the concrete driveway. The dog and its owner were midway down the drive. The man knelt in front of the dog. I couldn’t tell if he was examining it or just petting it. But, when I stopped the dog saw me. It stared right at me. Would it come after me again? No. It whined and ran back into the garage. “Mr. Jones”, I called. “I wanted to talk to you...” Mr. Jones cut me off, though.

“Hey, you! Why is Max afraid of you? He was hurt today. Did you hurt him? Did you hurt my dog?” By now he was yelling. I guess this was not the time to give him a lecture on leash laws, or sell a book, for that matter. I had learned to avoid confrontations. So, I just got on the bike and rode down that hill again. I gave a nod to the drainage grate that had spared me, but not my pursuer.

Parchment replaced my sales case and damaged book via overnight mail.

Pair of Dobermans

2007-08-26T06:59:00.001-07:00

Eventually I learned relatively foolproof methods for protecting myself from dogs. I took to carrying small rocks in my pockets. I got pretty good at throwing them and could repel a dog without getting off my bike, or slowing down. My first success at this was with a mixed breed black Labrador retriever that chased me. I hit him right in the head with a walnut sized rock at 20 feet while I was riding my bike. My ability to do this my first time surprised even myself. It was enough of a deterrent for him. I also noticed that if dogs were approaching me and I stooped down to pick up rocks, some would keep their distance. Apparently, they already had experience with rocks. Most mean dogs will respond that way at least for a while, but time enough to get away if one is on a bike.

The other technique I used was holding my bike by the down tubes with the tires towards the dog(s). This keeps the animals far enough away that they cannot attack. It also helps to keep your back to a tree to cover the rear approach. I used this method to repel two Dobermans in the same neighborhood as Max, the German Shepherd Dog. Their owner let them out when he saw me coming up the road. I got off the bike, and held it out in front of me. The dogs were very aggressive but could not reach me over the bike. Fortunately they both attacked from the front, because I was in the middle of the road. I had heard about another unlucky Parchment fellow who had been attacked from both sides by two dogs and needed stitches in his calf. I moved away from the side of the road their house was on in the hope that I would be far enough away from their territory that they would desist in their attack. They didn’t. Their owner called out from his front door, “Did they get you yet?”

“Nope!” I yelled. I was angry and losing my patience for this when the neighbors came out and pried the dogs away from me. They were astounded that I was not bitten. I guess these animals had a record. But my method worked.

Irish Setters

2007-08-26T06:58:00.001-07:00

One small barn red ranch house on a quarter acre lot was surrounded by chain link fence on which a “beware of guard dog” sign hung. I ignored the sign and entered the property. The owner set two Irish Setters on me. They were truly pitiful as attack dogs and I had to keep from laughing as I repelled them easily without even breaking a sweat. Their owner was disappointed to see me at his door in one piece, his pathetic guard dogs foiled. That anybody would get Irish Setters as guard dogs. I mean seriously, they are not a guard dog. How stupid is that?

Chihauahua

2007-08-26T06:57:00.000-07:00

One house that I approached in the suburbs smelled. It was the smell of animal dung. The house was shabby. The paint had peeled off and some trim hung from a single nail. There was no walk, just a path of beaten dirt between the weeds. Some dirty looking white kids ran out to see me with their fawn colored Chihuahua waddling behind. The Chihuahua circled me yapping and I ignored it. Suddenly it grabbed the hem of my jeans in its teeth and began to tug back and forth. It began to adjust its grip to get flesh. The kids were delighted by their ‘attack dog’s’ actions. I shook the dog off, but the kids teased me that I should be more wary because their dog did not have rabies shots. I lifted my sales case chest high and dropped it directly on the Chihuahua’s head below me. Direct hit. The dog squealed as it ran for cover. “Oops!” I said, “I accidentally dropped my case on your dog, sorry.” For small dogs, this method worked better than others. They didn’t buy a book either.

Big Boned

2007-08-26T06:55:00.002-07:00

Not every dog I met attacked. At one suburban ranch house, the biggest German shepherd dog I had ever seen was sitting in the garage. It must have been 130 pounds at least. I approached cautiously and the dog never moved. It turned out that it was chained up, but decided I was trustworthy. The owners came out and explained that the dog was bred to be ‘big boned’. They also extolled their dog’s temperament and sense of judgment.

Once, there was a miniature poodle across the street that used to torment the larger dog. It would run over onto their property in front of the chained dog’s nose, just out of reach, yipping and yapping. But, one day the shepherd sat further in the garage so that its chain was slack. When the poodle came close enough to tease, the shepherd lunged up and grabbed it by the middle of its back and tossed it against the cinder block wall, killing it instantly. I was glad the big dog did not see me as a threat.

Red Doberman

2007-08-26T06:55:00.001-07:00

At another house, a large red Doberman came down the asphalt driveway in a strictly business like fashion to check me out. I stood still with my hands at my sides. It was a chance I took; typically a dog that walks up quietly is not to be trusted, but will not start by attacking. He sniffed every inch of me, and then pushed his wet nose under my hand. My hand came to rest on the dome of his head. I petted him, and he licked my hand. This dog’s owner said that his dog was able to use judgment too. He said that things would have been different if I was a man, or black.

Steve Part 1

2007-08-26T06:54:00.000-07:00

Gregg and Bill picked us up for the next sales meeting. They came by the Epps’ house Saturday night. Gregg ran up to our room and jumped on my bed. He patted the sheet and gave me come hither look, and asked if I would join him. I laughed it off, and he got out of my bed.

Later that evening, when it became apparent that Bill and Gregg had no place to sleep, we shared our beds with them. Great, just great I thought. Bill was in Mary’s bed, Gregg in mine. At first Gregg was the perfect gentleman. Totally clothed, we spooned just to fit on the twin bed. He began breathing in my ear. His breath was warm, close, intoxicating. I turned to him and we kissed. The kisses were shallow at first, just soft lips, and then grew a bit deeper. I stifled a moan, since Mary and Bill were just across the room, as Gregg’s hands caressed my body through my clothes in a sensual way. My breathing grew deeper. He began to open my top jean button and then lower the zipper. He slid his hand in and found me wet. One of his fingers entered me and he whispered, “You are so tight.” I moved his hand away and he stopped immediately. I realized that I was lonely both for someone to talk to and to sleep with. We spooned again and drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, I wore my New York Yankees hat to the meeting for the first time. My shoulder length hair was tucked into it. That week, my sales had not been all that bad; good enough that I did not fear being ostracized, and low enough that I would not be called on to make a success testimonial. That suited me just fine. Mary and I strode into the lobby of the hotel in Marietta.

One of the guys, Steve, who’s territory was Northern Oconee County (just to the South of mine), came right up to me and put his arms around me. Out of the blue, he gave me a big wet kiss on the neck. He let me go and resumed walking past me. I was unaccustomed to so much attention from guys at home.

During the meeting, a contest was announced. Each person was assigned another to compete with during the following week. The two peoples’ sales for that week would be compared head to head. Results of the competition would be announced at next week’s meeting, and the winner would get to throw a pie into the face of the loser. Every one was paired. At first I thought that Mary and I would be paired. I would lose, as her sales were usually much better than mine, but I could live with the idea of her throwing a pie into my face.

To my surprise, I was paired with Brian, a second year salesman who was in a slump. Robbie announced the pairing something like this, “Sue and Brian are paired because Sue had a pretty good week, but we think she has potential to do much better. Being paired against Brian, who has had really big sales in the past, should motivate her to her best week of the summer. Brian was one of our top sales people last year, but is in a slump. We thought that the insult of being paired against a first year girl ought to motivate him.”

Just lovely, I thought. That is how much they thought of women on the bookfield; that being paired against a girl was insult enough to break a slump. And I was worried. There was no way that even if motivated I had any where near the sales talents that Brian had. I was already doing the best I could. I looked at Brian, but he did not look back. He had his game face on. He had been publicly insulted.

I couldn’t believe that the company would completely humiliate half of its sales people, the losers, for the benefit of the other half, the winners. The bottom line, however, was the company’s bottom line. Everyone would be motivated to avoid a terrible public humiliation, and the company would reap the profits. Disgusting.

I considered quitting at that point. I had made a commitment to see the summer through, though. So I looked at the whole situation unemotionally, which wasn’t easy. The pie in the face wouldn’t physically hurt me, and I would be in plenty of company. I didn’t really care what these people thought of me anyhow. Mary was enthusiastic about the contest.

Steve Part 2

2007-08-26T06:53:00.000-07:00

I decided to unwind by swimming in the hotel pool after the meeting. It was crowded with Parchment people. When I jumped in the three foot deep end, a splashing contest ensued. I really wasn’t into it, having never really liked splashing, so I tried to move away. Steve was in front of me, splashing.

His arm flew out, I thought to splash me, but instead he grabbed my arm and pulled me toward him. I gave him a stern look and he pushed my head under the water. Unfortunately, I had begun to inhale just as he did and I held what was left of the air in my lungs while I went under. I tried to get up quickly, but I couldn’t. I began to struggle to get up. He held me firmly, and eventually I found that I was on my hands and knees on the bottom, unable to budge. Now, I was synchronized swimmer in high school, so I can hold my breath, but I had not been able to get a good breath when I was forced under. Soon, my need for another breath outweighed my desire to struggle. I panicked. I began to punch Steve under the water, and still he did not let me up. I had to inhale; it was becoming an involuntary action. I inhaled water. I thought I was going to die. Just then, he pulled me up.

I tried to inhale and ended up just gasping, because the water in my wind pipe prevented the air from coming in. I could have used some help to the side, but everyone was standing there laughing at me. I made it to the side and threw my arms onto the concrete for support. I began coughing up the water I had inhaled. It was painful. One of the guys looked at my face and realized that I was in trouble. They helped me out of the pool. I continued coughing for about half an hour. Steve came over and said that he had known I was a strong swimmer and that the dunking was just a joke.

I kind of kept to myself for the rest of the day. To this day, I fight not to panic if someone touches me while I am in the water. I suppose I could have bit him; hindsight is twenty-twenty.

(Man splashing water photo credit to Aron Thanks!)

Steve Part 3

2007-08-26T06:52:00.000-07:00

The week went by too quickly. I gave it my best shot, but I had a typical sales week for me. I could only avoid the pie ordeal if Brian had a really crappy week. Mary had her best week yet of the summer. Before we knew it, it was Sunday.

Back at the hotel in Marietta, it seemed as if we had never left. Gossip was sweeping our group. Steve had quit. The gossip was that he had faked all of his sales on his expense report, and the pie contest forced him to admit it. He could not bear to fake the results so that someone else would get the pie. I couldn’t say that I would miss him. Then, unexpected good news: I inherited his territory, the Northern part of Oconee County, since it bordered on mine. It was too late in the summer to assign a new sales person to it, and Robbie was aware that I was running out of territory.

The meeting began and results were announced. Mary had won her match. I had lost to Brian, who had his best week ever. I was busy trying to prepare myself for the pie humiliation, when Brian came up to me. “You know”, he said, “I’m not looking forward to doing this to you. Yes, I tried to out sell you to avoid getting the pie myself, but I am not going to enjoy this. I don’t think the contest is a good idea. If there is any way I can make this easier for you, please let me know.”

I asked that he not get pie in my hair. It made me feel better that he was sympathetic. We all went outside for the pie throwing. The fifty or so pies were stacked on conference tables at the pool side. We losers lined up for the humiliation, with our respective winners next to us, so that they would be in the right place for their turn to ‘pie’ us.

So many people got pies in the face, that when it came my turn, almost nobody was watching. There was humiliation overload, and it no longer amused anyone. When my turn came, Brian asked me to select a flavor, and I chose lemon. A lemon facial, I thought to myself. Brian stood to my left with the pie in both of his hands. He held the pie under my chin and raised it slowly until my chin was in the pie. He looked me in the eyes, and when I nodded and closed my eyes, he slowly covered the rest of my face in the pie, up to my eyebrows. The pie felt very nice, actually. It was a hot day as usual, and the icy coolness of the pie was refreshing. The lemon smelled nice to. Someone handed me some paper towels and I wiped most of the pie from my face. I thanked Brian for not getting any in my hair.

Most of the folks who received pies jumped straight into the pool to rinse off. I was avoiding the pool that day, after last week’s disaster, so I went into the hotel’s ladies room to wash off. I took a look at the pool at the end of the day. Meringue floated everywhere. It clogged the pool filters, and from then on we were barred from using the pool at that hotel.

Cedar Shoals

2007-08-26T06:48:00.000-07:00

Finally I had covered my territory to where Cedar Shoals was the next nieghborhood on my route. I had been there a couple of times before, and couldn’t wait to sell there. I turned my bike off of the main thoroughfare and onto the first side street I came to, Clarke Drive. Green lawns dotted with children’s playthings, thoughtfully landscaped shrubs and trees and newly painted houses welcomed me. I went to the first house on the left and nobody was home. Maybe it was too early in the morning. I would revisit the house on my way out later that day.

The next house had a big shady maple in the front. A car was in the driveway, so someone was home. I knocked on the door and stood back. A young woman opened the door. I gave my approach, but the young woman said that the people who owned the house were away on vacation and she was just checking in. “Fine.”, I said, “When will they be back?”

She seemed about to tell me when her eyes widened and she retreated from the door saying, “Just please go away.” With that, she closed the door. I made nothing of it and decided I would need to check back on this house in some after some weeks had gone by. It would keep.

I went to the next house, a white split level with brown eaves. It was surrounded by low, manicured yews. It had many windows facing the front, including a large bow shaped picture window. The woman who answered was downright friendly. Her face had an open quality, like the windows of the house. She offered me a coke and I accepted. We sat down in the living room, she on the sofa and me on a chair facing the picture window. I gave the demo for the Family Bible Library and she seemed interested. I was in the middle of writing out the order when I happened to glance out the window and see a police cruiser slowly drive by.

“What are you looking at dear?” Mrs. Jones asked.

I answered, even though I had qualms about it. “It’s the police; they just went by outside your window.” She had a ‘so what?’ look on her face so I continued. “I think they are after me.”

“Now why would that be?”

“I was just at a house across the street and a young woman told me that the owners were vacation. She probably thought that I was casing the joint because I asked her when they would be back. She looked worried and suspicious as I left. I never would have thought that someone would call the police on me for that.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. Those people are kind of strange over there and you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Well but maybe I should go out there and explain it all to them.”

“That would only make you look guilty. You haven’t done anything wrong and should not let them know you think they’re here for you. Besides, the police here are very good at their jobs. If they are here for you, they’ll catch up to you sometime. So, don’t worry. Now, where were we? The deposit. Is half okay?”

By the time I finished the sale, and my coke, and got out of there the police drove by again. But they were nowhere in sight when I got out side. I reviewed what I had learned from sales school about handling the police. The saying was that you were not a man (or woman?) until you spent a night in jail. My twin sister was actually taken to jail for vagrancy while selling books last year. She had the police telephone Robbie to verify her employment. But they let her stew for a while before letting her go. Robbie used to say that the perfect response to the police was to try to sell them a book so they would send you on your way quickly. I took my Parchment employment card and sales permit out of my wallet and put them in my pocket. I was prepared.

So I moved on down the block. I managed to visit a couple more houses before they caught up to me standing on the side walk. There were two cops in the car. The passenger side cop got out of the car and asked, “Would you please get in the back of the car?” He opened the door.

“Hi there officer. What seems to be the problem?”

“We just want to talk to you. Please get in.” I put my bike down on the grass between the side walk and street and got in the car. The officer also got in. He turned to face me and continued, “Do you have a permit to sell books?”

I handed him my papers. They called my name in to the station and meanwhile, asked me some questions. “Where are you from?”

“Nassau County, New York, Sir.”

“How long do you plan on being in town?”

“Just for the summer. I go back to college at the end of August.”

“And where are you staying?”

“In Athens on Meigs Street.” I answered. His tone was so serious that I really began to wonder if they were going to take me in to the station. Then they stopped talking to me for a while.

“Did you ask a woman on this street about the owner’s return from vacation?”

“Yes Sir I did.”

“Well, you got the lady worried that you might have been making plans to burglarize that house. Why did you ask for that information?”

“I planned to return when they got back from vacation to sell them some books. I guess it wasn’t very smart of me to ask.” I offered.

“Nope. We’re just doing our duty checking out a complaint, but we trust you’re telling us the truth. Had you heard about the crime problem going on in Athens where you live?”

“Yes sir.”

“Well you be careful. There’s some nut on the loose out there raping women and stabbing them to death afterwards. There are five victims now.”

“Five?” I said a little shocked that these serial attacks had continued since I was there.

“Yeah. Try not to be out and about in your neighborhood after dark. Patrols have been increased. If you see anything strange while you’re out on the road let us know.”

“I will officer.” I was always back home after dark, but I never stopped riding for anyone or anything, until I reached my destination.

The passenger side officer then got out of the car and opened my door. What bragging rights it would be if I could sell a book to one of the officers. Leastways I wanted to be able to say that I had tried. I wanted to launch into a demo, but I had left my sales case outside on the bike. As I got out of the car and stood, I began a modified demo-approach to ease into showing the Bible Dictionary. The officer just waved me off. “Be careful now.” he said.

They drove off after a while, and I resumed knocking on doors. Many of the neighbors had seen me get in and out of the police car, but surprisingly, none were suspicious of me as a result. It was just their police doing their job, and I had passed inspection. In all, the greater Cedar Shoals area was great territory and I did rather well there. Mostly the people living there were young couples raising families. Today we would call them yuppies. There was no such term in 1976. I saved a small piece of territory in Cedar Shoals in case I found myself in the middle of a bad week at some time in the future. It was the last chunk of suburbia left in my territory. All the rest was rural.

Finally I had covered my territory to where Cedar Shoals was the next neighborhood on my route. I had been there a couple of times before, and couldn’t wait to sell there. I turned my bike off of the main thoroughfare and onto the first side street I came to, Clarke Drive. Green lawns dotted with children’s playthings, thoughtfully landscaped shrubs and trees and newly painted houses welcomed me. I went to the first house on the left and nobody was home. Maybe it was too early in the morning. I would revisit the house on my way out later that day.

“What are you looking at dear?” Mrs. Jones asked.

“Now why would that be?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. Those people are kind of strange over there and you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Well but maybe I should go out there and explain it all to them.”

“Hi there officer. What seems to be the problem?”

I handed him my papers. They called my name in to the station and meanwhile, asked me some questions. “Where are you from?”

“Nassau County, New York, Sir.”

“How long do you plan on being in town?”

“Just for the summer. I go back to college at the end of August.”

“And where are you staying?”

“In Athens on Meigs Street.” I answered. His tone was so serious that I really began to wonder if they were going to take me in to the station. Then they stopped talking to me for a while.

“Did you ask a woman on this street about the owner’s return from vacation?”

“Yes Sir I did.”

“Well, you got the lady worried that you might have been making plans to burglarize that house. Why did you ask for that information?”

“I planned to return when they got back from vacation to sell them some books. I guess it wasn’t very smart of me to ask.” I offered.

“Nope. We’re just doing our duty checking out a complaint, but we trust you’re telling us the truth. Had you heard about the crime problem going on in Athens where you live?”

“Yes sir.”

“Well you be careful. There’s some nut on the loose out there raping women and stabbing them to death afterwards. There are five victims now.”

“Five?” I said a little shocked that these serial attacks had continued since I was there.

“Yeah. Try not to be out and about in your neighborhood after dark. Patrols have been increased. If you see anything strange while you’re out on the road let us know.”

“I will officer.” I was always back home after dark, but I never stopped riding for anyone or anything, until I reached my destination.

Lake Lanier Part 1

2007-08-26T06:46:00.000-07:00

The company wanted to provide us with a place to swim on Sunday so they planned a sales meeting at a place up near Lake Lanier. Before the meeting, Chip’s brother Davie picked me up on his motorcycle and took me to see Stone Mountain. Davie looked like this.

It was my first time on a motorcycle. So, I donned my helmet, hopped aboard, grabbed Davie around the waist and off we went down the highway. We had enough time to head for Stone Mountain to see hang gliders soar. We didn’t approach the side of Stone Mountain with the carving on it; we went up the other heavily wooded side to watch them take off. It was a pretty bumpy ride up that rutted dirt road, but that’s what made it fun. Four wheel drive vehicles had made it up with the hang gliders before us. I had never seen hang gliding before. It was strange to see these guys take a good run with all of their equipment flapping and jangling and jump off the top of a mountain only to soar quietly away. Somehow it was captivating. Davie looked at his watch and said it was time to go to the meeting.

We hopped back on the bike, and sped away for the meeting nearby. It seemed to me that we must be going pretty fast, as I could hardly hold my helmeted head out from behind the windbreak of Davie’s head. Davie got my attention and motioned that I should look at the speedometer. We were going 80 miles per hour! It was a real rush on the bike going that fast and I hung on for dear life.

We got to the hotel, and the lobby was full of Parchmenters waiting. There was only one big, square shaped easy chair left. Davie and I squeezed into it together and laughed when we realized both our asses fit in that chair together. We were sitting like that still giggling when Chip arrived. “Hey Davie, what are you doing? Are you moving in on my girl?”

“Your girl, I’m not your girl.” I told Chip. But he pulled me out of the chair by my arm and Davie slunk away, not wishing to even jokingly challenge Chip. Chip let go of me and we went into the meeting. It was a typical meeting. More testimonials, more motivational slogans; you get the picture. After the meeting we all went to Lake Lanier.

Lake Lanier Part 2

2007-08-26T06:45:00.000-07:00

The beach at Lake Lanier was beautiful and it was a clear day. Where we were, there were no boats and the beach was sandy. The other Parchmenters started into the water splashing, dunking, and playing chicken (where one carried another on one’s shoulders and two of these ‘chickens’ would try to push each other off). I couldn’t deal with it after my previous dunking experience. There was an island about a quarter of a mile swim across from the beach, and I decided to swim there. I felt very strong after all of the biking, and the swim would be a great confidence booster. I was wearing a nylon bikini that was brown with small orange paisley patterns. I swam there, by myself, and it felt wonderful. No one seemed a strong enough swimmer to bother me at the island.

But then I noticed that someone else was swimming out towards the island. When he was within 50 yards, I could see it was Chip. Damn. I stood waist deep in the water and waited. He came up, breathless, stopped within a few feet of me and told me that he would not hurt me. He had seen my dunking the previous week and did not want me to be alarmed. He asked me to come to the deeper water and held out his hand. I gave him my hand, and under the water he held my hand against his crotch. He had an erection. He said, “This is all for you.” He caressed me and his body was warm in the cool water.

I was disgusted, broke free from him and swam quickly back toward the island. I felt too vulnerable in the water. When I reached the beach I ran into a small grove of scrubby trees. My feet sank into thick mud. He caught up to me and pushed me down onto my back onto the mud. I raised my hands and feet into the air in defense. He loomed over me on his knees and pulled down his swim trunks. Water from his head of dark hair dripped on my body. He grabbed his still erect cock and pointed it down at my crotch, saying, “Do you think that this will fit in there?”, as he pulled the crotch of my bikini bottoms to the side exposing me. He leered at me and his cock was huge.

“No!” I yelled, thinking to myself that there was no way that would fit inside me anyhow. With my hands and feet I pushed him backwards and off of me. He was taken off guard and fell backwards suddenly into the scrub trees, and I got away. Shit, would he have raped me if I couldn’t fight him off? Without hesitation I ran back to the water, dove in and swam as fast as I could toward the beach. But, I hadn’t gotten far when I heard Chip calling with a plaintive note in his voice. I raised my head from the water and saw him some yards behind me. He had tried to catch me and now seemed to be in trouble. I swam close enough to hear him say, “I’ve pulled a leg muscle swimming so fast and I don’t think I can make it back. Please come help me.”

I didn’t believe him at first, but somehow he convinced me. When I did swim up, he grabbed onto me just to stay afloat. We agreed that he would float on his back, kicking if he could and I would drag him back to the beach with one of my arms while I did a one armed sidestroke. In this manner we made it back slowly. It was quite a workout for me. As soon as we got there, Chip acted humiliated and angry and went off by himself.

Gregg came up at that time. “Where were you two all that time? We saw you swim out there together, and lost sight of you on the island for a little while.” he said jealously.

“Gregg, nothing happened.” I replied curtly.

“Good.”, he said, smiling.

That was when I began to suspect that I was the prize in a little contest that Chip and Gregg were having.

Salt of the Earth Part 1

2007-08-26T06:44:00.001-07:00

The first day that I rode my bike well outside of Athens and its suburbs was an exciting one. I left in the early morning when the sun was just up over the horizon and the shadows were long. I watched as I passed by the last clusters of houses I had already visited and ventured into open country. Traffic was suddenly scarce and it was quiet, the quiet that one only notices when in the country. The road was visible ahead of me for miles as there were only spots of trees here and there bordering the lush green soy bean planted fields. Thick kudzu camouflaged the telephone poles and anything else that dared to stand upright on the roadside.

I next passed fenced grazing fields populated by black, Angus cattle. The bright sun shone down on the bulls’ horns and they bellowed and made mock charges towards me as I sped by. I stood on my pedals and bellowed back with all of the force in my diaphragm. The bulls stared back at me and pawed the ground. Somehow, doing this gave me a feeling of elation.

Eventually I came to a cluster of houses that seemed to be a small village. I stopped at the very first house. The lower floor of the house had white clapboards on it, while the second floor had evergreen colored shingles. A middle aged woman with partly graying hair answered the door and after my approach she let me in.

“Please dear, sit down. I want to tell you something.” There was a hushed and respectful tone in her voice. “I don’t know if you heard about the recent tragedy here in Watkins.”

“No, Ma’am. I haven’t. Why don’t you tell me about it.” I answered.

“Just last week, the Booth’s little girl was hit by a car and killed.”

“That’s terrible! How old was she?”

“She was nine years old. But that’s not all. The young man that hit her was her cousin and he was driving drunk. Now he’s in jail and facing charges. You need to understand that this is a very small town and everyone here is devastated by this tragedy. I myself am distantly related to the Booths. The whole town is in mourning.”

I tried to take in all that this woman was telling me. It was truly awful and I felt sympathetic and my heart sank. All I could think of was the movie Paper Moon where Tatum O’Neal would try to sell Bibles to folks who had just lost loved ones using their recent loss as a hook. I realized just how cold and uncaring it would be to try to sell books to bereaved people.

The woman continued to speak. “Please understand that I am not judging what you do. I think there is benefit in selling Bible books. But please find it in your heart to skip this town. Now is really not a good time, and I doubt whether you would make any sales anyhow.”

I responded quietly. “I understand what you are saying. I think that you are right and I just hope that the people of this town can find a way to live with this loss. Thank you for letting me know.” She smiled and politely showed me out.

I walked down the grass of her front yard and picked up my bike. I stood in front of this first house on the edge of this small town and looked toward the town center. It seemed that I could see almost all of the houses in town right from where I was standing. Maybe there were twenty. The houses were bathed in sunlight, but all their window shades were drawn. The streets were quiet. No one was out gardening; no children were playing. The morning breeze had died. I felt a black presence over the town as if when I looked straight into the clear blue sky I could see right through the atmosphere to the dark vastness of outer space, and the nothingness beyond.

Tears welled up in my eyes. I pictured the little girl dead in the road and felt the town’s shock and loss. I had decided to skip selling in this town. I would ride through quietly, out of respect. Perhaps I could return toward the end of the summer and see if life had returned to normal in Watkins.

Salt of the Earth Part 2

2007-08-26T06:43:00.000-07:00

I rode for a couple of miles after leaving Watkins without seeing more houses. I came to a dirt road that seemed to have some farm houses at its end and so I turned onto it. The dirt was packed firmly and no weeds were growing up the middle, so I figured it was frequently traveled. Of the three houses at the end I chose to start with the smallest. It was really no more than a one room house and it looked as though it hadn’t had a paint job in years. Weeds grew up around it with such abundance that they could have been intended as foundation plantings. I put my bike down on the soft weeds and walked up to the door. I knocked and stood back.

An old man came to the door. He was squat and his grizzled stubbly beard extended down the folds of his reddened neck. His few strands of black hair were swept straight back. He wore a dirty undershirt and green work pants. He held the door open with his left hand, and in his right had he held a shot gun.

“Good thing you ain’t no nigger or I’d blow yer ass right off my lawn!” he warned. Then he laughed and showed his missing teeth.

I was shocked by what he said, but suddenly really glad to be white on that particular day. I stammered through my approach. He opened the screen door and showed me in. Somehow, even though this man was a racist, and brandished a gun, I felt, oddly enough, that he wouldn’t harm me. So I entered. I was right that the house was one room. The decor could be summed up as shabby. All of the furnishings must have been at least thirty years old and were not quality things to start with. The wallpaper had yellowed and was peeling off in sheets. The ceiling was cracked. There was a hooked rug on the floor with bare spots and it wouldn’t surprise me if the sofa had mice living in it. But, the man showed me to this sofa, instead of the wooden rocker I had my eye on. I guess the rocker was his usual seat. So, I sat on the sofa only to find it to be rock hard. As I sat and went through my demo, which seemed to entertain my host, I squirmed on this hard side of the cushion. Finally I put my hand under the cushion to see what was there. It was a pistol.

“Oh you’ve found my pistol.” the man said. “Yep, I always keep the shot gun by the door and the pistol under the sofa cushions, you know, just in case I don’t have time to answer the door.” I smiled a little smile, put the cushion back like it was and said, “Yes sir, I know what you mean.” He didn’t buy a book, but I wasn’t surprised.

Midnight Move Part 1

2007-08-26T06:41:00.000-07:00

It was a warm clear night. I got carried away selling because I was doing well and it had gotten late seemingly all of the sudden. It must have been almost nine o’clock and I was still pedaling for home on the Macon Highway. I was trying to make good time coming home, so I rode at a pretty good clip. This was a pretty isolated area; no houses, plenty of crickets. I knew that here was a long down hill ahead, and when I got there I was really moving. I’m sure that old Sears three speed never went so fast. My tire driven headlight shone really bright at that speed.

A car passed me in the oncoming lane and I noticed it was a police car. To my surprise, the police car made a speedy u-turn. I guess I just heard tires stroking the pavement behind me and knew what it was. The car came up behind me with the blue and red lights on top engaged. One whoop of the siren answered my question, they were pulling me over. I stopped at the bottom of the hill and got off the bike. I felt kind of vulnerable standing out on the road like that.

The officer left the headlights on and also put his spot light on me. I couldn’t see his face when he got out of the car, but it was a one man car; he was alone. He walked over to where I was standing. “Do you have any identification, driver’s license?” he said.

I fumbled with my wallet and handed him my Parchment employment card and sales permit.

“What’s the problem officer?”

“No driver’s license?”

“I don’t drive yet.”

“Do you know how fast you were going down that hill?”

Aw, come on now I thought. This was too much. “No I don’t, Sir.” I answered politely.

“You were coming so fast down that hill that I thought you were a motorcycle. Technically, you were over the speed limit for this area. What are you packing in that case?”

“Packing?” not understanding what he meant.

“You heard me. Do you have a weapon in there?”

“No Sir.” I opened the case slowly, while he held his flashlight so he could see. He looked carefully in between the books and under the lid.

“Well, you don’t have anything in there but books! How can you feel safe out here, at night without a weapon? There’s plenty of room in there for a pistol.” he said.

This caught me off guard, and I didn’t quite know what to say. At least the officer’s mood had changed from giving me a hard time to protecting me.

“I guess there is room.” I answered. The thought of ‘packing’ had never occurred to me.

“Haven’t you heard about the murders of women in town? That’s where you’re headed at this time of night? Look, let me take you down to the station house and loan you a standard issue police 38'. It’ll fit right there in the lid.”

“I don’t know how to use a gun. I’d probably shoot myself in the foot with it.”

“You really ought to be packing something out here.” he tried to convince me.

“Gee, thanks but I wouldn’t know what to do with it. But maybe you could give me a lift home seeing as how it’s so late?”

“I could drive you home, but what about your bike?”

“That’s easy!” I said from experience, “It fits in the trunk, and we can use my bungee cord to hold the lid down.” He opened the trunk of the cruiser and I had that bike in there and the trunk lid tied down too fast for him to entertain a second thought on the matter. Now I would get home at a decent hour, although probably too late to go to MacDonald’s. I went to the back passenger side door to wait for him to unlock it.

“Why not come and sit up front with me?” he said. “It’s not like you’re a criminal and have to sit in the back.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” I answered. “I’ll sit in the back.” He conceded. But he made me suspicious. Off we drove towards Athens. I am always a little nervous when I take a ride, and this was no different. The whole way he pulled me over was weird. He struck up a conversation, looking at me in the rear view mirror. He asked me how long I was in town for, that sort of thing. Then, the tone of the conversation changed.

“Are you married?” he asked. “I don’t suppose you are. What husband would let a pretty thing like you out on the road to sell books all summer? But you could be engaged or even have a boyfriend. Am I going to hear it from some guy who’s your boyfriend or are you free and clear?”

Before I could answer, a guy in a sporty red metal flake kit car pulled up next to us at the stop light and honked his horn. “Hey Joey, how are you doing? What’s that sweet little thing doing in the back of your car?”

“I’m just giving her a ride home, Hank.” he explained.

“Uh huh. You stay out of trouble now, you hear?” The light changed and we rode on. Hank scoped me out big time as he drove by. I couldn’t wait to get out of the car.

“Um, yeah. I have a boyfriend. Hey look, this is my street! Could you let me off right here, please?” I asked, lying about the street. We were just at the corner of Reese and Milledge Streets, two blocks south of my street. There was no way I wanted this cop to know where I lived.

“Oh, which house is it; I’ll drop you at your door.”

“Thank you, but this is close enough.” I was willing to take my chances with the stabbing-rapist at this point. The rear door was not locked, so when the car came to the corner, I got out. I thanked him again as he took my bike out of the trunk. I waited until he had driven off to get on the bike and ride home.

Mary was home already. She sat on her bed recording her day’s sales on the forms. “Sue, I was thinking that we should move.” she said.

“Really? Why, I like it here.”

“Well, Mrs. Epps told me today that she wants to raise our rent. We could do better. I visited a house just one block down on Meigs Street that is cheaper and has more room. It’s a studio apartment. It has three beds and a kitchenette and, get this, a private bath room with shower. We could cook our own meals! The rent is only as much as Mrs. Epps wants to ask us for.”

“Wow, I can’t believe it. A studio apartment for that little money?”

“Yeah, and the elderly couple that own the house are really sweet. We can go see it tomorrow morning if you like.”

“Sure, sounds great. I’d love to have a private bath room. But we were able to get this low price with Mrs. Epps by renting for the whole summer.”

“Yeah, but she wants to renege by raising the cost!”

“You’re right.”

“Just go look at the place. If you agree, I’ll handle everything with Mrs. Epps. Can I take my bath first?” I nodded to both questions.

Midnight Move Part 2

2007-08-26T06:40:00.000-07:00

In the morning, before we went out to sell books, we rode our bikes one block east to a smaller, less grand house than the Epps’. It was still pretty a pretty big house though. It was a two storey center hallway colonial with white wooden clapboards and light green shutters. Mrs. Sanders answered the door. Her hair was completely white and she struck me as how a perfect grandmother should look. In my dream picture the grandmother is thin. My actual grandmother was a fat chain-smoking alcoholic that died when she was 54. There was an apparent kindness in Mrs. Sanders’ face. Mr. Sanders could have been her brother. They were a very cute couple that looked like they were in their seventies.

They showed us upstairs to the room which occupied the western half of the second floor. It looked like the two large bedrooms there had been joined into a rental space. The other half of the second story and the downstairs was occupied by the Sanders. We would be the only renters.

The part of the room in the front of the house had two twin beds and a pull out couch. A counter divided the sleeping area from the kitchenette. There was a stove, small refrigerator and good sized white porcelain double sink. The room was painted light blue. There were no pretty finishes as there were at the Epps’ house, but the space was more than twice what we had now. The bathroom was out in the center hallway against the front of the house. There was no tub, but a shower stall instead.

I loved it. I couldn’t wait to move. The Sanders’ place would really feel more like home. When we came downstairs Mrs. Sanders told us that if we could be home by seven o’clock we could share dinner with them. This was impossible for us, but just out of politeness, we promised we would try. Mary said that she would ride back to Mrs. Epps and tell her that instead of paying her for next week, we would be moving out. We could move to the Sanders’ on Sunday after the sales meeting. We bade the Sanders good bye, and rode off in opposite directions. Mary rode back to the Epps’ and me towards Milledge Street , and open country.

I passed through five points. Traffic was heavy and one car came so close to me that I could feel its exhaust on my leg, right through my jeans, like the breath of a dragon. I continued to the Macon Highway and stopped at the last house I left off on the evening before. By the third house I was in the swing of things. It was a typical white ranch stuck out in the middle of nowhere. It was surrounded by bright plastic toys, suggesting toddlers in residence. I hopped up the wooden porch and knocked on the door.

The woman who answered had long brunette hair. “What do you want?” She seemed to be in a bad mood.

I gave my approach, as usual. I was thinking that this house could be a sale, just based on ‘eyeball demographics’. But the woman’s face slowly changed to rage as I spoke.

“You’re the little yank slut that Hank saw with my husband last night up on Milledge! What were you doing in Joey’s car? You sluts don’t seem to care if a man is married or not!”

“Your husband is the police officer that gave me a ride home? I was flabbergasted.

“Well let me you this: you stay clear of my husband or I’ll find out where you live, come over there, and cut you up with a knife!”

“Well, that’s not a problem...” I tried to say that I was not interested in her husband, but she began to come outside door. I told her not to worry about it as I backed off quickly. She stood on her porch shaking her fist and cursing at me as I remounted and rode off on my bike.

The rest of the day was thankfully uneventful. I got home before sunset and Mary was waiting in the room for me. “We have to talk.” she said. “But not here.” We rode our bikes to the pizzeria on Prince Avenue and ordered pies for each of us. As we devoured the pizzas, she told me what happened.

“Mrs. Epps threw a fit when I told her we were moving out. She was taken totally off guard. She screamed and yelled at me and said that if we moved out she would sue us for breach of contract. What a witch!”

“What are we going to do?”

“I’ve thought about it all day and I’ve got a plan. We should wait until Mrs. Epps is asleep tonight and move to the Sanders’ before morning.”

“Yeah, but Mrs. Epps will know that we left. Won’t the Sanders mind?”

“But she won’t know where we’ve gone and by the time she does she won’t be angry any more. I explained the whole situation to Mrs. Sanders and she doesn’t mind if we move in early. Look, she gave me two keys.”

I felt uncomfortable with the plan, but agreed. We went back to the Epps and laid low until midnight. We spent the time packing our limited possessions. The house was dark and quiet when we went sneaking up to the third floor. We could hear Mrs. Epps snoring softly. Now was the time.

We would have to make three trips to carry all of our stuff to the Sanders’ house one block away. Each of us grabbed a box and headed down the unlit stairs, past Mr. Epps’ television room and out the side door. When we got to the Sanders’, Mr. Sanders was up and held the door open for us. We toted the boxes to our new room. Then, back down the stairs to the street. On our way back to the Epps’ we noticed a black and white police car sitting on an unlit section of the street with its headlights off. We ignored it and went back into the Epps’ house.

We came down again with our next load of baggage. I had this feeling that the cops might think that we were robbing the Epps’. As we walked down to Sanders’, the black and white followed us, about fifty feet back. “Mary, do you think they think that we are stealing from the Epps’ house?”

“We’re not, so what does it matter?” We continued hauling. The cops gave up on following us when they saw where we were going, but they parked located so that they could have full view of our comings and goings. With all of the crime I felt somewhat protected by their presence. I also felt a bit like bait for the murderer on the loose.

On our last trip we left our keys behind and brought the bicycles and sales cases. The journey was much faster on the bikes than it was on foot. I had worked up a sweat hauling my stuff and the cool breeze on the bike was refreshing. We parked our bikes on the Sanders’ large porch and carried our sales cases inside. The move was a success. I was glad that I didn’t have to confront Mrs. Epps and excited to be going to bed in our own little apartment. Mary and I slept well that night at the Sanders’ house.

Chip's Apartment

2007-08-26T06:39:00.000-07:00

After one sales meeting, Mary and I were to go to the apartment that Chip, Bill, and other Parchmenters were renting, before going back to Athens. Don’t ask me why. Mary and I never had any say in these matters and we were totally dependent on others for transportation since neither of us drove. When it came time to leave for the apartment, I was to ride in Chip’s car, and Mary was to go in another car with Bill. I wanted to stay with Mary, but that car was conveniently full.

Chip and I drove off in his white Mustang. We made it back to the modern apartment complex before anyone else. All of the buildings had gray clapboard wood exteriors where the siding slants down at an angle. We parked and went inside. The inside was modern, carpeted and empty of furniture. I was pretty sure that every one would be arriving shortly as they had left right behind us. I still had my wet bathing suit on under my shorts and wanted to put my dry undies on. Chip told me I could change upstairs. I went up the carpeted stairs. The whole place had wall to wall white deep pile carpeting, and everything was new looking. When I reached the bedroom I was surprised because there were no beds. The guys were just camped out on the floor. Some had sleeping bags, but others just had a pillow and blanket to lie on. I tarried, looking at the sleeping arrangements. Mary and I had it far better than this. It looked like six guys were staying here.

Just then Chip came upstairs, “You’re not undressed yet?” he said, sounding somewhat disappointed. He was wearing only his white brief underwear. “I thought you and I would have a little time together alone before everyone else gets here.”

With that he was all over me. He pushed me onto the sheet that, I guess, he slept on, and held me down. I fought to get back up but there was no way; he was so strong. After the last time on the island, he was more prepared for the struggle. I didn’t think anyone would hear or come if I screamed, so I just kept repeating loudly, “No! Chip, no!”

He was unstoppable and determined. I feared that he would succeed in raping me this time. I wasn’t sure that I had it in me to punch him, or even if I could. He started to try to get my shorts off. He unsnapped the top and yanked the zipper down. He put his fingers into the waistband and pulled. Those wet, tight, white denim shorts would not budge. He pulled harder. The shorts would not budge. Suddenly it dawned on me; those shorts would not come off without my cooperation, or so I hoped. They were tight enough that it took some doing for me to get them on and off even when they were dry. I spread my legs to assure that they would not come down. This move however, seemed to urge Chip on. I became fairly comfortable that I was not going to have forced sex. I told Chip to give up. But he continued to try. Eventually his fingers in my waistband began to tickle, and though I tried to suppress it, I giggled and squirmed. My continued, “Nos!” could not have seemed very convincing then.

After about a half hour of this Chip stood up and said angrily, “Okay. I believe you. You’re not interested. I’m going to take a shower.”

I lay there exhausted by the struggle. I was little bit traumatized, and thinking what to do. Chip said that he believed me. Maybe he was no longer a threat to me. The others should come along soon and then I would be safe.

Chip called to me from the shower.
Could I hand him a towel, he left it on the floor of the bed room. Big mistake, I brought it to him in the shower. I held out the towel to him, and he grabbed both of my hands so quickly that I lost my footing on the wet tiles and began to fall onto the edge of the tub. The towel fell to the floor. He grasped my arms and caught me, preventing me from hitting the tub and set me upright again. But he did not let go of me. I was so off balance that I could not try to get free. He took my arms and circled his body so that I was behind him but still outside the tub. He put my hands on his large wet erection and moved them forcefully up and down, until he ejaculated. Then he let me go. He said something like I owed him at least that. I felt nauseous as I went to the sink to rinse my hands off.

I ran out of the apartment only to see the car that Bill and Mary were in drive up. They came up the walk smiling and chatty. I went back inside with them as if nothing had happened. They had arrived a full hour after us. They claimed to have gotten lost. One of the other sales managers, Terry, leered at me and asked if we had good time waiting for them. Our arrival before the others was a set up, and all the guys knew about it. They had delayed their arrival so that Chip could try to nail me. I was shocked and stunned. Terry came up behind me, put his arms around my chest feeling me up and down with his forearms and whispered in my ear that he wanted me too.

I bolted from the apartment and ran. Tears streamed down my face. I ran to the entrance of the apartment complex. Again, I had no money, no ride, and no options. No cars were coming, so I couldn’t have hitched out of there. If I left, would Mary worry? I needed to think, but was overwhelmed with emotions, and could not. I decided to hide in a safe place until I could collect myself. I found the laundry room in the complex and it was empty. I sat in a chair in the back sobbing. The thought of telling anyone never even occurred to me. It would be my say so against Chip’s, and he was my boss, and the result would be that I would be sent home. It was out of the question.

I returned to the apartment after an hour or so, when it was already dark outside. I would probably be safe there with so many people. No one asked if I was okay, or even where I had gone. At least Terry and Chip seemed to stay clear of me. To make things worse, it had been decided in my absence that we were to stay the night and sell in Chip’s territory the next day. The night was thankfully uneventful. I slept downstairs, as far away from everyone as I could.

The next morning, I was reminded that we were not allowed to sell books wearing shorts. I had not packed anything else since I did not figure on staying over. I had to wear a pair of Chip’s jeans, cinched around my waist and with the cuffs rolled up to sell books the next day. How humiliating. I can’t think how I must have looked, rather like a railroad tramp I suppose, but it couldn’t be nearly as bad as I felt after the night before. But I survived that day too, and returning to my territory was very sweet, indeed.

The Pack

2007-08-26T06:38:00.000-07:00

I was on my way to fresh territory one day. The neighborhood I was passing through consisted of scattered suburban-type homes mixed with the occasional older shanties or farmhouses. I was pedaling down the street in a leisurely way when suddenly I heard barking. I quickly surveyed the nearby yards and spotted four medium to large dogs coming from behind me and starting to give chase. I pedaled faster, and started to fish for the small rocks I kept in my pockets. Looking back again I saw that all of the dogs were mixed breed, without collars or tags, and because of their number I despaired of repelling them with rocks or out-running them. They were a pack of wild dogs.

I was going about as fast as I could, but they were gaining on me quickly. I had to think fast since the leader was only a few feet back. Across the street and ahead of me I saw my salvation: a white ranch house with a fenced-in yard. The chain link fence looked high enough to protect me from the dogs, and if need be I could jump right from the bike over the fence. The lead dog seemed seconds away from my leg. I made a final effort pedaling at top speed and swerved across the road suddenly towards the fence, hoping to take the dogs off-guard. When my bike was across the oncoming lane I heard a loud clunk behind my rear tire. I was going too fast to look back right away and it was all I could do to keep from plowing into the fence. But, I sensed the absence of my pursuers. I jumped off the bike, landing hard and turned to look. The lead dog had been struck by a large white motor camper. It had all happened in an instant. The camper never braked or stopped, and sped away at what seemed to be at least 60 miles per hour.

The dog lay stretched out in the middle of the road. The three other pack members circled and sniffed his body, whined and ran off across a field. The dog’s body twitched involuntarily. I approached, first checking for oncoming traffic, but the road seemed deserted in both directions. The dog looked like a brown hound, probably about 70 pounds. I could see no injuries to the body. The eyes were wide open, but glazed. He was not breathing. Thick dark red blood oozed from the nose and ears and formed a plate sized puddle on the hot asphalt under the dog’s head.

I felt frozen by the dog’s death gaze. Emotion welled up in me. “Better you than me.” was my initial thought. I never saw that camper coming. It could have been me; it was so close. Too close. It could have been me, killed instantly. Yet, that camper saved me from sure attack by the dogs. But here lay this dog, looking somehow perfect in death and I felt a profound sorrow. I noted the velvety softness of his ears, the pinky roundness of his toes, each perfectly framed by short reddish brown fur. He was completely still now. I took his forelegs in my left hand, and rear legs in my right and carried his body to the drainage ditch on the opposite side of the road from my bike. I tossed him in. My hands looked clean, but I felt the need to wash them. I looked up from the ditch and for the first time noticed a graying two story farmhouse. On the front porch sat a little girl about five years old. She was holding one of the surviving pack dogs and sobbing audibly.

I crossed the street and picked up my bike. All that remained on the road was the thick puddle of blood. A car was coming. One of the tires drove right through the middle of the puddle, leaving a bloody tire tread print every couple of feet or so down the road. I opened the gate and walked my bike through the fence and up the concrete walk to the white ranch house. A woman came out of the screen door to greet me.

“That was great! That pack of dogs has been terrorizing the neighborhood. When can you kill the rest of them?”

I ignored her comment. I abandoned my approach spiel. “May I come in and wash my hands?” I asked.

“Sure. Come right in. The bathroom’s on the left. Let me get you a soda.”

I washed my hands in silent thought. I drank the soda and remember nothing else of my visit with that lady. I don’t think she bought a book. I remember riding away from the area and never wanting to come that way again, although I knew I would have to. I tried to focus on the bright sunshine on the trees down the road.

Word got around about the dog I killed. I became a local hero, of sorts. It helped my book sales somewhat, but I did not enjoy the notoriety.

Turkey Farm Part 1

2007-08-26T06:37:00.000-07:00

One day I headed out for the distant reaches of my territory. After all of the familiar roads I came to a highway with two lanes in either direction that was not restricted to bicycle traffic. There were hardly any cars on the road and it seemed to lead to where there may be more rural dwellings. The side of the road had a gravel ditch that was lined with tall grass and wildflowers. Beyond that were fields of soy beans as far as I could see. The asphalt was newly paved and smooth. Its black top was almost shiny in the hot sun and I tried to aim my wheels for the white line. I pictured that my wheels would be cooler on that line, like bare feet would stay cool by walking on it. It also gave me a distraction as I pedaled monotonously yard after yard, mile after mile.

Ahead there was a long straight part of the road with the road somewhat rose up from the land on either side. I put my head down to lower wind resistance and pedaled seriously ahead, all on the white line. From behind I heard the deep blare of a diesel truck horn. I glanced over my left shoulder and saw a semi truck approaching. It gleamed silvery white and seemed as if made of liquid viewed through the hot air rising off the road. The four lane highway was plenty big enough for both of us, so I stayed on my line and maintained my speed. The truck roared up behind me more quickly than I had anticipated. He was moving well over the speed limit. In a frightening moment I realized that the semi was in the same lane as me instead of the open inside lane. Sometimes cars would clock my speed and yell it out to me as they went by. But it didn’t seem that was the case this time. I carefully edged my bike to the smooth shoulder of the road. Shit, I thought as he got closer, was he going to run me down? The truck blew by with the sound of a tornado. I hung tightly onto my handlebars, tensed my body and squeezed my eyes shut. I could feel the suction seem to lift my bike from the road as the truck passed and bits of road dirt were swept up and hit my face.

There was a flash and suddenly there was no sound at all, just darkness. Peace and calm surrounded me on all sides like a blanket. I felt nothing. My eyes were open but suddenly I was aware of only a bright white light everywhere. The whiteness seemed to tinge with pale blue. I was lying on my back staring straight up into the sky. The searing white sunlight made the world a pale and unreal place. A monarch butterfly flapped its gentle golden brown wings without sound as it flitted above me and alit onto a near by Queen Anne’s Lace flower. The stem of the flower bent under the butterfly’s weight and came into my view. I breathed in the peace and beauty of this small part of nature. I heard the buzzing of bees on the golden yellow asters and black eyed susans. I lifted my hand and the butterfly moved to touch my finger, and then sailed off to the sky, lost in the white light.

It took several moments for me to remember the truck. I had been on my bike last I could remember. It was a struggle shaking off a feeling of weightlessness and to feel the weight of my body. I lifted my head, and then sat up slowly. I was lying in the bottom of the ditch by the road. The flowers on the ditch’s sides had framed the sky from where I laid. My bicycle was at my feet, on its side in the ditch. I could not feel any pain anywhere, but I stood slowly and cautiously. There was a small scratch on my elbow, but otherwise I was unharmed. My bike was not damaged either. The truck was nowhere to be seen.

The monarch returned as if to check on me, but seeing that I was alright, it flew off. I felt washed clean by this experience, as if baptized in the white light. It was as if I had died, and was reborn into a new life. My past sorrows no longer existed, but neither did the future. Nothing needed to exist in the future; there was only the now, the vast and beautiful now. The wild flowers, the bright white sky, the bees and butterflies were the whole world at that moment. I felt dizzy with the ecstasy of mere existence and sat back down in the ditch, surrounded by flowers and exalted in breathing in the fragrant air of the now. If that had truly been the last moment of my life, I felt reassured that it would have been alright to die. At the same time, I was absolved of the sin of almost dying, but then living.

The heat of the sun made a trickle of sweat roll down the side of my face. It was time to move on. I stood again and lifted my bike with one hand. I climbed from the ditch. Once on the road I looked back down. I saw only a gravel ditch choked with weeds. I smiled because although the place seemed ordinary I knew that it was not. It was the first place I had seen in this new existence. It was my Garden of Eden. To go forward I knew that I had to leave it behind. I plucked a black eyed susans and tucked its stem into my pants pocket. That’s the deal in life, I thought.

I swung my leg backwards over the seat while depressing the other pedal and glided the bike to a consistent roll. I rode on into the heated air over the asphalt, my tire making a sticking noise as the tread made contact with the tar. My body seemed magically drawn forward in time and space with every fragment of time separately representing the now.

Turkey Farm Part 2

2007-08-26T06:36:00.002-07:00

Further down the road I came to a large poultry farm. The houses for birds were low, long, and white with silver roofs. They were kind of like long green houses. Clucking did not come from these structures, a weird noise did. I realized that it must be turkeys, not chickens. I had visited a chicken farm already in Athens. I pulled in to the driveway for a white, well kept farm house and knocked on the door. The man who answered was huge; tall and wide, just like a heavy weight weightlifter or pro football line man. He had to have been around 6 feet 8 inches tall and 400 hundred pounds. He had a look of innocence on his face, especially around his eyes. I decided he was safe and gave my approach.

“Hah there Mr. Jones, mah name is Su-san Fair-vieew. A’ve been calling on all of the church folks in the neighborhood. Y’all do go to some local church, don’t cha?

His jaw dropped and he let me in. He was like putty in my hands. He watched my demo and order process and bought an FBL. Easiest sale I ever made. Then he asked if I would like to see the turkeys and I replied, yes.

We walked out into the sunshine towards one of the bird houses. We went in. The house was brightly lit, plus there were windows in the sides. The floor was dusted with hay. The birds were all white, the same age with their heads about up to my kneecaps. I was surrounded by a gentle gobbling noise; a very strange sensation. As we walked through them, they scurried away from our feet, not unlike a school of fish parting for a diver.

He told me some facts about the farm and turkeys, such as feeding, breeding, etcetera. It was all new to me. He said that the birds were so stupid that they could drown in the rain, if not gotten under cover. I thanked him for a very educational and fun time, and he mentioned that his parents’ house was just down the street apiece and that for sure they would buy some books.

So, I rode away. His parents’ house was about a mile away and I stopped. They were really very nice, asked me in and bought books. They served me a soda and looked at each other sheepishly. I couldn’t think of any reason for that look. Finally, the woman spoke.

“Here you are honey, just a little bit of a thing, working hard out here in all this heat, sweating up a storm and all you have for transportation is that bicycle. We are impressed with your will to work hard to earn money. We would like to make you a proposition” she started.

“Really, what?”

“Our son was also impressed and wishes you to marry him and move to the farm.”

I tried not to spit up my soda. My god, he would squish me flatter than a pancake, was my first thought, not to be spoken however. Somehow I politely thanked them but declined their offer. Ah well, at least I made some sales.

New Roommate

2007-08-26T06:36:00.001-07:00

Robbie called us late on Friday evening to let us know that another Parchment ‘gal’ would be joining us as a roommate. He assured us that she was ‘really nice’ and we would meet her on Sunday. We certainly had the extra room for her in our lodgings with our three beds.

At that Sunday meeting I had had my biggest week of the summer. I was asked to stand and ‘share’ (read: testify) how that had happened to my fellow Parchmenters. I said, “Really, really hard work.” Robbie looked disappointed with that brief and essentially meaningless response. But, it was better than the real answer which was really that it was just good old country territory, with gullible and blindly religious rural folks. You know prime territory; the unacceptable answer when all territory is alike. I knew no one wanted to hear that and that I would have caught hell for saying so.

Mary and I met Chris, our new roomie, at some point during the meeting. Rumors had it that she had ‘boyfriend troubles’ at her last territory. I didn’t doubt it for a moment when I thought about what happened to me. It was easy to find trouble of that kind out here, especially with these oversexed Parchment guys. This move would take her away from the problem. All I could think was that if our territory was considered a safe haven from boy troubles, we were in all trouble. There would be no place to send me but home if I complained about the incident with Chip.

She was very pretty, brown wavy hair, big blue eyes, curvaceous and a little taller then me. No doubt she would find trouble out here, looking like that. She seemed warm and nice, and I was looking forward to having someone to really talk to, after my apparent rift with Mary.

At that meeting another sales manager shared with us ‘girls’ that many sellers were asking double the recommended price for the books. I didn’t think I could do that for ethical reasons, but the monetary temptation was too great not to. Mary said that she was already doing it. I was astounded! How could she? She was religious, how did that practice square with her personal morals? In all practicality though, what if customers sold to at the lower price spoke with those who paid the higher price? That thought terrified me.

Gregg

2007-08-26T06:35:00.001-07:00

After that sales meeting, it was decided that Mary and Chris would return to our house separately from me. They would drive with Chip and I was going with Gregg. That was fine by me, as I had had enough of Chip lately.

Gregg drove me to where he was staying with his crew of five guys. Their place was in the center of a small town outside of Marietta and was the second storey of a storefront. It was really late Sunday evening and there were no lamps in the place, just overhead lights and the lights from the neon signs outside. With the overheads turned off, the place had an eerie glow from the neon lights outside. The five guys bedded down on cots in the front room facing the street, Gregg had his own room with a real bed. I was a bit concerned what the guys would think of me getting into bed with Gregg, so he offered to sleep on the floor. I figured that at some point he would join me in the bed, and I wasn’t wrong.

He got onto the bed and I welcomed him with a kiss. He caressed me with experienced hands that seemed always aware of just where they were and what they needed to do there. We began shedding our clothing and all the time I was getting more and more excited. He knew that I was not using birth control and he did not have any condoms. So, we had to be careful. Of course those issues never even came up with Chip.

He kissed my mouth and worked his way down my neck to my breasts. His hands went lower. Oh god, I was so horny. This was what I needed and wanted so badly; some gentle loving. He knew what he was doing; it was subtle and just right. He was erect but didn’t seem to care for his own pleasure, just mine. Just the way he touched and kissed my neck, ears, breasts, and between my legs, was like he could feel what he was doing as if he were doing it to himself. I tried so hard not to cry out or moan, so that his roommates would not hear, but I don’t think I succeeded. When I could I tried to stroke his erect cock to give him pleasure. What I really wanted was to take his cock head in my mouth and suck on its silky smoothness to reward him, but he gave me absolutely no chance at that. Finally he got me so worked up that I begged for him to put it in me. I said, “Gregg, fuck me! Fuck me! Put it in me!” I wanted him hard. I wanted to be pounded. He sat up quickly in Indian fashion, grabbed my waist and lowered me onto himself, so that he penetrated me three times hard and fast, and that was it. He drew out of me and came.

When our breathing quieted enough we slept. I’m not sure if the guys in the other room heard anything or not.

********

The following week, at our sales meeting, Chip cornered me and said, “So I hear you and Gregg did it. Tell me, what has he got that I haven’t?”

While I could think of many things to say that Chip would not want to hear, what I said was, “That bastard told you!” All along I had thought that he would find out; I was sort of counting on it. Though, I was sad that he did because now I would never sleep with Gregg again, as he had to be punished for betraying me. Gregg was such a good and satisfying lover. “I guess you can’t trust anyone around here.” I decided that I playing with the Parchment boys was not a good idea.

“No I guess you can’t. And you never know who your friends are either.” Then he stormed off.

********

The next week, Gregg and Bill came to visit us before the Sunday meeting. At bedtime, Gregg got into my bed and was waiting for me. I got in and when he came over to kiss me, I said, “I know that you told Chip about us.” He looked chagrinned, embarrassed, trapped by his own machinations. “Unfortunately, I cannot trust you again now. Please do not touch me. I hope it was all worth it.”

He sighed and asked, “Can I at least stay here in bed with you? I don’t want anybody to know that you dumped me.”

“There is no other place to sleep, or I would ask you to leave.”

“Thanks.” he whispered. We both slept without cuddling. That was the last time he came over to see me. What a shame. But, somehow I felt victorious over both of them. I had won the game. Hooray! Sigh.

The Projects

2007-08-26T06:34:00.000-07:00

I had reviewed the map of my territory again and again. I couldn’t figure out how I was going through it so fast. I also wondered how Mary sold so many books, yet managed to have plenty of territory. Such a big area of my territory was the housing projects. If only I could sell there. Of course I had been warned repeatedly about the projects: stabbing rapist, gunfire at whites, and low delivery rates. But, what if I went there early in the morning, I thought? I couldn’t picture anyone taking a shot at me in the morning light. I decided to try it at eight in the morning one day.

It wasn’t at all far to the projects from where we were staying and I rolled there in no time flat. I decided to go to the ‘nicer’ housing projects and to stick to the units facing out of the complex. That way all I would have to do to get out is cross the street. The buildings were built at least within the last 10 years and were one storey tall and constructed of brick. Two families lived in each unit. As I rode by I noticed that all of the buildings had pretty well kept lawns. A pair of little girls with their hair in braids played on orange and yellow big wheel bikes. A small cluster of boys tossed a plastic football across the street to each other. A woman was going back into her house with an empty laundry basket, having just hung her wet things out to dry. I decided to start at her house since she was up and around. I rode up the walk and dismounted the bike.

I rang the bell and stood back a pace. Only the screen door was closed, so I saw Mrs. Jones when she came up to the door. She was wearing a pink and white striped cotton house dress and chenille slippers. Her face was of a young woman, but it was deeply lined with worry. I smiled and gave my approach. She opened the door without hesitation to let me in. I was curious because I had never been in a housing project before. The house was clean but poorly furnished. The sofa fabric was the color of golden rod flowers and was worn through on the arms. The piping was coming away from the seat cushions. Perhaps they had gotten it used. The wooden coffee table was nicked and scratched all around. An ivory colored leather bound family Bible was displayed proudly on the table. The curtains were gauzy graying pink nylon. No breeze was present to flutter them and they hung limply. The floor was bare institutional type linoleum that had seen better days. It had lost all possibility of shine after many scrubbings, I supposed. The interior was depressing, to say the least.

Mrs. Jones went to the door to call to her children to watch my demonstration. They came running obediently. Two of the children I had seen playing were hers. The little girl was precious in her braids with airplane barrettes. She was about four, I guess. The boy in a red and white striped shirt and shorts was maybe seven, and did not look happy to be called away from his play to see about any books. But, there they sat attentively; she had them trained.

I showed them the Family Bible Library set. The kids liked the color pictures and seemed genuinely interested in the books. Before I could close, Mrs. Jones asked the kids to go back outside and play. They ran out happily. She looked me in the eye and said, “Now I want them books. I want them for my kids, but I bet they cost.”

I was straight with her. “Yeah, they cost $100, but you pay when I deliver them at the end of the summer. All I would need right now is a deposit so that I can order the books.” I thought that it was important for her to make a commitment to assure delivery went well, because the sale was too easy. She seemed so agreeable, bordering on gullible.

“I don’t have any money today, but I want them books. Hold on a second.” Mrs. Jones got up and walked out of the room. When she returned she was holding a women’s black pump that had surely seen better days. “Here take my shoe as a deposit and I will pay you at the end of the summer.”

Her shoe. She wanted me to take her shoe. I couldn’t take her shoe, it wouldn’t be right. “Mrs. Jones, please keep your shoe. I can take your order without a deposit.”

“No, no. You said you need a deposit, and I want you to take me seriously. I insist you take my shoe on deposit. I want them books, and I will pay what I owe at the end of the summer. Now you make out that order.”

I wrote out the order. I still didn’t want her shoe, but how could I refuse and let her keep her dignity? I closed my order book and put the sample book back in the case. She handed me her shoe. It had a thin black leather upper, and man made sole. The toe and heel were scuffed through the finish. The leather was lined like the woman’s face, pressed that way from mileage more than time. The shoe just fit into my case on top of the books. I thanked the woman and left.

I got on my bike and rode out of the projects. I felt like a long bike ride out to remote territory would be good right about now. All I could think about was the shoe in my sales case. What right did I have to take this woman’s shoe? There was no way that she could come up with $100 by delivery week. Where was she going to get it? Would she have to cut into the food bill, the rent? Somehow it didn’t seem right to show her the books at all. Her kids saw them and wanted them and it was just one more thing she couldn’t give them.

The sale was too easy. It seemed that the woman did not have the will power to say no, even though she knew that she didn’t have the cash. I could probably make many more sales like that one in the projects today but I knew that only a low percentage would take delivery. My sales total for the week would look impressive, but would not be real. I felt guilty for trying to sell in the projects.

I just didn’t want to be in that position again. It wasn’t like barter, where someone has a supply of goods that you need, and trades them for your goods. It was humiliating to have to take that shoe from the woman. It would only be more humiliating if she gave me her children’s shoes. She might as well have for how I felt.

Who was I, this advantaged, middle class, white college kid, to shake down this poor mother of two for her money? I couldn’t live with doing it, so I never sold in the projects again.

Trucker with a Gun

2007-08-26T06:33:00.000-07:00

So back I went out to the country. The houses here were close enough together that you could see the next one, but not so close that you would call it a subdivision. I saw that a man had just pulled into his driveway with his pickup truck and was getting out. So I began my approach as I rolled up on my bike, “Hah there, Mr. Jones…. Mah name is Sue Fairvieew and Ave been callin..”

He cut me right off by saying in a loud stage voice, “Yeah, just a minute, I wouldn’t want to leave a loaded gun around where the kids might get it.”

And with that he turned and I could see that indeed he had a just taken a handgun out of the truck and now it was in both his hands pointed directly at me. I could smell the booze coming off of him from where I was standing. Oh great, armed and drunk. I went right back to my training as if by instinct.

“I know what you mean, Mr. Jones.” I said as I stared right at him and tried to maintain my calm.

A few moments that seemed like hours passed as he stared me down before he nodded seeing that he didn’t frighten me or get any reaction at all. He said, “Yup”, or something that clever, dropped the weapon to his side and went into the house. That was when I realized how close I had come to serious injury or worse and my knees started knocking. (I now know what that means). I only remember seeing the gun’s barrel. I didn’t remember seeing any kids around that day, even though it was nice and sunny.

I tried to sell him a book and wasn’t really disappointed when he didn’t buy. I was just grateful to be alive.

Three Dogs

2007-08-26T06:32:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, when you are out in the middle of the country, and you see a gravel road, you need to make a choice. How many houses are at the end? Sometimes you can tell a lot by mailboxes. The uniform, apartment like cluster of a condominium or trailer park differs from the boxes of individual residences. This gravel road only had one box, but the gravel was new. It could be a new house built by a young couple with kids. I couldn’t see the house from the road. I wondered how far it was. The gravel was a big grade stone, very loose and difficult to ride on. The going was slow. The old farm house that I finally saw was in the middle of a meadow of weeds. The house was shabby and generally unkempt. The paint was peeling off in patches, exposing a darker gray under the whiter gray. It also appeared to need a new roof. A shutter was hanging on askew by one nail. There were some good sized oak trees scattered about.

As I wheeled my bike up the dirt path to the house, about 20 yards away an elderly lady inside opened the door and sicked her dogs on me. Three little dogs came out barking. They were maybe mid calf high at the shoulder, built stocky and had short thick brown hair; could have been some kind of terrier. They had wide mouths, which translates into a strong bite. They were fierce little devils, snapping, barking and bearing their teeth. I began defending myself with my back against one of the large oaks, holding my bike out and throwing small rocks. I was able to keep them away from me, but not scare them off. The old lady just watched us from inside the screen door. Finally she called, “Go away.”

I replied “Please call off your dogs Ma’am.”

I threw the rocks, and the little dogs would retreat, just to come back. They were small and sneaky, and tried to get between the bike and the tree to get me. I’d sway the bike to and fro to repel them, but they worked like a tag team. This went on for some minutes. I was having a bad day; I was hungry, and losing my patience. My anger rose in me. I just wanted to kill one or all or these dogs. These were not real attack dogs, and I probably could have injured them if I really wanted to. Their owner just stood there. I knew she probably wouldn’t buy a book, and I just wanted to make sure she called off her dogs.

“Go away!” she repeated.

I was really pissed now. “Ma’am call off your dogs or I’ll cut their heads off and eat them for lunch.”

“I’m getting my shotgun!!!” And with that, she went back into the house.

Fuck, I thought, but replied, “Have a nice day.” I had no doubt that she would shoot, so I had yelled that I was leaving, made one last lunge at the dogs, hopped on my bike and rode off at the best pace I could manage given the gravel. Fortunately, the dogs did not follow. I never looked back. Going down that gravel road had been nothing but a hot and aggravating waste of time.

Betrayal Part 1

2007-08-26T06:31:00.000-07:00

It had been a long hot day on the book field. It was already past nine and I was only about half way home from selling. I was about all in, and lifting my legs felt like there were sacks of sand tied on my thighs with every up cycle of the pedals. It was already dark and I had so far to go yet. All of the sudden it hit me that I had not had any life for myself all summer. Every moment of every day was for Parchment. I had no personal life. I was lonely, really lonely. I felt like all of the fight and spirit in me was drained away by the events of the summer, and not enough rest.

I knew that up ahead was a long down hill of maybe a mile or so. At least I would be able to cease pedaling and maintain a good speed down the hill. I crested the hill and set the bike’s front wheel pointing straight down the white line between the shoulder and the lane. There were no cars to be seen. My head felt heavy and I put my hands on the handle bar where the down tube is attached and my elbows on the ends of the handle bars. This supported my tired back better. Still my head felt heavy. I just wanted to rest it on my hands, and eventually I gave in to my fatigue. My forehead rested on my hands, and I looked straight down at my front wheel turning over again and again on that white line. A wave of sleepiness came over me and I shook the bike a little to keep myself alert. The bike picked up speed going down that steady hill, and I didn’t need to pedal. It was quite a ways to the bottom yet.

I shut my eyes for a moment and opened them. My wheel was still right on the white line. The cover of my lids on my eyes had felt so wonderful. Just that short moment seemed so restful. I closed my eyes again, and listened to my wheels humming over the asphalt. I heard crickets. I opened my eyes again. There was the white line; I was still on it. My bike rode on straight and true. My eyes closed again, and I heard nothing. All was black. All was night. I felt free.

I sensed a slight bumpiness under my forehead, and groggily lifted my head from my hands. My eyes opened. The front wheel of the bike was on the gravel shoulder of the road. I fought with the handle bars, pushing the wheel from the gravel back to the road. I was at the bottom of the hill. I had slept just about the whole way down. Some adrenaline started to flow into me as I realized that I easily could have crashed the bike. I was glad to be alive and unharmed and at least regained my focus on these as immediate life goals.

I looked up the road. A ranch style house with a long front porch was ahead. The porch was lit, and the folks were out there talking. I didn’t seem to remember selling at that house. I was feeling a bit too tired to make a demonstration, but this looked like a perfect opportunity. I steered my bike up the driveway that slanted conveniently from the road like a highway ramp. A family was on the porch. There was a man and a woman, and their three kids. The kids seemed excited and happy about something. I thought that maybe it was someone’s birthday. They looked like very nice people. I held the bike and spoke to the family from where I stood, on the ground in front of their porch. I gave my approach and smiled at them.

The man said, “Look, we’re really not interested in anything that you are selling, but it’s been a long hot day and I bet you’d just as soon have some of this fresh, homemade peach ice cream we’re having?”

Fresh peach ice cream sounded like just the restorative that I needed. I threw down my bike and said, “You’re exactly right, Mr. Jones. I would really appreciate some homemade ice cream, if it was no trouble.” Then to make sure it would happen, I made a truthful statement. “I’ve never had homemade ice cream.”

“Well my goodness”, said Mrs. Jones. “You come right up here and we’ll make you a bowl.” I joined them on the porch, sitting on a pillowed metal tube chair offered by one of the kids.

“Mom, there isn’t anymore ice cream. Jenny and I got the last bowls.” said a boy of about ten who had given his chair to me.

“Not anymore, that can’t be right.”

Jenny came forward. “She can have my bowl, Mom.”

“I just couldn’t take your ice cream away from you honey.” I said. “Although, it is awfully nice of you to offer. It’s pleasant enough if I could just rest here a moment and enjoy your company.” This was also the truth. I was dog tired, and the surroundings were pleasant and comfortable.

“No, I insist that you have my bowl of ice cream.” Jenny said. “We make it all the time in the summer, and you’ve never had any. Please take it.”

“I can’t thank you enough.” I said. I was genuinely touched by Jenny’s maturity and giving nature. The first bite of ice cream transcended my expectations. Not only was it the creamiest ice cream I had ever had, the taste of fresh cream laced with the intoxicating bouquet of fresh juicy peaches was an unbelievable delight. This was not just a bowl of ice cream, it was a treasure. I swore that I would never forget not just the taste, but the feeling of eating pure love, the love of this family who hand cranked that ice cream until perfection, and offered it to me, a complete stranger there to sell them books. Pure love tasted every bit as good as one might imagine. If there is a heaven, that’s what they serve there.

The family laughed good naturedly at my reaction to their ice cream. I was overwhelmed, and tried to express it to them. It didn’t seem to me that I could do it justice. But, Jenny seemed pleased enough.

I did not want to leave their house, but now it was really getting late. I had to get home. The ice cream made me feel strong enough to ride again, and if I kept a good pace, perhaps I could be home in thirty minutes or so. I thanked the family again, and went off into the dark night quietly on my spinning wheels.