It is official -- summertime is over. Our usual summer philanthropy of selling trinkets, crap, and dust collectors is supposed to be an all-summer project, but everyone is running around the neighborhoods, knocking on doors, and trying to hock as much of this stuff as we can. I never figured out the connection - if we are good at selling this stuff, how does that make me a good Catholic? I see a connection if my future contains mentions of Amway, Pampered Chef, or Used Cars, but will God love me more for selling seven more coaster sets than Mary?
Anyway, this is my last year doing this shit. I just turned 18 last month and I am getting ready to wrap up my parochial school career. Each year this sales thing gets easier and easier -- a growing bra and cup size always helps increase sales. I was a 38C last year and did really well, so I wonder how I'll do as a 40D this time around. I also figured out the trick to selling this stuff. Sell to men. Sell only to men. In every guy, somewhere is some form of schoolgirl crush (and thank you Brittany Spears for helping popularize this fantasy). Don't sell to women or to a man with his wife within view. While a guy will drool over a Catholic School uniform, his wife won't have the same reaction and you can kiss a sale goodbye.
I was going door to door on my second to last Saturday to sell stuff when I came to Al's house. He was a little out of place in our neighborhood. Al was single, no kids, no baggage, and living surrounded by dozens of homes, all with 2.3 kids and white picket fences. At first, there were whispers that he was gay or something, but those rumors quickly died away. The word they started to use was 'gigolo.' I didn't even realize people used that expression, but it seemed to fit. As most people went to church, it wasn't uncommon to see a strange car in his driveway, or some woman coming out the front door doing the 'walk of shame' back to her car.
Al didn't really live up to his namesake. When most people think of an 'Al,' they imagine Al the Plumber or something like that. Al the Plumber is usually some very nice and hard working, but also overweight, balding, and 50-something. That wasn't this Al. This Al looked Mediterranean -- nice olive complexion, tall, lean, and built like a soccer player in his early 30s. The soccer moms always swooned when they saw him at block parties.
It was mid-afternoon when I knocked on his door. I had just straightened my uniform before I knocked, and as he opened up he smiled and said 'hi, can I help you?' I think I had interrupted him working out back or something; he was sweaty, and while he has his shirt on, it was stuck to him like a wet second skin. His shorts rode low on his hips, and his bare feel were covered in a hint of grass and dirt. With pleasantries out of the way, I went into my sales pitch, telling him I'm from Saint Mary's, yadda yadda, yakka yakka. He invited me in, which is always good -- I've never made a sale on the front porch.
