My competitors call me an 'order taker'. My friends say I am a salesman.
"One of a dying breed," they say. They are correct. Telephone soliciting has a bad name and pop-up ads on the internet are so annoying! Car dealers' ads on TV are so patently misleading they are an embarrassment to the public's sensitivities. Gypsies, tramps and thieves. Not me: I have scruples.
For the last few years, I have made a pretty good living going door-to-door, selling. Presently, it is women's wearing apparel. Salesmen live by the rules of nine's and three's. For every nine homes we visit, three people are home. Of those three, we usually get one person of the three to actually focus on our product enough to listen more than ten seconds.
That ten seconds is all we have. On that third one, I make a sale. It is worth it.
For that 'lucky' one of three, the routine seldom changes. First, appear harmless. Don't crowd the doorway. Announce that you are taking orders (in my case, for women's clothes) and would the lady mind accepting a catalog?
"Oh, no mam. I am not asking to come inside your home. I can leave the booklet with you to review and if you are interested, you can call me back. Or, if you wish, I will wait here for a few moments while you skim the material.
My company's information is on the back, with local and national numbers. Feel free to call the office; my name and office number are right there."
In a minute or two, the door will open again. Either I will be invited in or thanked for my time. Odds now were in my favor.
I got lucky. "Come in. Please excuse the mess but I was not expecting company."
"Not a problem. Did you see anything in particular that you liked." We sat and she thumbed the brochure.
"Just fold down a corner if you have any questions."
I sat and looked around. Thirty-ish, thin, five foot three, 34 top (nice pyramid, perky tits, albeit a bit small), obviously married. Blonde hair. T-shirt was brand new, pulled fresh a drawer and not the one she had on five minutes ago. Braless. Cutoff jeans exposed a lot of leg. Furniture due for replacement. Incense burned in another room: at this time of day, that meant she smoked weed and used frankincense as a thin disguise.
"My husband is going to be furious if I buy anything and waste more money. He is such a tight-fisted jerk. I am sorry that I ever said I would marry him. His ex-wife called me on my wedding day, telling me to run away. I should have listened."
"Oh?"
"It's not important. This is not the life I had planned. I was going to be a dancer. I had an academic scholarship, but turned it down when I met Scott.
He's been out of work and just got back on at the factory."
I was ready to leave, (NO SALE!) but she persisted, looking at the models and clothes from the more fashionable sections. She picked out a few things. This lady has, or had, money at one time. She moved like royalty.
"I have some money saved up Scotty doesn't know about. I need some new outfits and our computer is broken. I don't have a car, so this is the only way I am going to be able to buy anything."
I moved to beside her on the couch and caught a whiff of perfume, freshly applied. We perused the merchandise together, comparing notes on fabrics, upcoming seasonal colors, what matching accessories/jewelry she already had. At one point, she brought me into the bedroom, to show me a few things she already had.
I am not gay. People might think that, because I have an eye for fashion, I am homosexual. I am just as horny as any other divorced guy pushing sixty, looking for sexual liaisons where they might be found.
We completed the order. I rose and stood in the hallway. Two bedrooms, one bath, a kitchen and an unattached garage. Mrs. Mandy Jones had a way of walking purposefully. She was going to do this: spend some money.
The total came to just under $900.00. Cash or credit card? Scott held all the cards.
Would I take a check? Yes, but with a stipulation. I will collect when I deliver this time next week. I will need a voided check, so that my company can verify your account information."
She assured me, "The check is from my night school expense account, paid for by my parents."
I took the voided check.
"I will be back in a week with your order. No shipping or handling charges. One more thing: for any person you can refer, I will knock off five percent of the total.
Give me two names, addresses and phone numbers, take off ten percent. You will have a week to check with your friends, neighbors, church members to make sure it is OK to give me their numbers. "
The allotted seven days gave me time to check her out, via her SSN. Married to Scott: he has two boys living with ex-wife; Mandy was just twenty-six. Scott, 36, always rented. They'd been here less than a year. Hoopty car completed the dim prospects. Credit rating in the pits.
One week later.
