Wednesday, July 1, 2020

A Day in the Life

prompt: For Hire | Word Count: 1000 Words | Genre: memoir
Due Feb 26, 2020
Warning: None

A Day in the Life of a Traveling Sales Person


The music turns down abruptly as I rap my fist on the door a few times. A moment later, a cute guy in sweat pants opens it, a quizzical look on his sleepy face. Running a hand through dark, tousled hair he asks, “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I hope so. I’m in the national cash awards contest trying to win a three week vacation to Europe.  I’m going through the neighborhood getting people to vote for me. I’m in second place and I only need thirty-nine more points to take the lead. Just think about it! London, Paris, and Rome.” I hold out my hand, give him my brightest, most confident smile. “My name’s Peggy, what’s yours?”

His handshake is firm and warm. His smile reveals a dimple in his right cheek. “I’m Joshua,”

I guess he’s about thirty, with a decent paying job, judging by the car in the driveway and the furniture I glimpse inside.

“Josh, it’s great to meet you. Maybe I could come in and tell you about the contest?”

Fifteen minutes later, I’m waving goodbye, having sold him a subscription to Car and Driver magazine.

It’s eleven a.m. and I’ve been working for about three hours. I’m halfway down the last of the four blocks that Charlie gave me to canvas. She’ll pick me up at noon, and drop me in another location after that. She probably won’t stop for lunch, either.

I hope she’ll let me work an apartment complex next, rather than houses; but I have to admit, this particular neighborhood has been pretty good to me so far. 

The homes are fairly new, mostly occupied by yuppies. The kind with disposable cash who don’t think twice about blowing twenty bucks on a magazine subscription.

At eighteen, I can’t even imagine what that would be like. 

I knew when I got hired three months ago that I wasn’t gonna make a lot of money with this job. It was an opportunity to get out of Montana, and back to California. To travel and see the country firsthand. I get paid a small percentage of the subscriptions I sell, but it’s barely enough to cover the eight dollars a day they charge me for being a member of the group. They say it pays my share of the hotel rooms, and the gas and upkeep of the five vehicles they use to shuttle us around from neighborhood to neighborhood. From city to city, crisscrossing the western United States, chasing the sun.

The door is slammed in my face at the next house, and the one after that goes unanswered.  

At the next house, a soap opera is playing on the TV. I can see it through the screen door. A twenty-something girl, striding across the living room sees me before I even knock. She comes to greet me, a little boy riding her hip. He’s got a leaking sippy cup clutched in his hand, soaking the front of his shirt.

“Hi there,” I say, with a shy smile. “My name’s Peggy. I thought I’d stop by to see if I could get your vote. I’m in the national cash awards contest, and I’m in second place. I only need seventy-eight more points to take the lead, and if I do, I’ll win a three week vacation to Europe. Is this your boy? He sure is cute. What’s his name?”

“Oh, thanks. Yeah. This is Ryan,” she drops an affectionate kiss on his cheek. “Why don’t you come in and tell me about your contest.”

Twenty minutes later she’s thanking me for stopping by. She bought Parenting magazine for herself, and Architectural Digest for her husband.

A couple of guys are hanging out in the open garage next door, leaning under the hood of an old beat up truck. They’re drinking beer, though it’s not even noon.

I won’t get any “votes” here, I think, except maybe for popularity, so I quietly pass them by without drawing attention to myself.

There’s still a half hour before Charlie will be here to pick me up, and my stomach is starting to growl with hunger.

The house at the end of the street looks a little run down. There’s a white picket fence around the yard. I close the gate behind me, and approach the house. Up on the porch I find a little old lady, her clothes and the state of the porch tell me she’s likely a widow on a fixed income. 

She’s sitting in an old wooden swing, just looking out on the day, as if she’s lonely and waiting for someone to come a-callin’.  Something stirs in my heart and suddenly I feel a long ways from home. I find myself longing for my family, especially my mom, and her home cooked meals. 

“Good morning, Ma’am,” I say, casting my voice loudly in case she’s hard of hearing, stopping at the bottom of the steps respectfully. 

“Hello there,” she says, with a slight frown on her puzzled face. “Do I know you?”

“Oh no, my name’s Peggy. I’m not from around here. Some friends and I are doing a scavenger hunt. I thought maybe you might be able to help fill in some of the missing pieces from my list?”

“A scavenger hunt! My goodness, I didn’t think you young people ever played that game anymore. What’s on your list?”

This is a game I’ve played before, usually right around lunch time. I pull a wrinkled piece of paper from my back pocket and hand it to her. “I still need an old shoe lace, a key, a bottle cap, and…” I hesitate for just a moment, then I blurt it out, like a question, “and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”

“You don’t say!” She lights up like I’m a long lost grandchild. “Well then. You just come with me and I’ll fix you right up.” With a sly grin, she asks “are you sure you wouldn’t prefer ham and cheese?”

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