I hadn’t posted in awhile, especially anything about myself (online journal), which was the whole point of starting the blog in the first place. So I’ll start with something that happened the other night.
I was watching the Olympics, good background noise when playing Literati on Yahoo. There was a knock on the door and thought it might be the neighbor. For some reason I didn’t check the peephole and answered it anyway, a “salesman”.
Now I use the term loosely as he could not have been more than 16 or 17 years old. The speech was canned and choppy at best. The part of the spiel that caught my attention was that he was “selling magazines for points”. I struck up a conversation and although he seemed less nervous, he remained polite, “Yes ma’am, no ma’am” and so forth.
Being the nosy person that I am, I asked him if he was in school.
“Yes ma’am, I want to study computer programming.”
“Are you staying out of trouble?”
“Yes ma’am.”
I continued browsing through the magazine listing and tried to find the least expensive subscription; wouldn’t you know it was Catholic Digest. Remembering how tough it was when I sold insurance door-to-door in rural West Texas, I asked him how his sales were going.
“Ma’am, I thank you for just looking. I told everyone that I would get at least one sale tonight and I’ve been knocking on doors for the last three hours. You’re the only person who has taken the time to listen to me.”
I gave him a couple of sales tips and we continued our conversation as I filled out a check. I can’t remember what led to the next comment… “You must have a good job to live in these nice apartments.” I agreed and suddenly felt like I did when I was teaching. The kids always presumed, at least in the Title I schools that teachers were rich and that money was no object. In a sense, it was true. Transported back to my hometown of Lubbock, Texas by that comment, I thanked him but added that I’ve had to work really hard to get to where I am.
I shared with him about the winter when our gas and electricity was cut off. (Lubbock is colder than a witch’s tit or so the saying goes.) Fortunately, we had kind neighbors that let us run one of those long, orange extension cords from their house to our one bedroom to plug in an electric heater. I can’t even imagine every going back to that place and time, it still amazes me. He laughed in a way that said “I’m with you! I totally understand!”
Corey became more interested and asked about my first job. I told him that I was desperate to work so my mom “altered” my birth certificate so that I could get a work permit. (You had to be 15; I had just turned 14.) I loved my brown polyester Taco Bell uniform and for the first time in my life, I felt as if I had some control.
The neighbor I was expecting came by so I told her that I’d be over in a minute. Corey thanked me for the sale and appreciated the visit. I hoped that in that short “teachable moment” that he knew that as long as he continued to work and persevere, he would have a chance to change his own life.
I thank God for the opportunity to become humbled. Before he walked away, happy as a lark, I wished him well and said “God Bless.” By his response, I could tell that he had at least one God-fearing bone in his body and that a parent or grandparent was teaching him well. “Work hard and have faith,” I reminded him as he walked away.
“Thank you, ma’am!”
1 comment:
Hi. I like this post. I like it because I think we help ourselves when we help others. I try to give similar support when the Witnesses come to my door. I offer them a drink of water on a hot day (they don't seem to come in the winter), and a chance to give me their pitch. The conversations are usually short, because I follow a different faith, but it reminds me that no matter what faith or age we are, we are all connected.
M
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