Day in the Life of a Salesman

A salesman just brought me cookies. Chocolate chip cookies! What could make my afternoon better than warm, moist, chocolaty cookies? NOTHING. Except maybe a new job. That paid more. And came with benefits. Like health insurance. But since that is most likely NOT happening anytime soon, I'll stick with surprising deliveries of chocolate chip cookies.

I feel bad for salesmen. I really do. It has to be one of the most annoying, humiliating, degrading jobs around. I understand our economy sucks and you've got to take what you can get, but I would rather flip burgers at McDonald's then run around asking people to buy dumb stuff that you know they don't want and if they do buy whatever it is you're selling, it's only because they feel bad for you. I've witnessed it first hand. I'll share with you my journey as I eat my cookies.

Back when I first moved home, I desperately searched for work in Connecticut. I found a posting online for an entry-level marketing job. It looked promising, so I applied. A day later the company called to schedule an interview. The interview went well and the woman I met with invited me to come back a few days later so I could shadow one of the employees. Great! I was thrilled.

My excitement didn't last long. Instead, it turned into a deep, ugly rage. I guess I didn't ask enough questions about the company and the position I was applying for. I assumed (Never assume. It makes an ass of u and me.) I would be learning about the company, following someone around in an office all day. NOT THE CASE. Turns out it was a salesman position and I was being tricked into becoming one! Some guy, whose name I cannot remember (probably because I've been trying to block this day from my brain), was in charge of teaching me the ropes. He and I drove to some uppity town in Massachusetts. He parked his car in a CVS parking lot and we walked around the center of the town trying to get business owners to purchase a discount spa package. It was maybe 15 degrees that day and since no one told me I'd be walking around outside for six hours, I was certainly not dressed appropriately.

The worst part about the day was the salesman I was stuck with. Every time we entered a new business he would say, "Hi! How are you?!" And the employees would say (totally unenthusiastically), "Fine, thanks. How are you?" My salesman would respond with a big smile and this clever phrase: "If I was any better, I'd be twins." WHAT THE HECK DOES THAT MEAN?! I heard it at least 20 times that day and not once did I understand it. The employees would usually chuckle, so I figured they got it, but maybe they were just being nice.

Needless to say, I am not a salesman. When I got back to the office that evening I told the woman I interviewed with that this was simply not the job for me. She said she was glad I got to see exactly what the job is, so that I could make that decision. I was not glad. I would have been glad if she had told me in the beginning that this was a salesman job because then I would have told her right away that I was not interested and I wouldn't have had the day from hell with some idiot who was so happy he could have been a twin. WHAT THE HECK DOES THAT MEAN?!

Trixie Taylor (Pet's Name/Street I Live On)

Our crap-tastic economy is causing strange things to happen. Take this morning, for instance, when my mom suggested I become a stripper. Yes, a stripper. As in a scantily clad sexpot seducing strange men with lap dances. She saw some story on the news about smart, successful women who turned to pole dancing after losing their job. One woman dances three nights a week and makes a whopping $1,500 a night...or six figures a year! SIGN ME UP. I'll start ripping off my clothes and shaking my ass right now! That sure as heck beats the $12 an hour I make as a receptionist at the law office and would definitely be more exciting. The office smells like old people and stale farts, not that a strip club would smell much better. And though I like to think of myself as Pam Beasley, there's no Jim Halpert around to spice things up.

I can't lie. I'm a bit flattered that my mom thinks I have the potential to be said sexpot. As far as I'm concerned, I'm a daddy long legs with no rythym and little, if any sex appeal. It didn't take long for her to burst my bubble, though. She said my only setback to entering the wonderful world of stripping is, ahem, my chest. She thinks I would probably need breast implants since the strippers she saw on the news had "big 'ol boobies." But, let's see, when I factor in the cost for implants, which would run me about $1,200 (see: yourplasticsurgeryguide.com) the price won't really be an issue considering how much money I'll be making as a stripper. It's worth the tits, don't you think?

The Object of My Affection

I watch too much TV. This might not necessarily be a bad thing, but my love for the idiot box seems to be taking over my life. Case and point: I constantly put off hanging out with one of my best friends because I don't want to miss American Idol. Since it's on two, sometimes three nights a week, I don't have much free time. Sorry, Nick.

I recently left my job in New York City and moved back home with Mom and Dad. I went from an exciting, busy, grown-up life to Colchester - a town with very few streetlights and too many cows. With little to do and most of my friends miles away, my parents HD-TV quickly became the object of my affection.


Unfortunately, sometimes my addiction causes me a great deal of stress. This is unusual because I don't often get stressed out. I remain cool in hectic situations, but when Obama schedules a press conference on a Tuesday night so Fox has to air American Idol on Wednesday - the SAME TIME LOST IS ON - I freak out. The nerve of the president! Upon realizing that American Idol and LOST were overlapping tonight, I panicked. Of course I can DVR them, but which one do I watch first?! Should I watch American Idol and then LOST? Should I start American Idol, switch to LOST at 9 and then finish Idol when LOST is over? How do I work this out?!

Thankfully, my Mom shares my pain. The TV addiction must be genetic. We thoroughly discussed the matter and decided to watch American Idol first and then LOST. That way, we have enough time to cast our votes because you CANNOT watch Idol and not call in for your favorite performers. (Mom's rule.)

I'm not proud of myself for being so consumed with Season 8 of America's favorite show, but I can't help myself. You know you love it just the same. Admit it! Release your inner Paula Abdul, people.