Sold

A person rang my doorbell yesterday afternoon. At first, all I could see through the screen was an empty scooter in my driveway like I’d entered a scene in The Leftovers. Suddenly, a bespectacled twenty-one-year-old guy with exquisitely coiffured blonde hair popped his head into view with a smile on his face.

He had flawless posture and a clear voice and was hoping to sell me on the idea of eradicating the unseen carpenter ants, termites, and other pests or rodents that might be damaging the structural integrity of my domicile. Before he could get in his spiel, I hyperbolically told him how I’d used liquid traps last year to damn near eradicate one ant colony from this planet, adding that I also rented the property, meaning I’d be forced to decline his offer. However, I said I would still hear him out. We shook hands and introduced ourselves as he provided a general overview of what he does, my good mood about the work week’s pending conclusion in an hour prompting me to invite my new pal to partake in a conversational diversion.

“I have a sociological question for you,” I said as he nodded. “How much do you enjoy these one-on-one interactions knowing they’re guaranteed to fail more than half the time? You know you will be rejected every day.”

“People barely give me a chance seventy percent of the time.”

“So how do you feel about that when you start your day?”

“I enjoy it.”

“Really?” I said, intrigued. “What’s the most enjoyable thing about it?”

“This is gonna sound kinda ridiculous.”

“Perfect.”

“Honestly, man? It’s changed my life.”

“No shit? How?”

“It’s given me perspective about people. Like, most of the time, there are people who are never gonna want what I’m offering no matter what. Ya know, I get it. I’m imposing on them in a way that bothers them. Other people are mean for no reason I can figure out. Or they’re in a bad mood, right. I’m probably not gonna change how they feel in the moment, but it reminds me to try to always stay positive because one day I might find a way. Then there are others who will tell me a story about themselves for some reason, and sometimes it makes sense or gives me a new idea about myself in relation to the strangers I have to talk to to do my job. And other people are just lonely and wanna talk, so I talk to ‘em.”

“That’s me. I live alone and work from home. This very well might be the highlight of my day.”

It was. I felt like I could empathize more than ever with the old guy who beams proudly and tells his friends that there are good kids in the generation to come, that type of clichéd bullshit people are trained to devolve into repeating as if there aren’t quality people all over the place, a general malaise that arises in many owing to close-mindedness and the cynicism innate to disapproving of human frailty and vulnerability. If anything, it validated my own belief in the power of the shared human experience, especially in this type of scenario, two strangers finding exhilaratingly simple common ground through dumb luck. Following a whirlwind conversation with a Puerto Rican lady at a diner a couple years ago, the friend with me said, “You’re like a politician around strangers except you aren’t trying to sell them anything.”

I learned how the guy had traveled from Berlin, Connecticut, a town many people in the state likely couldn’t locate on a map and had gotten six people in the neighborhood to sign up for his service but needed two more to finalize the job.

“I assume you come to the door for other people who ring the bell?” he said.

“Oh yeah. I’ll talk to anybody at my door.”

“Who do you get here more than anyone else?”

“Solar panels and pest control are the top two. Religious people, too, of course.”

“Have any memorable interactions with other people in my field?”

“The last guy didn’t wanna give up. Like I did with you, I told him up front that I wouldn’t subscribe then chatted with him just cuz. He got really pushy about the things that needed to be fixed and was pointing directly at the foundation and criticizing it and shit. It wasn’t threatening or anything, but I had to tell him I was good and went inside. Gotta take the loss and move on there, bud.”

“Ooh,” he said, wincing. “That’s tough. Guy may need to find another line of work. Can’t succeed that way.”

“I’ve had others like yourself where we just shoot the shit. About sports, usually. You guys tend to skew around your age.”

“It’s true. I took the job by looking at it like if I’m good at this, I can do it with other products. A.I. is not gonna get rid of sales. A.I. can’t come to your door and sell you anything. I think I can keep getting better and this can be my future. I’ll get sick of ants and find another product. I won’t do it if it’s not something I believe in selling.”

“No grifting! That’s damn fine logic. I’m happy you like your job. I’ve always meant to ask one of you guys — and it’s almost always guys — all these questions. This has been great.”

I thought of the time when one kid fresh out of college came to my door, got rejected on his solar panel offer, and freshly vanquished, complimented my Masters flag in the front yard. When I learned what a golf nut he was, I invited him to the basement to see my Masters shrine and gave him my card, the kid promising to follow up and see if my landlord changed his mind about solar panels. He texted me last year, the second rejection seeming to have scared him off for good.

The Berliner at my door removed a tall plastic water bottle from his back pocket and took a sip, barely any liquid left to drink.

“Can I get you another bottle of water?”

“Oh man, really? Yes! Thank you. That would be incredible.”

As I grabbed him one, I also removed a mandarin orange from the crisper. I handed him the bottle then the citrus.

“Thought this might hit the spot, too.”

“No way?” he said. “The water’s cold! That’s so nice of you. Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome. Want me to recycle your old bottle?”

“Do you mind if I put it in your bin?”

“Sure. Go ahead. Well, you’ve got to convince two more people that they need their ants destroyed.”

“That is true,” he said as he laughed.

“It’s been a pleasure. Good luck with everything. Hope you have an awesome weekend!”

“You too, Adam! Really nice to meet you.”

I returned to my desk and resumed listening to music, not smug but certainly satisfied that such a simple act of kindness — handing water and a piece of fruit to a stranger — had concluded another cheerful moment of Zen. Then it hit me: I couldn’t remember the guy’s name to save my fucking life.