Post #20

What a ramshackle operation I am.

I've got a hole in the sole of my shoe. I was aware of it but I don't think I had really internalized the fact until a minute ago when I tried to stomp out a cigarette...like bein' struck by lightening on the ball of my foot.

Let's set the scene for next sales call.

I've pulled up and gotten out of the car...
"Mr. Bottums. There's a man holding a gift bag..hoping around on one leg in the parking lot. Oh, he's just taken a tumble...he's spread eagle on a pile of what looks like...pecans? He's got a hole in his shoe...brown socks? With those pants? Reckon we should call somebody?"

My turn signals have mysteriously stopped working...meaning I'm risking, if not life, a limb everytime I have to make a left turn.

My antenna doesn't work either...meaning I have to stop and wrap a piece of coathanger around it between sales calls (stopping to take it down before pulling in someones parking lot of course). This bit of redneck engineering mortifies Martha and the Sister, but they don't spend 5 hours a day in a car that doesn't have a radio.

Yeah I get some funny looks. Maybe if it was an old truck (I wish) people wouldn't think twice about it, but it's a zippy little volvo with a big Yale sticker across the back window...and a coat hanger waggin around off the antenna. They stare sometimes...

"I'm sorry I can't hear your puzzled look over Britney...Hold on a cecond...OOOps I did it AGAIN...OK What? What are you lookin at?"

Once in New Albany an old man drinkin' coffee at a curbstore asked me "if it only got reception in the closet?"

Everybody's a flippin comedian..