Guard dog

Years ago, I got a job selling vacuum cleaners door-to-door. Having someone to generate leads was considered for wimps. My die hard band of dirt sucker sales hounds hopped in a van every morning after our motivational rah-rah session, ready to find our own targets. Armed with our gleaming destroyers of carpet crud, we cruised lonely stretches for unsuspecting customers. We drove hours into far corners of each rural county, hunting for folks who'd never seen a salesman. Towns had more doors, but people in populated areas had little patience for someone tying up a couple hours unannounced. The good rural souls proved better fodder.
Our lead man, Mr. French, a portly 30ish fellow with an Ichabod Crane nose and fluffly hair, looked more uncomfortable in his tie than the rest of us put together. But, he'd been in the game since age 17. Door-to-door vacuum sales was all he knew.
The back roads got too bumpy to read motivational books, so as Mr. French drove the winding gravel paths, we stared out the windows, cherry picking our daily bait. Rob, a highly talented salesman, had an eye for the "check slingin' blue hairs", as he referred to our elderly, more susceptible, clientele. He specilized in spotting handicap license plates, especially if they were attached to Cadillacs. "Cash deal," he'd announce. Other doors we passed he'd brag, "Sold it!" and tell of an earlier success. Though Rob could sell ice cubes to an Eskimo, he also wanted to knock off early for a brew every afternoon. Talent vs. work ethic.
Another member of our van crew, Kevin, was a reformed drug addict who'd driven a propane truck into a bar trying to kill a man once upon a time. Now a Christian, he only listened to Southern Gospel music in his car and quoted from the King James Bible. Kevin was relentless and could practically sell to anyone. One day we were in a grocery store and Kevin noticed some kids at the entrance trying to sell candy bars for a fundraiser. The kids got a Kevin style crash course in sales. "Don't ask people if they want to buy a candy bar," he said. "Let me show you what I mean."
He smiled at the next person coming in, an elderly woman. "Hello, ma'am, I'm sure you don't need a candy bar, but we're just asking you to make a donation for a good cause and help the kids. How many would you like to get today?" She handed him a $5 bill and told the kids to keep the money and sell the candy bars to someone else. The kids were wide eyed and their parents were thankful.
Another member of our team, Riki, was a skinny half Japanese kid with duel citizenship. He was sharp as a tack, bi lingual, duel citizen, and an entrepreneur with his own real estate business. He cursed like a sailor, but we all liked him because he could take a lot of crap from the guys without losing his cool.
I was the rookie, fast making a name for myself for "knockin' doors and sweepin' floors."
One particular day as our white Chevy Lumina van rumbled along the gravel, we noticed a BEWARE OF GUARD DOG sign. Mr. French, our supervisor and driver, quipped, "OK, who wants it?"
Nobody said a word.
"I'll take it," I said.
"I was just kidding," Mr. French conceded.
Arrogance had superseded caution for me that day, and I thought I'd show the boys a thing or two. I whipped open the sliding door and waltzed up to the house. To my terror, a huge Rottweiler type mongrel rounded the corner at full throttle, teeth bared and growl erupting like a tornado's wind. The beast took a lunge at my face, but I didn't flinch, completely ignoring him. He turned away in mid-lunge, trained not to attack someone who didn't instinctively throw up his hands in protective mode. The angry dog returned his charge a second time, with a little less conviction. Ignored again, he flipped his body in mid air and regrouped. He charged a third time, but the third ignore button was the final one. He retreated, ashamed and confused that he'd miscalculated a possible friend for an intruder.
I was on the porch now. The owner, a younger woman, ran to the door. "Are you all right?" her face was ashen.
"I'm fine; your dog's a little humiliated, but I'm fine," I lied, feeling light headed.
"What do you want?" she said, incredulous.
"I'm out selling vaccuums, but I'm sure you don't need one today, do you?" I said, having lost all interest in a potential sale. She shook her head. "You're the first person I've ever seen make it to the door."
I knew I didn't try the sale, but the looks of awe and admiration on the guys' faces was worth it all.