Dog Blog Number 7: Salesman vs. Dog

This final dog blog isn't graphic and is only mildly offensive to certain people, like your grandma's 98-year-old pastor's wife.

Attack Dog

 In 1998, I was on a sales crew going door to door selling vacuums. Our vanload of salesmen liked to hit the back roads and find our own customers. We got bold and courageous at each door, facing new ways to ward off excuses and rejection.

 I felt pretty lion hearted when we drove past a yard sign stating, “Guard Dog on Duty.”

 “Who wants it?” Terry French, our lead man and driver, quipped.

 “I’ll take it,” I said, serious.

  Terry looked at me in astonishment. “I was only kidding.”

 “I’m not,” I said. “Let me out.”

 The other guys were amazed as I swung open the side door and walked toward the house past the sign.

 To my horror, a real guard dog, a large Rottweiler, came lunging around the corner, teeth bared and growling fiercely. I ignored my impulse to run. In fact, I shut down all senses toward the animal, knowing he’d sense fear. I blocked him out as if he didn’t exist. The dog rushed me, jumped in my face, but turned back inches away, dropping to the ground. His training told him not to attack if someone didn’t instinctively fling up their hands in defense. I kept walking, never breaking stride, as if I were Hellen Keller and couldn’t see or hear the animal. He charged again, equally as fierce, jumping up in my face but turning abruptly again, sensing no reaction from me.

 The third rush was feeble, and he whirled about again, scurrying away, head down, glancing back and still realizing he’d been ignored.

 I was at the front door by now.  A woman came rushing out, face pale.

 “Are you alright?” she said, nervously.

 “I’m fine,” I said, “Your dog’s a little embarrassed, but I’m just fine.”

 She looked at her dog, then at me. “You’re the first person to ever make it to the door,” she said, a look of shock and amazement on her face. “What do you want?”

 By this time my insides were liquefying and the adrenaline was wearing off. I wanted nothing to do with this woman or her dog.

 “Well, I’m just out selling vacuums today,” I said. “But I suppose you don’t need another one, do you?”

 She shook her head no. I had deliberately declined the opportunity to sell her, feeling nauseous.

 As I returned to the van, the looks of awe on the guys’ faces were worth it. I was a champion, a warrior, fearless.

 “Do you hear that clanking sound?” Rob, one of the veteran salesmen said. “That’s the sound of John’s balls clanking. They’re obviously made of steel.”

Another Dog Bite

 On another sales call, on my own this time, I knocked on a door at Linden lure. The dog of the house responded by rushing from the living room to the screen door, smacking it open with his snout and biting me on his way out to the yard. I felt the sting of pain as I realized he’d broken the skin and made a hole in my pant leg.

 I whirled to kick him viciously. As he and I squared off for battle, the owner appeared at the door and scolded the dog.

 I was furious, and left quickly, determined to keep knocking on doors and not give up.

Violated

On yet another sales call, a huge black Labrador Retriever lugged around the corner and nuzzled my crotch with abject familiarity. I thrust his slobbering nuzzle away, only to be re-nuzzled and snout bucked in my private area over and over. To make matters worse, the damn dog put his humungous muddy paws all over my good pants!

 Even more infuriating, the homeowner came out and talked to me, acting as if the dog wasn’t there as I fidgeted and tried not to punch the dog in front of him.

 He enjoyed my discomfort, to say the least. I guess being a door to door salesman, I deserved it. But as soon as his back was turned, I violently struck out at the big dog’s face, startling it but not enough to deter it. I retreated to the van, feeling dirty inside and out.

Every door-to-door salesman's fear...

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.