The story so far: The Old Sales Woman has begun to describe her life in Rutland in the 1970s, as one half of a young married couple working in commission sales, to her niece Sara. After showing Sara her old apartment in the “gut”, she heads to the center of town and Sara asks her to tell her about one sales call in particular.
Well, I got there on time, but the owner wasn’t there yet, and the door was still locked, so I had to wait on the sidewalk. The sidewalks were never shoveled till after 10, and this was a real problem because I couldn’t get my sample cases wet. I paid for my samples. I had a big artist portfolio for the bags and flattened boxes and a doctor’s bag for the ribbons and bows and wrapping paper. In a situation like that, I had to sort of hoist the cases up under my armpits and lean against the building. I had shiny brown plastic boots with thick heels that I could get on with three or four pairs of socks and pantyhose. Those plastic boots were warm. I know leather’s supposed to be better, it breaths and all, but plastic keeps the heat in. Remember that. It may come in handy someday.
***************************************************************
"Sara I’m going to take a minute and drive by the Yankee Peddler and see if it’s still there, if that’s Ok with you,” I said this a little too tentatively for an aunt.
We drove down Main Street and I saw it was still there. But now it was the Vermont Peddler. It looked like a cute store. The whole street was cuter than it was when I lived there. The sidewalks were wider and shoveled. There were fancy streetlights, and a few wrought iron benches placed along the street. We found a place to park the SUV and walked down the wider, fully shoveled sidewalks to what used to be the Yankee Peddler. The counter looked like the original; the wood still so worn and shiny and slippery I wouldn’t have been able to lean my sample cases against them. Once we got back on the sidewalk I told Sara more about the call that morning.
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Finally, the owner showed up, “Good Morning! Good Morning! It sure is cold, yes so, so cold.”
I tumbled in the store dragging my two black cases. “Can I set up here?”
I leaned my two sample cases against the smooth wood counters, and while they slowly slid to the floor, started my pitch. I was lasering now. I could snap those gift boxes together with a flourish and talk smoothly at the same time. I know now that’s because of motor memory. My company had small minimums on gift boxes so the little shops liked us, but you had to pay a lot per box. I made a pretty good sale on gift boxes that day. I’m sure I calculated my commission right away, and I’m sure I worried about the details of the sale. Did I price it right? Would he pass a credit check? Would the company deliver on time? In sales, there’s always a hitch on the way to the commission. When I got out onto the sidewalk I was dizzy with the release of adrenalin.
****************************************************************************************
“Why were you so worked up?”
“Well, I’d made some money and I’d done it on my own, and it felt good."
While we were walking back to the SUV, and looking at all the old storefronts and street signs, the memory of the entire day dropped on me and I couldn’t stop telling now.
****************************************************************************************
While I was still on my adrenaline high, I headed to the next store on Center Street. I looked further down the street, and saw Roy’s Toyota, obviously free of the stump, outside the best men’s store in town. That stopped me short. Roy’s Toyota in Rutland? I knew it was Roy’s Toyota, I couldn’t see the plates, but I knew the dents and the faded red color and the blue ski cap in the back window. I dropped my sample cases, stood still, and stared till my eyes watered. Then I stuck a case under each arm, tucked my chin in my scarf, and walked toward the next store on the block.
Continued in Chapter 4
Guts Chapter 3
The story so far: The Old Sales Woman has begun to describe her life in Rutland in the 1970s, as one half of a young married couple working in commission sales, to her niece Sara. After showing Sara her old apartment in the “gut”, she heads to the center of town and Sara asks her to tell her about one sales call in particular.
Well, I got there on time, but the owner wasn’t there yet, and the door was still locked, so I had to wait on the sidewalk. The sidewalks were never shoveled till after 10, and this was a real problem because I couldn’t get my sample cases wet. I paid for my samples. I had a big artist portfolio for the bags and flattened boxes and a doctor’s bag for the ribbons and bows and wrapping paper. In a situation like that, I had to sort of hoist the cases up under my armpits and lean against the building. I had shiny brown plastic boots with thick heels that I could get on with three or four pairs of socks and pantyhose. Those plastic boots were warm. I know leather’s supposed to be better, it breaths and all, but plastic keeps the heat in. Remember that. It may come in handy someday.
***************************************************************
"Sara I’m going to take a minute and drive by the Yankee Peddler and see if it’s still there, if that’s Ok with you,” I said this a little too tentatively for an aunt.
We drove down Main Street and I saw it was still there. But now it was the Vermont Peddler. It looked like a cute store. The whole street was cuter than it was when I lived there. The sidewalks were wider and shoveled. There were fancy streetlights, and a few wrought iron benches placed along the street. We found a place to park the SUV and walked down the wider, fully shoveled sidewalks to what used to be the Yankee Peddler. The counter looked like the original; the wood still so worn and shiny and slippery I wouldn’t have been able to lean my sample cases against them. Once we got back on the sidewalk I told Sara more about the call that morning.
**************************************************************************************************
Finally, the owner showed up, “Good Morning! Good Morning! It sure is cold, yes so, so cold.”
I tumbled in the store dragging my two black cases. “Can I set up here?”
I leaned my two sample cases against the smooth wood counters, and while they slowly slid to the floor, started my pitch. I was lasering now. I could snap those gift boxes together with a flourish and talk smoothly at the same time. I know now that’s because of motor memory. My company had small minimums on gift boxes so the little shops liked us, but you had to pay a lot per box. I made a pretty good sale on gift boxes that day. I’m sure I calculated my commission right away, and I’m sure I worried about the details of the sale. Did I price it right? Would he pass a credit check? Would the company deliver on time? In sales, there’s always a hitch on the way to the commission. When I got out onto the sidewalk I was dizzy with the release of adrenalin.
****************************************************************************************
“Why were you so worked up?”
“Well, I’d made some money and I’d done it on my own, and it felt good."
While we were walking back to the SUV, and looking at all the old storefronts and street signs, the memory of the entire day dropped on me and I couldn’t stop telling now.
****************************************************************************************
While I was still on my adrenaline high, I headed to the next store on Center Street. I looked further down the street, and saw Roy’s Toyota, obviously free of the stump, outside the best men’s store in town. That stopped me short. Roy’s Toyota in Rutland? I knew it was Roy’s Toyota, I couldn’t see the plates, but I knew the dents and the faded red color and the blue ski cap in the back window. I dropped my sample cases, stood still, and stared till my eyes watered. Then I stuck a case under each arm, tucked my chin in my scarf, and walked toward the next store on the block.
Continued in Chapter 4
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