Used Car Salesman…

No, I’m not changing careers, but having the ability to talk like a used car salesman has a plethora of important uses. Among the most important of them was trolling for freshman as a junior on the 5th floor of mighty Cambridge Hall. Now you all know that I’ve never really had any game to speak of, choosing instead to rely on sheer force of will and infinite patience in pursuit of the fairer sex. Theoretically, Cambridge was reserved for upperclassmen, but the 5th and 6th floors were assigned to the Honors Program, which guaranteed an influx of freshmen every semester… We’d later learn to call this a target-rich environment.

I suppose it would have been October of 1998 and I was targeting a particular freshman with lots of attention, long talks on the back patio, romantic,lingering dinners in the dining hall, and of course, booze. After an extensive “softening up” period, I decided that a frontal assault was in order, saying simply, “I’m gonna sell this like a used car… What do I need to do to make this deal?” Well, in making a long story short, for some totally unknown reason, it worked and began a whirlwind romance that would practically end with a war between the north side of the floor and the south… That’s right, our own little version of the Civil War. Come to think of it, that was also the night I learned that no matter what you are doing, having two people in a single bed is just damned uncomfortable. So, yeah, that’s the story of How “like a used car salesman” came to be a phrase in regular use. I don’t get to use the phrase often these days, but it still crops up from time to time.

Door-to-door…

It’s the worst kept secret in the world that organized religion and I have a general difference of opinion. I don’t have any problem with folks who embrace religion, I’m just not one of them. If I would have been interested in finding a church, or Jesus, or whatever it was I was supposed to be looking for, I would have done it by now. What I don’t need is a van-full of Baptists showing up in my driveway when I’m trying to tend to the yard – yes, I fired Paco and his lawn service, by the way… That’s a story that involves scalping the lawn and chopping the shit out of downspouts with a weedwacker, but I digress. I’m sweaty, the sprinklers are running, and I’m holding a shovel. If you’re pulling into my driveway, this is a sign that it may not be the best time to stop for a chat… especially if I don’t know you. Because quite frankly, I’m not thinking about my immortal soul at the point… I’m mentally calculating how many of you I can take out with the pointy end of a shovel before you get me… This is Memphis after all.

With that being said, don’t peddle your church door-to-door. It’s annoying. And really, assuming God really is all knowing and all powerful, He doesn’t need to be sold like encyclopedias or vacuum cleaners. That’s just tacky.