for a brief period in 1990, i was one of those door to door environmental fundraisers. and not one of the rich and glamorous ones decked out in l.l. bean just killing time until the next champagne kegger. i was doing it to earn money, lured by one of those mini-posters blaring earn $250-$400 a week or whatever was a lot of money back then. this consisted of showing up at 2pm, being forced to practice the pitch over and over for no reason, then being squished into an unfine car with other greedy do-gooders until eventually being dumped in the suburban wilderness with only a little photocopied map and a pickup time, which would generally be 3 hours. that's 3 hours of going door to door telling people that if they didn't give me money right then the pond in their backyard would kill them.
i was not good at this. i only once made my quota so i got no commission, just less than minimum wage which was substantially eaten into by the forced pizza dinners after some nights where though not hungry i was obligated to pitch in for. at this job i met a lesbian whose parents owned a tanning parlor, an asian woman who had sued the state university for their lack of assistance after she'd been racially harassed by fratmen (this involved spit), and the team leader, an incredibly attractive recent college grad who was a cross between mitch gaylord and a taller mitch gaylord. what brought us together was a shared love of they might be giants.
the real stars were the victims of my attempted fundraising, forced to tell me to my face in one way or another that they didn't care about the environment. i wouldn't have either if i'd known about the 35-50% administrative costs built into a donation. not good. but still it was demoralizing when i got a rich neighborhood and still came up with bubkus or near bubkus. the highlight, besides quitting/being fired was this one story house i went up to. guy answered the door shirtless wearing short short white tennis shorts unbuttoned and with the zipper down a quarter of the way to heaven. he was about 6'4", tan and flustered. to this day i wonder why people answer the door or pick up the phone mid masturbation (which i also experienced while doing phone sales).
i stammered through my surprisingly unrehearsed pitch, despite the forced practice time. he stared at me hard which in my imagination meant he was trying to morph me into a pretty girl. it didn't work. he closed the door. i walked back to the curb. halfway there "faggot!!!" hit my ears and almost knocked me over because being shouted at with "faggot!!!" is for some reason scarier in the middle of suburban nowhere than it is on a city street. at least in a city, there's likely other faggots nearby, who while they may not help break up a gaybashing, will at least make snappy comments about the gaybasher's clothes and most cuttingly, shoes.
i hustled away, skipping a few houses to get out of his view. as i sat on the curb eating two hard boiled eggs and drinking warm apple juice two things struck me: i would quit immediately (which worked out well for everyone because i got fired that same night for not pulling my weight) and while jewish i still knew when to shut up (because i had really really wanted to shout back "sorry i'm not a girl who will fuck you!!!" but had resisted). and him getting my blood on his white shorts wouldn't have been good for anyone except the police. still i wish white shorts had invited me in. like the only guy who gave me a major donation had. one of those handsome calm confident well worked out types who always do the right thing. man was i disappointed when after he gave me the check it was obvious that it was time for me to leave, right when i was trying to figure out how best to say thank you.
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