Knock, knock it's Barnaby
My time as a door to door book salesman.
Meet Barnaby Alkire, the door-to-door book salesman, a title he wears with pride and a touch of irony.
The heat blazed through the small town of Tullahoma, Tennessee, overwhelming its residents like an unstoppable stampede of rhinos.
It was relentless and dangerous, and riding a blue, inexpensive bicycle through the subdivisions didn't help either.
The summer of 2010 was a pivotal moment in my life. It was a brief yet impactful period that lasted only a few weeks.
This wasn't my time to radiate like a brilliant star in the night sky.
It was like a meteor gaining speed towards the Earth, burning brightly and, as time passed, crashing to the ground.
So, the story begins on the last day of my door-to-door "paid internship."
The sun was climbing the sky, casting a golden hue over the Tennessee state.
My neatly folded polo shirts, lined up against the wall, were a stark contrast to the chaos of my sinuses, which felt like concrete had set in my nasal passages.
The hay bails, a constant reminder of the grueling internship, loomed in the distance.
Throwing my blanket to the side and pushing myself up from the floor of the bare room.
I grabbed the pink polo, tucked it into cargo shorts, and hoisted the backpack, which carried the military-grade bookcase with a four-digit numerical code for added protection.
The plan was to meet my colleague at a hole-in-the-wall breakfast spot, pump each other up, and sell way too expensive Bibles.
Yes, it crossed someone's mind to capitalize on a book you can get for free in a hotel room.
We did not miss the absurdity of the situation, and we found humor in it, a necessary coping mechanism in our unique line of work.
I pedaled my way over to meet him.
It wasn't a difficult route or far to make my way there.
I went down a half mile, turned left, and made my way over a steep bridge. The wall with the hole was on the left.
My colleague and I stepped into the establishment, our spirits high and our determination unwavering.
The program owner had set a strict rule: We were to knock on our first door at 7:59 a.m. every morning.
The reason?
A mystery.
But in that moment, as we shared a pleasant conversation, encouraged each other to stay persistent, and departed, I realized the value of camaraderie in the face of adversity.
I kicked my side stick on my bike up and pedaled as fast as I could go over the bridge to knock on my first door.
The anticipation was palpable.
The breeze was blowing in my hair, I was full from breakfast, and I was eager to sell.
It was a moment of tension and excitement, a mix of emotions that defined our daily routine.
As I raced down the bridge, my wheels whirred with exhilarating speed, propelling me forward with an unstoppable momentum.
It was a little scary, but I held my composure.
All was well until my brakes stopped braking, and I couldn't slow down.
It felt like I was on a runaway train with no ability to slow down.
I had to act quickly, or else I would have seriously injured myself.
With the speeding bike without any brakes, I didn't have too many options, and it was likely that I would get hit by a car because of all the traffic around me.
I did the unthinkable.
I ejected myself to the side of the bike and skidded across the pavement like a pebble on a pond.
Skip. Skip. Skip.
My bike went flying across a lawn and finally stopped.
I was late...
I needed to knock on my first door, but I couldn't because of the gash and blood coming out of my knee.
I picked up my bike and got to the nearest church bathroom.
I did my best to wipe away the blood.
And I continue my morning, knocking on the doors to sell these Bibles.
I couldn't return to my apartment because my manager took my keys and forced me to sell Bibles on a bike in the Tennessee heat.
I persisted and knocked on the damn doors.
A good Samaritan saw my bleeding knee and got his first aid kit.
As he was bandaging me up, he shared his thoughts on the Seven-Day Adventist church.
He was trying to convince me that I should follow it.
I listened, nodded, took his pamphlet, and peddled off.
Thanking him for helping me.
I decided to head back to my apartment to see if my landlord was home and to call my boss to report that I had been in a bicycle accident.
He was home, and I told him my mishap.
Billy Dougan was a hard-core Green Baray veteran.
He allowed my friends and me to rent rooms in his home, and he took a liking to me.
The more he learned about the program, the more he hated my director, Glenn Ransom.
He felt like he was exploiting students and was a conman.
I told him about the accident, and he told me not to worry and took me out to lunch.
After we got back, I asked him to use the phone to call Glenn.
I made the call, and this is how the conversation played out:
"Hey Glenn, it's Barnaby."
"Hey Barnaby, you okay?"
"No, I got into a serious bike accident and hurt myself."
"Are you okay? Are you going to the hospital?"
"Yes, but I wanted to let you know."
"Oh, okay, if that's the case, get back to work."
"Right... I'm going back to Connecticut; I can't do this anymore."
Click.
It was liberating, and I felt a massive weight off my shoulders.
I had enough money for a one-way ticket to CT and got back on the flight later that week.
I was grateful for the experience; it gave me a foundation for sales and marketing.
Sales school was tough, and being in the field was tough, too.
If I were Glenn, I would have done things differently.
To each his own.
Even though I felt resentment toward him, I forgave him and moved on from the experience.
Till next time,
Barnaby