Totally Awkward Tuesday

Back in the day, before she went AWOL, Tova Darling of the blog "Secret Life of Tova Darling" used to run a weekly feature entitled Totally Awkward Tuesdays, in which she would tell a tale of something totally awkward that had happened to her, and would invite readers to post links to their blogs in which they wrote about something totally awkward that had happened to them. It was totally awkward hilarity all around.

Well, I'm busy with Arizona Trivia Tuesdays all year, so I can't revive Totally Awkward Tuesdays on my own blog. However, something totally awkward happened on Tuesday and I just can't resist telling you all about it. And so even though I'm posting it on a Thursday, I'm entitling it "Totally Awkward Tuesday," as a tip o' the hat to dear Tova, who I miss very much now that she is no longer blogging (or if she is blogging somewhere, I haven't found her and she has apparently abandoned her "Secret Life..." blog).

Here is my tale:

I have a friend, we'll call him "Jim" since that's his name, who I have known since law school, which we both attended back in the early 1990's. He used to rent a room from us, and then he moved out, but he kept his key and he is such a good friend, almost family really, so he drops by often. If he drops by and we're here (as evidenced by a car or two in front of the house), he knocks. If he drops by and no one is home, he uses the key and lets himself in. Sometimes we come home to find him kicking back by the TV. Other times, he's cooking us dinner. Either way, we're always happy to see him.

Jim's parents visit him from the northern climes at least once, sometimes twice a year, generally when the weather is nice here and it's butt-freezing cold there. Generally, we go to dinner with them at least once while they are here.

Jim's parents are extremely kind people. We love them. But Jim's dad often mumbles and talks in a very low voice. Many times we have to ask him to repeat what he has said. But sometimes that gets awkward so if the context makes it pretty clear, we just nod and smile even if we're not 100% sure what he said. My dad does this mumbly, low-talking thing, too (and wasn't there a "Seinfeld" episode about that, as well?), the difference being that I'm better at guessing and/or reading lips with my own dad than I am with Jim's dad.

So Tuesday night, we went to dinner with Jim and his parents. We went to an awesome middle eastern restaurant nearby. Jim's dad ordered a platter that came with tabouli as a side dish.

When our food was served, Jim's dad leaned toward me and said (at least I thought he said) that he doesn't really like tabouli, and asked if I would like to have it. I said, "You don't like it at all?" He said (I thought) that he doesn't like it and wasn't planning to eat any of it, and that I could have it if I wanted it. So I said, "Sure, I love tabouli. If you don't want it, I'll be happy to have it." The waiter brought an extra plate, and Jim's dad held his plate up over the plate the waiter brought, as if for me to scrape the tabouli onto my plate.

About halfway through the scraping process, he abruptly moved his plate away. So I stopped scraping even though I was a bit confused because about a fourth of the tabouli was still on his plate and I thought he had stated that he didn't like it and wasn't planning to eat any of it.

He then proceeded to eat every last bite of food that was on his plate, including all of the tabouli that remained there.

I offered him some of my salad, which I had not yet touched. He declined. I pushed the side order of hummus, which we had ordered as a shared appetizer for all of us, in his direction, but he didn't eat any of it. Just kept scraping up random bits of tabouli that were still on his plate, until it was completely bare.

He literally scraped every last little couscous and parsley morsel onto his fork. For a man who (I thought) had stated he did not like tabouli, he was acting like it was his favorite dish! His plate was practically licked clean, and he looked like he wanted more tabouli.... but I had already eaten from the portion I had taken from his plate, so it didn't seem appropriate to offer to give it back.

When Jim's mom seemed like she was done, and had some tabouli left, he even ate some of her tabouli....

So then I felt like I had taken this kind man's food and made a complete pig of myself.

It was all very weird. And awkward.

* * * * *

If you want to join the awkward hilarity, please feel welcome to either tell your tale, or post a link to your own blog with your tale, in the comments section. I'm too lazy to set up "Mr. Linky" the way Tova always did!

Dumb Stuff I've Done

Did I ever tell you about the time I got a speeding ticket, then signed up for the "diversion program" driving class to take care of the ticket, and then got into an accident on the way to the driving class?

Yeah, I did that. Really.

(Can you spell "E-M-B-A-R-R-A-S-S-I-N-G"??)

The police officer who showed up to take the accident report asked where I was going at the time of the accident. He rolled his eyes and laughed at my (truthful) answer. Ouch. Not going so well, here...

But in the end he did agree the accident wasn't really my fault, and so he did not give me another ticket. (I'm persuasive when I need to be. It's part of what makes me a good lawyer).

When I arrived at the class, one of the other students asked, loudly enough for everyone else to hear, "Wait! Didn't I see you outside? Weren't you the one who was in that accident I passed on the way in here?!?")

(Can you spell "A-S-S-H-O-L-E"??)

So I replied, "Yeah, well, I'm here to learn to drive better, but I bet you'll always be an ass."

. . . . . . .

(OK, no, I didn't really say that. I just wish I had. But the rest is true ... )

Yet Another Totally Awkward Tuesday

(Photo used with permission of freebackgrounds.com)

I didn't get a lot of participation in the Totally Awkward Tuesday event last week, but I'm going to try again this week. Perhaps last week everyone already had blog posts written. Now that people know they should write about an awkward moment for Tuesdays, perhaps they've had time to write their stories and will participate this week.

Or maybe there just aren't that many people interested in playing along, in which case this will likely be the last week I do this.

Here are the rules:

1. First, write a blog post about an awkward or embarassing moment that you either participated in or witnessed. Include a link to this blog post in your blog post.

2. Use the MckLinky widget (new widget this week) at the bottom of this post to link to your blog post from mine. Leave me a comment, too, and include the URL for your blog post in the comment. That way, if for some reason MckLinky doesn't work properly (I'm new at this), at least everyone will be able to find your post through the comments.

3. Come back later and read everyone else's awkward and embarassing stories.

4. Laugh a lot!

To start things off, here is my awkward story for the week:

This happened back when I was a student bus driver, in college. Click this link for a prior story about how this was my favorite job ever.

I had signed up to drive a charter bus from the University to Washington D.C. so a student group could attend a play. My Dad lived in Northern Virginia at the time.

My instructions were to drop off the students in front of the theatre, then find somewhere to park nearby and wait for 3 hours, and then drive back to pick them up.

I thought it would be more fun to pay a surprise visit to my Dad.

So I dropped off the students and headed out of D.C. to my Dad's house in Northern Virginia. I timed the trip so I'd know how long I needed for the return trip, so I wouldn't be late.

I pulled the bus into my Dad's driveway and walked in the front door.

My Dad and step-mom were surprised (no, that's not the awkward part), amazed at the giant bus filling up their very long driveway, and happy to see me.

We visited for about an hour and a half, and then I figured I'd better drive back to D.C., allowing a little extra time in case I made a wrong turn or got a little lost in downtown D.C. This was in the 1980's, well before cell phones and GPS navigation systems were standard issue, so I had to rely on my printed map (remember those?) to find my way, and if I got lost, there would be no way to call anyone for directions.

I pulled onto the freeway near my Dad's house, and about a mile or two later, the bus engine sputtered and stalled. I coasted to the shoulder of the freeway and stopped the bus. It would not re-start. I tried again. And again. And again. Nothing. It had plenty of gas. I tried again. Nothing.

Then I started thinking, "Holy shit, I am 20 miles from where I'm supposed to be and I have 40 minutes to get there, and I'm not supposed to be here, and I can't even call anyone for help and what the hell am I going to do?!?" To say I panicked a bit would be putting it mildly.

I looked around. No one was stopping to help. Everyone assumes bus drivers are in radio contact with their dispatchers, but those two-way radios only had about a 60 mile radius in which they worked. There was no way to radio the supervisor when I was hundreds of miles from the office.

Lucky for me, there was a small gap in the huge wall that lined both sides of the freeway. I don't know whether they just hadn't built the wall there yet, or whether some angel tore it down for me, just for that night. I've looked for that gap in the freeway wall many times since then and never found it. But anyway, there was a gap in the wall that was maybe 100 yards long, and I could see several backyard fences with houses on the other side. I was lucky they were fences and not the ever-present 10 foot high block walls that they build here in Phoenix.

So I scrambled up the wooded hill and climbed the easiest-looking fence with no dog in the yard, intending to walk around to the front door to knock. Instead, just as I jumped down into the yard, a man came out of the house through the sliding-glass back door and demanded to know what the heck I was doing in his back yard. He sounded pretty annoyed. He didn't appear psychotic. I could see a wife and kids inside. But I have to say, I was scared - would he assault me? Call the police and have me arrested for trespassing?

I told him my bus had broken down and asked if I could use his phone. He looked at me skeptically (I used to get that a lot: "You are a bus driver?!?" as if small-ish college kids could never drive buses) and then looked over the fence and saw the bus down the hill on the freeway shoulder. I guess he decided I was harmless and was telling the truth, because he said I was lucky the dog had been inside. And then he said I could use the phone.

But the awkwardness didn't end there, because I had to explain to my supervisor that the bus had broken down and where it was. And then had to confess I had violated the rules by going to visit my Dad in Northern Virginia, instead of hanging out near the theatre.

Once again, I was lucky. My supervisor was actually fairly sympathetic, although he withheld judgment about whether I'd be fired, saying if I made it back to the University with relatively happy customers, I'd have a better chance of keeping my job.

He told me a couple of things I could do to try to get the bus going. He suggested that I not turn the bus off again if I got it going.

He said if he did not hear from me again in the next twenty minutes, he'd assume I was ok (to save me the time of coming back to make a second phone call if the bus did, in fact, start), but that I should call him from the theatre to confirm I had picked up the students and if he hadn't heard from me in an hour, or if he heard from the charter group at any time complaining that the bus had not arrived, he would have to send a backup bus and then I'd really be in a heap of trouble.

Nothing like a little pressure, right?

I thanked the family profusely for letting me use their phone. The man let me out through the back door and watched me climb his fence and scramble back down the hill to my bus.

And again, I was lucky. The bus started when I tried the tips my supervisor had suggested. I drove downtown. I was flustered and made a wrong turn and, with all the one-way streets in downtown D.C., it was another 15 minutes before I found my way back to make the correct turn.

I was twenty minutes late picking up the students and was berated by the faculty chaperones. Apparently the play had ended a little earlier than they thought, so they had actually been waiting for more like half an hour. Fortunately, they had not yet called my boss to complain.

More awkwardness as I explained that I had had difficulty starting the bus and had made a wrong turn but that I thought the bus was ok for the drive back to the University and I did know how to find the freeway again to get home. More awkwardness as I explained I had to go inside to make a phone call before we could leave. They grumbled about the late bus for half the ride home, until I agreed to make an unscheduled stop for a late-night snack at a McDonald's. Then they all felt better and went to sleep.

Again, lucky me! No one ever complained about the late bus, and I did not, in fact, get fired, although I did have to buy my supervisor a few rounds of drinks at the next happy hour, to keep him from ratting me out to the Transportation Manager.

That was my tale of rampant awkwardness for today. Now tell us yours!

Totally Awkward Tuesdays

Has anyone seen Tova Darling? She has been MIA, as far as I can tell, since the beginning of September. Does anyone know if she has started blogging elsewhere? Or did she simply grow tired of blogging?

I miss Tova, and one of the things I miss most (besides her relentlessly upbeat and entertaining style) is her Totally Awkward Tuesdays. I loved the opportunity to laugh at myself. Even more than that, I loved the opportunity to laugh at others! So I've decided to revive that tradition here on my own blog.

For those who may have forgotten the rules, here's how it works:

1. First, write a blog post about an awkward or embarassing moment that you either participated in or witnessed. Include a link to this blog post in your blog post.

2. Use the Mr. Linky widget at the bottom of this post to link to your blog post from mine. Leave me a comment, too, and include the URL for your blog post in the comment. That way, if for some reason Mr. Linky doesn't work properly (I'm new at this), at least everyone will be able to find your post through the comments.

3. Come back later and read everyone else's awkward and embarassing stories.

4. Laugh a lot!

See, it's simple and fun. Who could resist?

And, to kick things off, here's my totally awkward moment for this week:

When I was about 15, my friend Keri and I hung around with some slightly older (17 - 20 years old) guys who played in a band. They were a pretty decent cover band, but looking back, they were not spectacular. Nevertheless, hanging out with the boys in the band made us want to be in a rock-n-roll band, too.

So one day, Keri noticed an ad in the newspaper: "Wanted: lead singer and keyboardist for local rock band. Call 867-5309."

(Well, OK, that wasn't *really* the number, and the contact wasn't Jenny, but of course I don't remember the real number and that's the best I could come up with on short notice).

Keri and I both took piano lessons. We deluded ourselves into thinking we could sing, too. Of course, neither of us knew any rock-n-roll songs on the piano, having taken the standard "classical" piano lessons. And we didn't own a decent keyboard suitable for use in a band. (Keri had a grand piano and I had an upright.) Did we let that stop us? Heck no! "Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?" and "What have we got to lose?" we asked ourselves. (Answer: Our dignity.)

So, we called the number. I think I made Keri call, actually. She talked with the guitarist / leader of the band, and explained that neither of us had a car (I think we "forgot" to mention that neither of us was old enough to drive), so we asked him to come to my house for the "audition." The band must have been desperate because he agreed to bring the bassist along and come see us.

And then we were in full panic mode. How could we convince these guys that, even though we didn't know any rock-n-roll songs, we'd be willing and able to learn whatever songs they wanted us to play?

What did we come up with? This was our plan: Keri could play "Sounds of Silence," by Simon and Garfunkel, on the piano. She would play that, we would both sing, we'd wear sexy jeans and shirts, and they would hire us, at which point we would devote all of our free time to learning actual rock-n-roll songs! Good plan, right? (No, actually, it's pathetic!)

So, how *did* that work out? I hear you asking.

About as well as you would expect, I guess.

Two guys showed up. They asked what equipment we had.

Uh, equipment?

Yeah, you know, what kind of keyboard, what kind of amp system, what kind of mic's?

Oh, well... uh ... we have this piano.

You can't bring a piano to a bar for a concert!

Uh, well .... if you hire us, we'll buy a keyboard! (Yeah, that's it, we'll buy one!)

The guys exchanged skeptical glances and then said, "Well ... uh ... why don't you go ahead and show us what you've got."

So Keri played Sounds of Silence reasonably well, and we both sang awfully badly.

The guys said, "Uh, thanks. We'll be in touch." And high-tailed it out of there.

I am guessing they laughed about us for *years*!


Ok, now it's your turn! Share your awkwardness so we can all laugh with (at) you, too!

I'm Just Glad It Wasn't Me (TAT #5)

Time for Tova Darling's Tuesday Awkwardness Festival, better known as "Totally Awkward Tuesdays." It's fun to play. Just write about an awkward moment experienced by you or someone close to you, link to Tova's Totally Awkward Tuesday post, and put a link to your blog on her blog. Then go to Tova's blog and read everyone else's awkward stories. It's loads of fun!

Today's story isn't really about me, although it was sort of my fault...

A long time ago, I worked for a judge at the Courthouse. A friend of mine worked for a different judge down the hall.

Each judge's "chambers" included a reception area, offices for the law clerks, and - behind another door - an office for the judge, with a private dressing and toilet room. The secretaries and law clerks were not supposed to enter the judge's private space to use the judge's bathroom, but were required to use the "public" restrooms down the hall. (I put "public" in quote marks because although they were shared bathrooms, they mostly were used by employees, not the general public. So they were usually quite clean and not crowded, but they did require a little walk down the hall.)

I used to work on the weekends occasionally, and since the judge wasn't there, out of laziness I would use the private restroom in the judge's chambers, rather than walking all the way down the hall. I mentioned this to my friend once, and she was shocked - truly shocked!! She had never done that! I was embarassed to be seen as some awful rule-breaker, but as I explained to my friend, they clean the restrooms on Sunday night, so it's not like the judge ever had to be exposed to any of my germs or anything, or ever even knew I was in there. So what's the harm?

And then a few weeks later, I came in on a Monday morning to find the carpet torn out of my friend's judge's chambers, furniture all over the hallway, and people frantically running back and forth with cleaning supplies and measuring tapes and fans and boxes and Lord knows what else.

Turns out my friend had decided I was right, there was no reason to use the public restroom all the way down the hall when the judge's bathroom was right there, and so she had used it.

And then the toilet overflowed....

And continued overflowing....

And then it overflowed some more....


And she had to call security to assist her in turning off the water and calling the plumbers.


The carpet was a soggy, ruined mess.

And on that Monday morning, everyone in the building was talking about just how it happened.


* * * * *

I never used the judge's bathroom again.



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Note: Tova published her post early this week, so I followed suit. That way I won't have to deal with it in the morning.

Tova Darling's Totally Awkward Tuesdays

It's Tuesday, which means it it time for Tova Darling's Totally Awkward Tuesdays event, in which we write about something awkward that happened in the past, and link to Tova Darling's blog, and post a link to our blog on Tova's blog.

I was going to pass on the awkwardness festival this week, given the situation with my Grandpa dying and all. But since Tova Darling says it may be the last TAT for a while, I'd better join in. Plus, my Grandpa always had a great sense of humor. I know he'd approve.

Tova's story reminded me of a rather awkward job interview that I had, when I was in law school.

First, a little background. After college, I took a couple of years off and worked for a while, then decided to go to law school. By the time I was interviewing for law firm jobs during my third year in law school, I thought that ancient undergrad history was pretty irrelevant. The law firms tended to think otherwise.

So I was being interviewed by Ms. Blonde Bombshell ("BB") and Mr. Tall, Dark, & Handsome ("TDH") from one of the larger law firms in town. I think they send their most attractive partners and associates to conduct interviews in an attempt to make the interviewees feel even more inadequate. I also think the law firms get together and think up the dumbest questions possible to ask potential recruits, just so they can compare notes later and laugh at the dumb answers they get, because just about every interview I had featured at least two or three really stupid questions, often the same two or three really stupid questions.

These two interviewers appeared to be two of the most socially conservative - prudish, even - people I had ever met. I base this on the way they dressed -- conservative even for lawyers -- and the way they spoke.

On the way into the room, I bumped my elbow, hard, and said "ow, shoot!" as I rubbed my elbow. A couple minutes later, Ms. BB dropped her pen and her interjection of choice was "oh fudgesickles!" as she retrieved it. Fudgesickles? I recognize it would be entirely inappropriate to drop the F-bomb, and fudgesickles was preferable to that, but really, fudgesickles? In my experience, that word is used only by people who are soooo prudish that even "darn" is too strong a curse word for them. I would not fit in well with that crowd. So this interview was not off to a good start.

And these two really took the cake for dumb questions. They asked me a lot of things that were irrelevant and perhaps even illegal. The interview went something like this:

BB: What clubs did you lead or participate in during your undergraduate years?

Me: Well, I worked my way through college, generally working 30 hours per week, so I didn't have time for a lot of clubs, but I was vice-president of the Italian Club and I also volunteered for "Reading for the Blind" once a week.

TDH: What hobbies have you pursued during law school?

(This was a stock question used by all the interviewers at every big firm in town. I'm still not sure whether I was supposed to say, "none, the law is all I am interested in" to show that I would never let my personal life interfere with my work, or supposed to name six things to show I am "well-rounded." I always took it as the interviewers' attempt to find something fun to talk about, to sort of "ease you into" the interview because, really, who the hell cares?!? All that the big firms *really* want to know is whether you are willing to work 80 hours per week without complaining.)

Me: (Stock answer for these dumb questions) I enjoy music and hiking.

(I did not get the usual follow-up questions about that -- what kind of music? where do you like to hike? The better interviewers would make it into a conversation: "Oh, really, I like hiking, too! Have you hiked ___ trail?" To which I would respond either "yes, it's beautiful there, isn't it?" or "No, I haven't tried that one yet, where is it?" And so forth...)

There were a few other stilted questions, with no follow-up, demonstrating either that these interviewers did not know how to make conversation or that they did not care to have a conversation with me. Either way, not a good sign..... And then, the kicker:

BB: Are you married? Do you have kids?

Me: (Flabbergasted because they are not supposed to ask these questions): Uhhh....

TDH: BB, I don't think we're supposed to ask that! (Turning to me) Sorry about that...

Me: Uh, that's ok...

... awkward silence ... (are they waiting for me to answer it anyway?)

And then the final kicker, the one that ended the interview:

TDH: Who is your favorite famous person?

Me: (Flabbergasted because this is possibly the dumbest interview question I've ever heard, stalling for time because I was so taken aback by the prior question that I literally couldn't think of *any* famous people at all, and finally going for shock value because I have now decided I don't want to work for these numbskulls). Uhhhh... I dunno.... It's so hard to choose.... There are so many fantastic famous people.... Uh.... Axl Rose?

.... awkward silence ....

TDH: (Obviously hugely disappointed by my answer). Oh. I guess I thought you would say "Thomas Jefferson" since you went to the University of Virginia for your undergrad degree.

Me: Oh. Oh, well!

And that was that. I did not get an offer from that law firm.

Thanks, Tova, for helping me remember these awkward moments!

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Tova Darling's Totally Awkward Tuesdays - Round Three (for me)

It's Tuesday, and that means it is time to participate in Tova Darling's "Totally Awkward Tuesdays" event, in which we write about something awkward or embarrassing and link to Tova's post, and she maintains a link list of those who participated.

So if you want to have a blast laughing at the awkward and embarrassing exploits of your fellow bloggers, be sure to visit Tova Darling's awesome blog (if you haven't already been there) and read all of this week's awkwardness! Here is my contribution to today's "laugh at us" festival:


When I was in middle school in Alabama in the 1970's (8th grade I believe), the "hip" slang term (at my school, anyway - I can't say whether it was "hip" anywhere else) to call someone you found annoying was "turkey." As in, "You are such a turkey!"

(You could get in huge trouble at school for calling them what you really wanted to call them, which was an a--hole or a beeyotch or a shite-head, so "turkey" had to do.)

Well, soon enough, the "hip" reply to that became, "Oh, yeah? Then eat me, pilgrim."

So one day I annoyed the crap out of my Dad somehow and he said, "You are such a turkey sometimes."

I said... you guessed it... "Eat me, pilgrim."


... awkward silence....


... and then my Dad asked whether I even knew what it meant to say "eat me."

At that point, I realized that I had been using this phrase with *no idea* that it might mean anything other than, you know, like eating turkey on Thanksgiving. (Jeepers was I naive!!)

Then I had to listen to my Dad explain oral sex to me and the slang term "eating" that was used for it (because of course this was before Al Gore invented the internet, so my Dad couldn't just tell me to go look it up at urbandictionary.com) ...


... yeah, that was awkward.

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Tova Darling's Totally Awkward Tuesdays II (aka "My real name is Simon Cowell")

Once again, I'm participating in Tova Darling's Totally Awkward Tuesdays event.* If you want to participate, too, click on the link and follow the instructions on her blog. Come on! Play along! It's fun!

At one of my prior jobs, we used to have a big potluck "holiday party" once a year. We'd all bring a dish to share, and some folks would put together a program to entertain us -- people singing and playing instruments and such. Some years, the performers were pretty decent. Other years... not so much.

I was sitting in my colleague's office talking with her about the upcoming holiday party and her plans to skip it that year. She said she didn't usually enjoy it, because she didn't like having to pretend to like the entertainment when in fact she found it tolerable at best and painfully bad at worst, and the food generally was merely so-so and high-calorie / diet-busting besides.

She stopped talking sort of abruptly, but did I pick up on the clue? Heck no. I just jumped right in, enthusiastically replying, "Oh, come on, the entertainment can't be as bad as last year's, can it?... (no response)... I mean, there's nowhere to go but "up" from there, right?..... (still no response, but her eyes got a little wider).... I mean, that was rock bottom, this year is bound to be better, right?".... (still no response, just a sort of quick head shake and that wide-eyed stare)....

... and then the dawning realization that there was a reason for my co-worker's lack of response.... and then I turned around to find last year's "star" performer standing in the doorway behind me.

* * * * *

There's really nothing I could have done to make that better, was there?

* * * * *

* Don't start thinking I will do this every week. Because even though I probably do enough awkward things to post these every day, I do have an image of urbane sophistication to maintain, so I can't go posting about *every* doofusy thing I do....

Ok, I admit, it's not about my image. It's just that my memory isn't all that great to begin with (I subscribe to Homer Simpson's theory of memory -- "Every time I learn something new, it pushes some old stuff out of my brain. Remember when I took that home winemaking course, and I forgot how to drive?"), and also because I tend to suppress most of my bad memories of me being awkward, so that I don't crumble into a ball of blubbering self-pity at how horribly socially inept I am.

So the point is, enjoy my awkward stories while they last. Because they might not last!

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Tova Darling's Totally Awkward Tuesdays

I've decided to participate in Tova Darling's "Totally Awkward Tuesdays" event this week. For the rules, as well as Tova Darling's story of the week, go here.

First, a little background:

When I was in high school, I had a paper route. I delivered the Washington Post to about 100 houses in my neighborhood. It was a short route -- around my block and the next block, plus all the little courts and half streets and cul-de-sacs off of both blocks. Just about everyone took the Post, and I found it easier to remember which houses didn't take the paper than to think about which ones did. It was easy work, folks tipped well, and I made a decent amount of money working just about one hour per day.

In college, "registration day" was a big event. This was before the internet revolution, and we had to go to the University's big arena and stand in lines to register for each class we wanted; it took several hours, and there were lots of vendors set up outside the arena.

* * *

So in 1984, I attended the University's big registration day event. Political candidates were giving away buttons and bumper stickers ("Geraldine Ferraro" button, anyone?); vendors were demonstrating their newest boom boxes with am/fm radio and cassette decks (dang I feel old); other vendors were giving free samples of various products and coupons; and the Wall Street Journal had a booth, giving out free papers and hawking subscriptions.

So, being the enterprising young woman that I was, I wandered over to the Wall Street Journal table and asked if they needed a paper carrier.

The man running the booth, "Bob," said he'd consider hiring me if I could show that I could not only deliver, but also sell papers, and asked if I'd consider a fifteen minute "interview" by selling a few papers while he went to get a soda and hit the restroom. I said ok.

So he showed me how to have folks fill out the forms and where to put them in case I sold any, and then he left and I began my sales pitch to the passers-by: "Try the Wall Street Journal for free today, and subscribe now for only $x.xx per month!"

Several minutes later, I hadn't had any takers, and I could see Bob returning across the plaza. I was determined to make at least one sale by the time he returned, so I stepped up my sales pitch: "Free paper! Yes that's right, free today! And only $x.xx per month if you'd like to continue to receive the best paper in the country! You won't beat that deal anywhere!"

So a college kid stopped and asked, "How much did you say it costs?" And I told him, and explained that he didn't have to pay anything today, he just had to sign up, and then they'd send him a bill, and he could cancel anytime within the first month without owing a dime. He looked through the paper and then said he'd prefer to get the local news, so he could have tv listings and such.

I said, "Oh, come on, it's the best newspaper available, and it's only $x.xx per month! Plus, you know you want to get the comics every day!" The kid said, "Well, maybe you're right..." and signed up.

I began my pitch again, and just as the next sucker ... er, I mean, potential subscriber ... was hesitating, Bob returned. I repeated my new-found, very effective "closing line," "Oh, come on, it's the best newspaper available, and it's only $x.xx per month! Plus, you know you want to get the comics every day!"

Bob said, "Uh yeah ... there are no comics in the Wall Street Journal."


* * *

And thus ended my career as a Wall Street Journal saleswoman.


(Bob did, however, hire me to deliver the Journal and the New York Times on campus. I guess he figured I didn't need to know anything about the papers just to deliver them...)
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