Once every sixth Sunday or so, door-to-door salespeople in dresses and ties canvas my neighborhood. Always the same people, they park two cars at the other end of our dead-end street and walk the block or two to my end. The women take the makai side of the street and the men take the mauka side. They knock on each door and politely announce themselves “hello?” over locked gates.
I’m pretty confident they’re selling God. But I’m not sure, because they have never once stopped at my home. Not once.
They were on the street yesterday as I was washing the car. My arms were soapy to the elbow and my shorts were wet in several places and I was getting a little achy from all the scrubbing. And after stopping at every one of my neighbors’ homes, they simply nodded as they walked passed me.
I nodded in return.
While it’s true that I’m not in the God market at this time and I’m not really a fan of salespeople who knock at my door, I still wonder how it is that they’ve determined I am not the kind of customer they’re looking for.
As best I can figure, the makers of God and God related products must be watching demographics, monitoring their marketing efforts, and keeping precise records. They know your purchasing history and they take referrals from other customers. They buy mailing lists from the Republican party. They know whether your soul is worthy of saving – or not – based on their records and referrals. And then before each series of sales calls, the merchandisers send out a comprehensive list. Denominations, notable sins, tithing habits, and of course a list of households they don’t want to do business with.
Accurate though it may be, our home ended up on their list of the unredeemable. I just don't know how. I figure a neighbor member of their church saw us kissing on the front step and it was all over at that point. But I still kinda wish they’d come to the door just once.
Because by the time Head Chef and I were done, they'd be tripping over themselves to get off the property. And the congregation's marketing database would recount terror so unholy there would be wailing in the pews.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Thursday, August 17, 2006
What I Did On My Bi-Annual Vacation
What I did on my bi-annual vacation
By The Pastry Chef
This biennium, Head Chef and I went to Russian River to the little town of Guerneville to participate in Lazy Bear Weekend, and it was fun. We shared a house with a friend I’d only met once before, and he was really nice. And his friends who shared the house with us were super guys, and Head Chef and I really liked them a lot.
OK, OK, this isn’t a back-to-school essay, but seriously, I kinda feel that way about the trip. It was wonderful and I did make – or at least better secure – three to six people whom I’ll call friends. In fact, I’ll even call them.
But now that it’s passed, it’s almost like a back-to-school essay. Or someone else’s memory. Like a story someone told so vividly that it’s as though I were there myself. And of course, I was, but I already feel distant from the experience.
I think Lazy Bear was better this year than it was in 2003. I spent a lot more time sober, and a lot more time resting and eating, and I think that these things are good. I also spent a moderate amount of time indulging in excess. As I am an advocate of excess in moderation, I approve of my behavior.
Others were not so lucky. Head Chef got a case of perhaps-almost-alcohol-poisoning and fell down went boom on his little head. While the physical wounds to his ear and brow have healed, the night stand he bludgeoned with his skull will doubtlessly carry emotional scars for years. I don’t know where furniture seeks therapy, but I hope it gets the best care available.
And so now I have returned to my workaday work each day, and I’m already looking forward to 2008. Perhaps that year I will spend more quality time with the friends I had before I arrived, for that is my only regret.
Well, not my only regret. Try as I might, I couldn’t snap my fingers to summon everyone I love to that one place at that particular time.
But for that, I need to apply for additional super human powers.
By The Pastry Chef
This biennium, Head Chef and I went to Russian River to the little town of Guerneville to participate in Lazy Bear Weekend, and it was fun. We shared a house with a friend I’d only met once before, and he was really nice. And his friends who shared the house with us were super guys, and Head Chef and I really liked them a lot.
OK, OK, this isn’t a back-to-school essay, but seriously, I kinda feel that way about the trip. It was wonderful and I did make – or at least better secure – three to six people whom I’ll call friends. In fact, I’ll even call them.
But now that it’s passed, it’s almost like a back-to-school essay. Or someone else’s memory. Like a story someone told so vividly that it’s as though I were there myself. And of course, I was, but I already feel distant from the experience.
I think Lazy Bear was better this year than it was in 2003. I spent a lot more time sober, and a lot more time resting and eating, and I think that these things are good. I also spent a moderate amount of time indulging in excess. As I am an advocate of excess in moderation, I approve of my behavior.
Others were not so lucky. Head Chef got a case of perhaps-almost-alcohol-poisoning and fell down went boom on his little head. While the physical wounds to his ear and brow have healed, the night stand he bludgeoned with his skull will doubtlessly carry emotional scars for years. I don’t know where furniture seeks therapy, but I hope it gets the best care available.
And so now I have returned to my workaday work each day, and I’m already looking forward to 2008. Perhaps that year I will spend more quality time with the friends I had before I arrived, for that is my only regret.
Well, not my only regret. Try as I might, I couldn’t snap my fingers to summon everyone I love to that one place at that particular time.
But for that, I need to apply for additional super human powers.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)