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Damn, oops! Sorry, thirteen two-pound bags of jellybeans to peddle. Not the 101 flavors, you know the fancy kind, but the large original variety, the classic flavors, including: Very Cherry, Root Beer, Cream Soda, Tangerine, Green Apple, Lemon, Licorice, and Grape. Thirteen bags and what do you get? You get to knock on another, oops, door, smile. Without boasting I was the best three years ago year selling bags of popcorn, and again two years ago selling thin mints, and last year, you will find this hard to believe, selling fertilizer.
The Scout Master insisted we sell them all as the money was to pay for cost associated with attending the annual Boy Scouts of America Jamboree. Ten days of adventures with a focus on outdoor action sports. Critical skills like setting up a tent, chopping a log in half, starting a fire with two matches or fewer, rock climbing, mountain biking, whitewater rafting, shooting sports, the zip-line challenge courses, and first aid competence (for many this week a highly desirable skill) are a few of the activities offered.
So, here I stand facing another pathway, a closed door, with an unsuspecting customer, and my practiced sale pitch; oh yeah, and my charming smile.
I see smoke and smell bacon. The collected clues show that someone is at home preparing a BLT perhaps, just a guess on my part. I advance forward with modest expectations and twenty-six pounds of jellybeans separated into two canvas bags.
From afar, the house reminds me of a face; mouth agape as if to wonder my intent, above the mouth a neatly trimmed mustache, dyed black; two eyebrows furrowed, also dyed black; one eye blackened (for which I have no explanation), and a pointy head.
I continued my walk along the crushed lava rock, bordered on each side by a lea of crabgrass. In the background exists a barricade of trees seemingly impenetrable.
Silence dominates. The smoke appears as a rope connected directly to clouds, motionless, the air heavy, and, — I’m positive that’s bacon I smell?
I clearly digress, for my middle name is Stalling while in my head I hear, “Don’t come back with any bags of jellybeans or excuses, just cash.”
I arrive. I take a deep breath. I knock. I wait. I hear activity from within. Finally, the door squeaks open.
Yep, that is definitely bacon.
As the door opens, I step back, doing my best to see the darkened interior with a patch of light provided by the fireplace, currently unaware of the individual now standing at the opening. I hear the log crackle; I see waves of heat and colors: red, orange, and white as the logs turn to ash, now collecting below a log recently added above the burning embers.
I slowly realized someone waiting, “What do you want?”
In a flash, as I turn back, I notice the leather hunting boots, well-worn but dirt free. Olive socks. Olive pants with neatly press tan shirt.
The voice, impatient, repeats, “I haven’t all day, can I help you?”
I begin my spiel. “Yes, my name is Joe with Troop 113 and we are meeting our neighbors seeking to work our way to the next scheduled Boy Scouts of America, Jamboree. Would… “Stop! No, I would not be interested in whatever you are peddling today.”
I hesitate and take another step back, noticing the leather belt and buckle. Looking up, I observe the olive visor cap, furrowed brow, and frown. In the light of day, I saw a U.S. flag emblem on the right sleeve.
This would be a hard sell! “This is for a good cause; I would most appreciate your support! Consider all the youth you would support, future leaders of industry!” There it was -hesitation.
Shoulders back, eye to eye, the closure, “oops, mom, is that bacon I smell?”
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