The Great Escape

The days can get really long when selling door to door. Usually the things people do or say to you at the door to get you to leave just roll off your back. They have to in this business or you end up quitting like a lot of people in the office. Today was a day that got to me a bit.

I can’t remember for sure what got to me throughout the day, but I remember the straw that broke the camel’s back. I knocked on a door and waited. A moment later I hear, “No habla Englase! F*** You! No habla Englase!”

Seriously, I think to myself. I learned enough Spanish to get a door approach out. I even made a sale in Spanish once. I don’t even speak Spanish. But I learned just enough to function in Spanish neighborhoods. These idiots moved here and all they can say in English is, “f*** you”?!

It wasn’t my best judgment ever, but I left a note on the door that said something along the lines of, “Learn English or go back to Mexico,” or something of that nature. As I walked away from the door I took a look at my map and realized there was a mall a few blocks away. I figured it would be a good idea to go grab some food there and take a break to regain some composure.

I’m half way down the street and all the sudden a speeding car comes to a sliding stop in the middle of the street. One look inside revealed an obese woman who also happend to be yelling something at me; a slightly less obese woman in the passenger seat, both are dressed like trailer trash. And in the back seat was a thirteen or fourteen year old black kid, dressed like a thug. I had a suspicion that this car load of trash was somehow related to my note.

The lady demanded I come over to the car so I decided to oblige her request. My suspicions were correct; she started yelling at me about my note. She said she was going to call the cops and call my boss so I quickly removed my badge and shoved it in my pocket and flipped over my sales binder that had the company’s 800 number in big bold letters.

I told her the cops weren’t going to do anything, but I really didn’t want to stick around to find out. I’d already had one run in with the police here and I didn’t need a second. I calmed the lady down a bit but she was set on either getting me arrested of fired. She told me I should be thanking her that she got the note first and not her Mexican-gangbanger neighbors. She even threatened to go tell said neighbors and have them shoot me after I refused to give her my bosses phone number. So much for not perpetuating the stereotype. I kept the lady talking long enough to formulate a plan.

Steve, our boss, would give each of us a map everyday and highlight the streets we could knock. I stole glances at the map while I argued with the female Jabba the Hutt about how I’m not actually a racist. I even accused her of being the racist because she was the one yelling things in Spanish. That didn’t go over real well. I noticed a fairly large, undeveloped portion of land a block away that stood between me and the mall on the map. That’s when the idea hit me.

Next thing I know I running down the street at a full sprint. I heard the sound of a car starting up and peeling out. They’re going to run me over! I think to myself. I ran between two parked cars, onto the sidewalk, and hurdled some kid’s toys.

Only twenty yards to the field.

I crossed the street and ran down the hill into the brush just as the ghetto car slid to a stop on the street above me. They started yelling and I kept running, not looking back. “Home free,” I said as I dropped out of their sight.

This undeveloped land was about a quarter mile by a quarter mile. There was a bunch of tall trees on the West side, some big piles of dirt that a construction company dumped near the Northeast corner, and fairly tall brush most everywhere else. All I had to do was go from the South end to the neighborhood on the North end and make my way a mile West to the mall. Easier said than done.

As I stepped out of the brush and onto the street I knew something wasn’t quite right. I looked over my shoulder and saw the crappy brown ghetto car that had been chasing me only minutes before. The thug kid stuck his head out the window and started yelling as the car picked up speed. I headed back for the brush and easily avoided them. I spent the next half hour or so popping out of different parts of the land only to be spotted with in thirty seconds. The thug kid even got out of the car and tried to follow me at one point. Luckily, he couldn’t keep up so he went back to the car. The last thing I needed was to be put in a position where I had to beat up some fourteen year old.

It didn’t help that I was wearing a bright blue company shirt. They probably could see just enough of the shirt to see which direction I was headed in so they could cut me off. New game plan. I decided to call Steve, my boss.

Steve drove around in a minivan all day. When one of us would give him a call he would show up at the house and help close the sale. I could have him drive by and I could jump in the van and leave.

I hunkered down behind some bushes and pulled out my phone. Just as Steve picked up I heard movement, so I whispered.

“Steve, people are chasing me. I’m hiding in some bushes right now. You need to pick me up.”

“You’re where? … I’m in a house with Taylor right now, I’ll call you back in a minute.”

I turned my phone to silent and waited. The sound of movement stopped so if figured it probably wasn’t the thug kid. My phone rang. I whispered again when I answered partly to make sure no one could hear me, partly for the theatrics.

“Steve, I’m hiding in some bushes in an undeveloped part of my knocking area. Some people are chasing me so I need you to pick me up and get me out of here.”

“That’s crazy! What happened?” Steve asked, half laughing.

“It’s a long story, I’ll fill you in on all the details when you get here.” I proceeded to explain where I was on his master map and the general sketch of whey they were chasing me.

“I’m way over in Taylor’s area right now. I have to pick up Grady too. I can be there in a half an hour or 45 minutes or so.”

“Alright,” I said. “I can kill some time here in the bushes.”

I spent the next half hour staying out of sight and making phone calls to keep from getting bored.

Steve pulled into the area he thought I was in and called me. Steve wasn’t very good with directions, but this time he wasn’t too far off. I was giving him directions to guide him closer when all the sudden he said, “hold on.”

It sounded like he put the phone in his pocket, luckily I could still hear what was going on.

“Hey! Do you work for Firstline?” I recognized the voice of the trailer trash hunting me.

“Yeah, I’m the local manager. What’s up?” It sounded like Steve already knew what this would be about.

I caught most of the conversation. The fat lady told Steve why they were chasing me and said the cops were on their way. Steve apologized, said he would take care of it, and asked to see the note. He also asked if he could keep it. This made me happy. If Steve had it, there would be no real evidence for the fat chicks to give to the police.

Every few minutes Steve would pull out his phone and update me on what was going on and to stay out of sight. The police showed up a few minutes later and didn’t seem to care a whole lot. They looked around for a minute and said to call back if there were any more problems.

Now that the police were gone Steve convinced the ghetto girls that he would take care of the situation. He got back on his phone and informed me that the fat chicks were still on the lookout for me and we needed to get out of there quick.

I moved to some cover on the Northwest corner of the land I was on and guided Steve in. This took quite a while. Steve is an excellent salesman, he’s just not very good with maps. I finally saw him drive by going West. I told him to stop and turn around and I explained the rest of my plan.

Growing up I remember an Air Force pilot by the name of Scott O’Grady getting shot down in Bosnia and seeing the news footage of him running to the helicopter after evading capture for several days. This whole thing vaguely reminded me of Captain O’Grady.

The plan was in action. Steve slowly drove down the street. “OK Steve, I can see you now. You’re about a hundred yards from my position… Open the door… now.”

Grady opened the sliding door of the van on my command about thirty yards from my position. This was the cue for me to sprint. Steve was still doing about fifteen miles per hour. Luckily I timed my sprint just right. I dove from the curb into the moving van. I landed on the middle seats and then rolled onto the floor and Grady shut the door.

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Where’d you come from?” Steve yelled. “I didn’t even see you coming!” Steve was clearly excited by our game of Mission: Impossible.

Seconds later Steve yelled, “get down!” The ghetto car was up ahead and flagging Steve down. He rolled to a stop and cracked the window while I tried to stay out of sight on the floor of the van. Porky asked Steve if he had seen me yet. Steve said no and made up a story about how I’m not even answering his phone calls. They seemed to swallow his story and left.

I stayed on the floor explaining the whole story to Steve and Grady while we drove to a new area. We all had a good laugh.

Steve dropped me off in a new area to finish out the night. I called him to pick me up pretending to be hiding in a bush again and he almost bought it.

The VP of the company happened to be in town to visit the office when all this happened. I was a little nervous at what might happen. Steve told me the next day that John, the VP, thought it was hilarious. It can’t happen again, but hilarious none the less.