Mrs. Robinson

 

One semester in college I decided to leave school in pursue of the big bucks – selling vacuum cleaners door-to-door in Champaign, Illinois. I didn’t get rich, but a lot of stories were generated over those three months.

This is one of those stories.

My boss called me into his office one day with a lead. A lady had called in and wanted to see a demonstration. I drove off in the beat up company van with directions that led me to a trailer park.

She was an attractive woman – I was guessing in her mid 30’s – which would have made her about 15 years my senior.

As I demonstrated the stunning ability of my high-performance sucking machine, I noticed that she kept bending over and exposing her rather large, non-bra confined breasts. When it came time to close the sale, she didn’t flinch at the price, and quickly signed the credit application and contract at the kitchen table.

“I appreciate you driving all the way out here. I wish there was more I could do for you,” she said.

Long story short – I nailed her in the bedroom of her double-wide.

Afterwards, I noticed a picture of her sitting with a large, muscular fellow on a Harley and asked, “Who is that?”

“My old man.”

“That’s your dad?” I asked.

“No goofball. That’s my husband.”

“You’re married?”

“I guess you could say that. He’s a truck driver and is on the road a lot.”

I grabbed the paperwork and got the hell out Dodge.

A few days later my boss called me into his office. “You have to go back and pick up the unit you sold to the lady in the trailer.”

“Why?”

“Her credit was declined.”

“I’m not going back there.”

“Well, she was pretty upset and requested that you be the one to come out and get it.”

Drink, I said get it.

“That’s bad news for you because there’s no way I’m going back there.”

He gave me a puzzled look and drove out there himself.

And for those of you keeping score at home – that’s two trailer chick stories this month.

Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio? Our nation turns its lonely eyes to you, woo woo woo.