Dear Jessica Brennan,
Today I got an email from a man from China who wrote, “I know you are distributor of fine wall covering. Please respond for quality purchase.” I have never sold wallpaper and rarely have purchased wallpaper so this was a bit of a strange email to receive. I’m sure a lot of people think that sales-spam has come as a result of email and the internet, and of course this is true. However, I was nine years old when my first lesson in unwanted salesmen came to me via my dad, long before the internet, and as a result many a salesman has suffered since. Now Dear Jessica, you know your grandpa loves a laugh, and when I was little he was a great dad for getting into mischief with. Let me explain. It was 1971…
“Sharon”, I hear my Dad call up the stairs cheerfully. It’s summer vacation again and I had just put on my bathing suit and pulled a pair of shorts and a pop-top on over it. I came bouncing down to where he was, knowing that shouting “What?” wasn’t an appropriate reply. I saw my Dad standing next to a man in a grey suit carrying a briefcase. They were at the front door.
“This gentleman is here to see you,” my Dad announced.
The man jumps back a little. “This is Sharon?” The salesman inquired bewildered?
“Yes, sir, just the person you asked for!” my Dad says. “Invite your friend in Sharon.”
I was confused. This man wasn’t my friend, but I say,
“Won’t you please come in,” sweetly, detecting some mirth in my Dad’s voice and anticipating a great laugh to come.
My father knelt down to where I was standing, “Did you fill out a form saying you wanted to be an artist?”
I think about this for a second, “Oh yeah,” I say, putting my hands on his cheeks and squishing his mouth into a fish face, “It was in my comic book!”
I remembered now that a few weeks earlier I had seen an ad that said, “Do you want to be an artist, if so, check this box and send us this form.” There was a picture of an easel and paints, and I surely did want to be an artist. I tell my Dad how I checked the box, then went down to his office and got an envelope and stamp, and skipped all the way up to Beverley Hamilton’s house where there was a mailbox out front, and put the letter through the slot.
“I didn’t step on a crack,” I tell my Dad, poking his tummy with my finger.
“Your mother thanks you,” he laughed. I am jumping around the kitchen tiles like in hopscotch, on one foot trying not to let the other foot touch down.
“Well there you have it,” Dad stated standing up, “She wants to be an artist,” and he looked back to the man. “I’ll just leave you guys to it then.” As my Dad started to leave the room, I climbed up onto my vinyl kitchen chair, excited to see all the books about becoming an artist.
“You sit there,” I say to Mr. Salesman and point to the chair next to me.
The man in the suit stopped my father, “She’s too young, how old is she?” he blurted out.
“You should ask your client,” my Dad replied, turning the floor over to me.
“I’m ni-eeene”, I say proudly drawing out the number, “But I’ll be ten in the fall!”
“Well, Mr. Field,” he said, still to my Dad, “This is an opportunity to attend an arts school, you know mail order, correspondence school.”
My father was having a little too much fun with the stranger and stepped away from us both, then said, “Did your ad in a child’s comic book state that you had to be an adult to apply?” he wanted to know.
“Well no, I think it’s just one of those things that’s understood,” came the reply.
“Obviously, my daughter didn’t understand that, as she was reading the Archies,” answered my father. “So sir, you asked if she wanted to be an artist and she said, yes. I think you should sit down and show her the course. She took the trouble to respond to your ad and so she should have the benefit of seeing what this is all about. Take your shoes off though and leave them by the door, the missus get’s upset if we track dirt into the house!”
And so, for the next hour I knelt on the chair, now knowing full well that this was not a school for children, but still, pointing at pictures, talking a mile a minute and asking a thousand childish questions. And the impatient shoe-less man in the grey suit with the briefcase, spent the next hour going over the different courses available at Art School. It was great fun and I thought it was brilliant! When I got up that morning I thought I was going to be jumping through the sprinkler all day, but instead I got this? Wow! My Dad thought it was hilarious too and as the beleaguered salesman left our home, my dad called out to him, “We’ll discuss this with her mother and let you know if she decides to enroll,”
“Bye bye”, I shout, “Come back soon!” I waved to the man in the grey suit as he tossed his briefcase into the back of his car, and then my Dad and I laughed ourselves silly for the rest of the afternoon.
Love Mum
xo
