Did I mention?

That the fair I’m selling sponges at for the next seventeen days is in my hometown. Yep, back home…my favorite place on earth…Pleasanton, California.

Today’s guest stars:

My friend Scott from high school. He said, “You did [the demo] twice and didn’t change one word!” High praise. He didn’t buy any sponges. He did laugh with me about my fate, though, and such was much appreciated.

My father’s coworkers. They bought sponges, and only later told me who they were. I was wondering how they knew that I had “two degrees from Cal!”

Two girls I vaguely remembered from high school. One was bursting with at least three babies, I’m sure, and the other looked the same, but plumper. Very inspirational, but they didn’t buy any sponges. Bitches.

The worst part, by far, is the men that just hang around waiting to find something to talk to me about. This one guy dilly dallied for at least an hour…divided into three seperate visits. He covered it by pretending to deliberate over a mop. It really is a good mop. He’ll be sorry, but I’ll be sorry, cause he said he was coming back.

After awhile, I forget who my friends are and who I’m still trying to sell sponges too. They’re all this giant blob of faces.

The highlight today:

Everyone always laughs when I say “…coffee, tea, or pee…” as if they can’t believe I actually said the word “pee” on a really mini microphone. (I honestly have no idea how loud I am, but one time today, I confided over the microphone to my new friend–mentioned above as the worst part of today–that “I can’t believe I have to stay here until ten.” Didn’t sell any sponges right then.)

Anyway, this one couple purchased the set of sponges. As they were taking off, the husband turned to the wife and said “I’m going to go home and pee on the carpet now, honey.”

The wife was embarassed, but it made my day and I told them so.

All in all, twelve hours of selling sponges is what you’d expect it to be. I’m just thankful that my arms don’t hurt as much as I thought they would.

And that I sold a bunch of sponges. Really, I did damn well.

I did have trouble getting rid of the one guy that wanted me to wet the rock hard sponge just for him. I tried to explain to him that “then I wouldn’t have a rock hard sponge for future demos”, but he was probably drunk and unable to comprehend what I was actually saying. Either that, or he was just out to get me. When I unadvisedley initially suggested to him that he “feel the Super Sponge”, he grabbed my arm and said “What, this?!”

ha ha.

Another favorite:

Those people who think they are so clever that respond with the phrase “But I already have my kids” whenever I suggest that “the Super Sponge is the only sponge you’ll ever need”. It’s really quite cute. They glance back at me to see if I think it’s clever. I don’t. But I smile at them anyway.

I smile at everybody. That’s one reason why I’m good at it. It’s a curse and a blessing. Such is life.

(I have this open wound on my finger, and keeping my hand in a Diet Pepsi-water bath isn’t helping anything.)

Lets hear from the peanut gallery, eh?

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