Bakersfield High School was so much bigger in every way than Delano High School had been. The campus was huge, and there were maybe five thousand people there. I was a sophomore. We moved to Bakersfield in January, so we started at a new school in the middle of the school year. Of course, we didn't know anyone at Bakersfield High, while in Delano we had known most everyone. That is hard for teenagers.
I got lost the first day and got on the wrong bus going home, and was a mess when I finally got home that day. (See Roaches...and a New School, June.) Anyway, I gradually adjusted somewhat, though I never achieved a real liking for that big school.
I had to write a term paper for my English class. Now that was "right up my alley" for, as you may have figured out if you've been reading this blog, I loved to write. However, to write a term paper, you have to go right by the rules with notes and references and everything. Mama had a part of a package of 3x5 note cards that she used sometimes for recipes. She let me use the rest of them for my term paper notes.
Too bad there wasn't enough of them for the copious notes I took. I ran out pretty soon after I started. Walking out across that campus at lunch time, I saw an area where a few students had set up little "booths" to sell school supplies and other items. Perhaps it was an experiment in entrepreneurial endeavor. Or maybe it was the way they did fund raisers for certain clubs or extra-curricular activities. Anyway, I looked around as I passed by and figured out one of them had note cards. Trouble was, I didn't have money. I decided to do without lunch the next day and use my lunch money to buy me some more note cards.
The next day I went out there directly from my last class before lunch, my money in hand, and approached a likely looking booth. I think it was the only one that didn't have a line of students. The guy manning the booth was shorter than I by a couple of inches. He was slight of build, had a friendly smile.
He greeted me with, "And what can I do for you, Ma'am?" I don't think I had ever been addressed as "Ma'am" before that. It felt funny.
Anyway, I told him I needed 3x5 note cards; did he have any?
"Well, yes, I do, but let me show you something here..." He picked up a stack of larger note cards, about 6x8 or so, and held them out to me. "These," he said, smiling widely, "are much better than 3x5 cards."
Not wanting to offend him, I said gently, "I'd rather have 3x5 cards."
"But look at these," he fanned them out, laying them right in front of me on the table. "They have a lot more room for a lot more writing. You can get everything on the front, so you don't have to--"
"--No." I interrupted, "I want 3x5 cards." I looked directly into his face and saw that he wasn't listening to me all.
"But these are a lot better," he smiled sweetly. He picked them up and again held them out to me. "Just feel how nice these cards are. They are easy to write on, smooth... And the good news is they are the same price as the smaller ones." By then he had a triumphant grin on his face.
I did not want to explain to him that I had already started my term paper notes on the smaller cards and didn't want to have to re-do them on the bigger cards. I could see he would have a reasonable answer to any objection I might put forth. Suddenly I felt myself getting really annoyed. I pulled my money out of my pocket and laid it on the little table. I looked him right in the eye, and said in as sweet a voice as I could muster, "Three by five cards, please. How much?"
His shoulders sagged. He reached for a pack of cards and hesitated, turning to me again. Oh, no, I thought. He's going to try again... Instead, he asked quietly, "What color?"
"White."
"Lines? or blank?"
"Blank."
He picked up the bundle of bigger, lined cards he had been trying to sell me, muttering. I didn't understand what he said, but didn't ask. He gave me the pack of small blank cards and took my money, gave me change. It wasn't enough change to buy anything to eat. I just went hungry. Oh, well. I got the 3x5 cards that I wanted and wrote my term paper. I even got an "A" on the paper.
Somehow, though, I never forgot that skinny high school boy who tried so hard to sell me what I didn't want. I felt a little sorry for him. I never knew his name. I never saw him again that I recall. I've wondered if he became a good salesman. He surely seemed to like the job. Maybe I was the first customer he couldn't convince to buy what he wanted to sell... I've wondered why he was trying to sell the same price product the customer didn't want... Why not just offer exactly what I asked for; after all, he had the smaller cards, and they weren't any cheaper.
Maybe he would have made a higher commission off the bigger cards, even though the price was the same as the smaller ones...
Or maybe he had a bet going with someone that he could sell those bigger cards...
Maybe...
Well, what do you think?
Put yourself in that skinny boy's shoes, and post a comment as to what you think he was thinking...
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