Sales Force

I work in advertising, but I admit that I’m not a particularly good salesperson.

Growing up, I hated hawking Girl Scout cookies door-to-door.

And I wasn’t wild about peddling cowbells for my junior high booster club, or running my senior class Krispy Kreme sale.

So it’s not surprising that I abhor the first few weeks of each new school year, when my kids inevitably bring home the dreaded Fundraiser Packet.

Their dad is self-employed, so it falls upon my shoulders to schlep the order forms to my office and stalk my colleagues in their cubicles, trying to convince them to subscribe to magazines they won’t read and/or buy cookie dough that’ll contract freezer burn when it’s long forgotten in their fridges.

But each year, I suck it up, find my inner Ricky Roma, and get out there and SELL. After all, such things just come with the territory.

And I just happen to be Sales Director.


Sales Force

Who wants to buy some magazines?
Who needs some cookie dough?
If you’ve run low on frozen cakes
or chocolate bars, just let me know.

I’ll bring the glossy catalog
and order form right by;
I’ll bring a pen and recommend
which products you should try.

It’s for a worthy cause, you know –
it’s for my kid – for school;
their club
their band
their team
lacks funding, as a rule.

You probably don’t need pizza dough
or popcorn in a tin,
but don’t you care about my child
and prizes she could win?

So what if you’ve been dieting
and don’t need wrapping paper?
This is what we parents do
to coworkers and neighbors.

It just comes with the job, you see —
it’s like a type of hazing;
a particularly painful one
that’s known as school fundraising.

And rest assured, when your kid
comes around to sell his candy,
I’ll try to buy a bar or two —
Well…if my checkbook’s handy.

©2011 Carlotta Eike Stankiewicz

Driver’s Education

This morning, I experienced a scene out of one of my favorite movies.

Consequently, today’s poem is dedicated to the lady whose Toyota nearly swiped the side mirror off my Volvo.



Driver’s Education
They’re not honking to say “Hello!”
They’re not waving to say “Hi!”
See, they’re staring and they’re glaring
as you drive so blithely by.

All the shouting and the swearing
that you just don’t seem to hear?
Well, it won’t relent because it’s meant
for only your ears, dear.

There’s a reason for the hub-bub,
for the anger and the noise,
for the words that parents really shouldn’t
say ‘round girls and boys.

Yet it’s clear to me you’re clueless,
so allow me to explain:

©2010 Carlotta Eike Stankiewicz