JANUARY 15, 2024 – Early one evening I was making my way through a neighborhood when I came upon two couples sitting on folding chairs at the head of a driveway but not far from the street. I’d enjoyed a degree of success that day and was feeling more upbeat than usual. I called out a hearty “hello,” which prompted four friendly replies.
“What are ya sellin’?” one guy asked in an inviting tone.
I bounded up the driveway, swinging my “gas can” sales kit. Just then a silly idea entered my head. It had everything to do with what was in my kit but nothing to do with the books.
For the past couple of weeks I’d carried inside the kit a jar of Kretschmer’s Wheat Germ—a food supplement that I’d added to my daily lunch fare of a honey and peanut butter sandwich, orange, and chocolate chip cookies. I’d developed a taste for wheat germ consumed “wholesale”; that is, poured straight into my mouth.
After introducing myself and shaking hands, I sat down on the kit—as it had been designed to function in a pinch, we’d been told during “training week.
“No, no, no,” said the man who’d invited me up the driveway at least. “Let me get you a real chair.” He pulled another folding chair from the open garage and set it down facing the others. “So,” he said, “We’re all ears . . . what is it you’re selling? We wanna see. But first, can I get you something from the cooler?”
I declined the beverage but welcomed the altogether friendly gesture. At the end of a long day, good or bad, a cordial reception was greatly appreciated—even without a sale to go with it. These people seemed especially warm-hearted and good natured, attributes encouraged no doubt by the cooler contents. The unexpected reception rendered feasible my “silly idea.”
“You see, I’m from Minnesota, which in addition to having a lot of lakes is a big farm state. In the southwestern part of the state in particular, we’ve got lots of wheat growing. On my mom’s side—that’d be the Kretschmers—I have plenty of relatives out there growing wheat. Now, we all eat bread, right? And we all know that bread is made from wheat, right—unless it’s made from rye or oats, of course, right? Well one of my uncles has come up with something incredibly tasty from his own wheat harvests.”
Already I had the two couples eating out of my hand—figuratively. For all I knew they’d expected bogus insurance, phony vacations, or magazines they’d never want to buy. But fruit of the earth tied to my very own relatives.
“He figured out a special way to make edible wheat germ, which is the tastiest part of the grain.”
“Have you got a sample?” one of the women asked, as I watched the others nod in support of the request.
“I sure do,” I said, “but before I share it with you, let me tell you a little about how I got to Buffalo and why.”
“Yeah,” said the second gentleman. “You’re a long way from Minnesota.”
“It sure is,” I said, “but then again, people are people, don’t you think? And the people here in Buffalo seem just as friendly as the folks back home.”
“You think so?” said the second woman.
“I know so,” I said.
“Hmmm,” the woman said. “That’s encouraging.”
“So anyway,” I continued, “a couple of years ago my aunt and uncle took their product to the Minnesota State Fair and won a blue ribbon. They had enough of it to sell back in their farming community, where it was a big hit. People said it was good enough to sell in a bigger market, you know, all over the country.
“Eventually General Mills came along—you’ve heard of General Mills, haven’t you?”
“Big ‘G,’ little ‘O,’” said the first man. Everyone else laughed.
“Well, General Mills found out about it and wanted to buy the rights—kit and kaboodle—from my aunt and uncle; could’ve made ‘em rich, but you know what? . . .” I left the last four words hanging on my inflection.
Several more beats passed before one of the woman said, “What?”
“Well, you know, being farmers, you know good people making their living the hard way, the old fashioned way, they were leery of getting rich quick. It just wasn’t in their way of doing things. Instead, they decided to go it alone, you know, figure out how to make the product in sufficient quantities to share with people beyond their neighbors and community. Then, to spread the word, they came up with the idea of sending their kids—well, the ones who weren’t essential to working the farm—their nieces and nephews like yours truly, kids of good family friends and so on to go knocking on doors in random places around the country.
“After introducing the wider public to this great, tasty, and above all, highly nutritious product, they’d develop a fulltime sales force, kinda on the model of the Fuller Brush Company, to sell directly to consumers door-to-door.
“There was no real science to how Buffalo got chosen. One day my uncle nailed a big map of the United States onto the outside of their barn. He then assembled all of us who’d volunteered to spread the word and gave each of us a dart to throw at the map. Where your dart landed is where you’d travel to knock on doors. My dart landed just east of Buffalo, so here I am.”
“Wow!” said one of the women. “That quite a story.”
“I never would’ve guessed that’s what you were out sellin’” said the first guy.
“Well then, you wouldn’t be surprised to hear that most people are . . . surprised. So, who’s up for a sample?”
All four members of the audience signaled spontaneous enthusiasm.
“We’re gonna need bowls and spoons,” I said, as I opened my sales kit to reach for the jar of wheat germ.
Soon the dishes and utensils appeared, and into each bowl I poured a couple of teaspoons of the flakes.
“Mmmm, good!” said one of the woman. – “Great tasting!” said the other. – “My new breakfast!” and – “I agree!” said the men.
If I’d actually been selling Kretschmer’s Wheat Germ, I would’ve been in the money. At this point, I had to end the prank . . . with a joke. “Congratulations, everyone!” I said, “You’re on Candid Camera!”
To their considerable credit, my friends took it all very much in stride. When I showed them the books I was selling—no pitch involved—they listened politely and offered genuine support . . . and empathy. They rewarded me with helpful intel when I concluded with, “The folks next door . . . Do they have kids?”
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© 2024 by Eric Nilsson
