Gettin' the Paper
Every morning, one of the first things I remember to do is retrieve my paper from the front yard. This is a courtesy to my housemates and a precaution.
Since our home is located on the equator the paper has already turned yellow from the sun. I do not like reading yellow paper. It reminds me of yellow journalism and old history classes and Sister Marion. Besides, the pages are too crisp and hard to turn. And it's already two minutes past the time I am supposed to start work.
I started receiving the Whittier Daily News about two weeks ago. It comes every day. That is fourteen newspaper that are currently sitting in my room becoming more yellow. I do not have time to read the paper every day. I do not have time to read the paper every other day. I read the paper on Sunday and try to read at least one headline on the other days as I bring it in to the house.
Rather than storing these pages in my room, I should go directly to the recycling bin. That is where they will end up anyway so I'm not quite sure why I am gathering a collection.
I do know why I receive the paper daily. Two weeks and one day ago, a young boy of about 15 years showed up at my door. I had recently returned home from work and was wearing my charcoal gray work pants (the only work-acceptable item of clothing I own) and a white button down shirt (consequently, I wear this outfit every other day).
"Is your mom or dad home?" he inquired, peering around me.
I was shocked. Did he not see my business attire? Did he not see *my* car parked out front?
"No, I live here alone," I told him. I am aware that I gave him the impression that I owned the entire house (he actually peered in further, looking for something to prove me wrong). He deserved a lie though for insulting my business attire. I do not wear the same outfit every day for fun.
After carefully observing the inside of my home (there was furniture, afterall), he launched into a well rehearsed speech about the Whittier Daily News. There are five sections. It is delivered daily. It serves my community. Blah blah blah blah blah.
I am familiar with the paper, little boy. In fact, your paper has offered me writing positions. Yes, I know, hard to believe, in addition to owning my own home, I can spell.
I was about to turn him away when he ended his speech with the following, "I am trying to get a job and I need to sell 8 subscriptions in order to be hired. Would you be willing to try out the Daily News for 8 weeks?"
And now I receive the paper.