Grand Slam High Noon at Denny's
I'm staring at the new Avon Campaign 22 brochure. A blue-eyed brunette rests on a chaise lounge, her curly mane cascading over creamy shoulders, a piercing look of sensuality in her eyes. Pasted over her left shoulder is a huge bottle of the new Avon Extraordinary fragrance with a plastic square you can lift to "experience" the scent. The literature says it smells like chocolate truffles and champagne. Refuse to be ordinary, it says. Honestly, I can't find any hint of cocoa or Dom Perignon in the perfume, and today, ordinary seems quite enough, thank you.
My Avon District Manager keeps emailing his troops with Exciting Promotions. Sell thirty-six bottles of Extraordinary - get six bottles free! Make your Fourth Quarter the Best Ever! Some months he throws incentive contests. The top sellers and recruiters get prizes like Avon demo jewelry or a nice dinner gift certificate. The competition can get a wee bit cutthroat. I keep out of the fray, keep sticking my brochures in the hands of the aesthetic hopeful, keep delivering small paper bags of coral lipstick and gently scented bath oil. The big jackpot is always just out of my reach.
One Monday morning this summer our manager told us about the Next Big Contest.
"Now, ladies, this is a sales opportunity you don't want to pass up!" He adjusted the computer projector and flashed photos of the latest and greatest Avon products on the gray wall of the sales center. His pants rested just beneath his belly, and every time he gestured his sports coat opened to reveal a shirt with a brown stain over the pocket. He described each new item and explained exactly how much money we would earn with each sale. He stopped the slide show, turned off the computer, and cleared his throat, an obvious dramatic pause.
"Top seller gets THIS!" He raised his arm and pointed at a gargantuan gift basket perched on the edge of the folding table. Skin-So-Soft, Anew Clinical boxes, lipsticks, mascaras, pajamas, eyeshadow, slippers, jewelry, a Hollywood Barbie doll - this basket held it all! It was swaddled in shiny pink tissue paper and along the wicker handle were taped ten Avon demo gift certificates. A murmur scuttled through the crowd and I saw the Queen Bees taking notes with sharp-nailed hands and staring down the competition. Whatever, I thought. I've got no chance in Hades. But damn, that's a mighty fine prize.
The next morning, I walked my own street, leaving books and samples for my regular customers. My boys walked ten steps ahead of me on the other side of the street, leaving my Avon treats on doorsteps and hanging from mailbox handles. I ignored them, kept my eyes on the sidewalk, tried to imagine just how many new customers I would have to hogtie in order to win those luscious goodies. Too many.
"Hey! Mom! Hey!" My older boy, 10, screamed and waved from behind a plump azalea bush. "Mom! Come here RIGHT NOW!"
I hustled across the street, expecting to see a bee sting swelling his hand, or a dead mouse maggot-rotting at his feet, or the biggest red ant hill he's ever seen. His younger brother, 8, continued up the street, carrying no brochures, his arms swinging in circles by his side, oblivious to 10's call of distress. I braced myself for the worst, but when I reached 10 and saw the reason for his yowl, I stopped cold chill dead.
10 held an Avon brochure by his thumb and forefinger as if handling forensic evidence. He turned it around so that I could see the back corner - the place where all good Avon Ladies stamp their name and telephone number. I quickly glanced ahead, one house, two houses, three houses up my street. Someone already hit it up! And by the name on the book, I knew just who. The fancy-shmancy big time recruiting Avon Lady with the huge hair who wins every damn contest, who makes Top Seller every month, and who knew I lived and worked Avon here.
This meant war.
this is just a two-parter, to be continued...
4:27:00 PM 
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