Every month, Traveling Salesman Magazine brought to its readers a sense that they had a friend in an office in Iowa who cared about them and their life out on the road. Since its readership traveled, subscriptions weren't allowed, and the magazine didn't ship C.O.D. You paid cash at your Statnard Oil station or bought it in the Grayhound station. Brush salesmen, vacuum salesmen, even bible salesmen all needed some companionship that didn't involve a local yokel's man-hungry daughter. Their hotels may be flea-infested, and Old Lady Smith is happy to see the seed salesman show up with her latest "Burpy" Seed Catalog, with its promises of tropical splendor for Maine, but a guy works hard, even if his name is Willie Loman. Pick up a copy and hit the road.
Oh, this brings back some memories.
ReplyDeleteKinda. Sorta.
I know honey, it does for me as well. But with the gardener and in the pool house.
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