KIRBY GIRLS by Lynne Spreen

As I stepped outside to take my granddaughter for a walk, a girl walked up my son’s driveway. The Santa Anas were coming up already, and the wind blew her shoulder-length hair every which way, hiding her face. She was holding a clipboard, and I figured she was a Jehovah’s Witness, but then I changed my mind when I saw she was wearing real short shorts the color of old mustard, and black tights. I bent down to my granddaughter in the stroller, fastening the straps so she couldn’t fall out, and I thought maybe she shouldn’t be seeing this girl.

The girl got closer. Her face was round, showing her to be a baby herself. Those stockings, though, they were something. Like pantyhose with a pattern in them, and there was a big snag, almost a hole, on one thigh. She brushed the hair out of her face and smiled a big toothy smile. “Hi, how are you today?”

“I’m fine. How’re you?” I asked, thinking now she’s probably selling pest control. Turned out it was Kirby vacuum cleaners, but she didn’t have any equipment or even a car as far as I could tell. She must have been the advance gal, going around the neighborhood trying to schedule people to get their carpets cleaned. Most likely that’d be done by a fast-talking salesman who’s sitting in his office right now doing jack-shit.

“I used to work for Kirby,” I told her. “I did cold calling. That was my first job, after babysitting, while I was still in high school.”

Her face about cracked in half she smiled so big. She said she graduated early and this was her first real job, too. “Do you have any advice for me?”

I did have some advice for her, but since I wasn’t her mother I kept my mouth shut. I was guessing she’s maybe seventeen, seventeen-and-a-half at the most, about two years older than when I worked for Kirby. I didn’t mention the way me and the other girls got treated like meat by the salesmen. I wanted to say, yeah, go home and put on some long pants. Don’t smile so much.

But instead I told her, “You’re selling a quality product. Be proud of that. Stand up real straight and show them you are confident.”

“Thank you,” she said and nodded her head, but she was looking at my grandbaby. She said she used to babysit all her brothers and sisters. It was fun, but she needed more money.

I wondered about a kid who’d go door-to-door selling vacuum cleaners, and what kind of home life would let her outside looking like that. We said our goodbyes and she went her way, and me and my grandbaby went ours, but then a few houses later, I pushed the stroller back across the street to her and said, “I have a question.”

“Yes?” She probably hoped I’d had second thoughts about getting my carpet cleaned.

“Do you have any Mace?”

Her smile went away. “No, I was going to get some but it’s my first week and I haven’t had time to buy any.”

So I fished around in the back of the stroller and gave her mine, and again I wanted to tell her to wear long pants next time. But how do you say that without scaring her. Nobody’s home in this neighborhood during the day so it’s like a ghost town, and if somebody wanted to knock you in the head and steal your purse or your baby in broad daylight, they could. You could yell but who’d hear you except the dogs. They bark all day long anyway and nobody pays them any attention. Thinking about what could happen to her made me sick, but I’d said enough. After I gave her the can of spray, I realized now I didn’t have anything, but I’m sixty and I have an attitude, so I’m going to see trouble coming right away. Plus I have good body language. For the rest of the walk, anybody got near me I stood up real straight and glared at them, like just you try something and you’ll be sorry, mister.

Back home that night, I told my husband about the girl and how bad I felt for her, and he laughed at me.

“What?”

“You got taken,” he said. “They put her out there looking helpless so people will want to buy because they feel sorry for her. Or worse.”

I told him that was sick, but he went back to watching football like it was no big deal. He used to work at a used car dealership, so even though he’s a good man, you see this side of him every now and then.

I got between him and the TV and said, “Maybe she was used like bait, but I don’t think she personally could’ve been running that game. At least she didn’t seem so to me.”

“She got your Mace, didn’t she?”

He had me there, but it wasn’t like I couldn’t go buy another can. Bottom line, I think I did the right thing. At least I didn’t have to worry about seeing that little gal’s face in the morning paper.

I sure am glad I’m older now. It’s tough being a kid. You never know when you’re being played.