The Brief Career of a Professional Extrovert

I found myself on a corner in downtown Portland, a binder in my hand, trying to talk to passing pedestrians. I was a canvasser. A few stopped and talked to me, most passed by, and a very few told me to go fuck myself. It was, oddly, fun. Some time ago, I didn't think that such a thing could be at all enjoyable, but I found myself liking my time outside.

I was soliciting donations for Children International, a charity that provides assistance to poor children in developing countries. The structure of the donations was monthly child sponsorship- you send certain amount of money every month to the charity, and sponsor a given kid. You send them letters, they send you letters, you get a picture of them. It was a $22 a month minimum, with a two year commitment. I personally find this system of donations to be emotionally manipulative, but no matter. What they did seemed worthwhile.

I, along with a dozen or so other new recruits, got a half day of training prior to hitting the streets. We were warned about the high burnout rate, warned that most of us would walk off the job within a day or so. The trainer was an amazingly extroverted, handsome guy, and I admired his speaking abilities. I wondered what else he could be doing, with his charisma. After warning us, he did his best to get jazzed up about the job, get us motivated.

I talked with a bunch of my new coworkers, and many of them were just happy to be there, they didn't need motivation. An unemployed construction worker told me about how he had three kids at home and needed this job badly. Another, rasta-type guy mentioned about how happy he was to be employed and how he knew he could be successful if he just stayed positive. I thought so, too. I'm persuasive and charismatic. I figured that if anyone can convince the citizens of Portland to help starving Zambian kids, it was me.

On my first day, I stood on a street corner and attempted to talk to pedestrians. After about an hour, a homeless guy who'd been watching me came up and struck up a conversation. He was this old guy who kind of looked like what Mr. T would look like if he were destitute. Actually, maybe it was Mr. T... He mentioned that he used to be a salesman, and that what I was doing was "Way too aggressive."

"C'mon, man," he said, "don't try to shake their hands. You're scaring them. You're in their face way too much." I thought that Mr. T had something of a point, and tried it out. He was right, and I cooled down a bit, stopping way more people when I wasn't as spastic. I stopped a lot of people, actually. Most of them told me "good luck," but didn't actually sign up. Several people offered me cash or single lump sums, but I had to explain that that wasn't how the charity worked. When I told them it was a monthly thing, and what the minimum was, they balked. Even after I explained it one guy said, "Can I just give you fifteen bucks?" "No," I said, "they only do the monthly thing." He walked away.

Another guy, before I was able to say anything, told me to eat a dick. I told him to have a nice day.

By lunchtime on the first day, our ranks had already thinned. A few of the new hires had walked off in frustration. I asked one of the more senior canvassers how long people usually lasted, and she replied that there was lots of turnover, and that two months was a long time. I kept my internal monologue positive. I kept telling myself that I was in the top ten percent with regards to persuasive ability and social aptitude, and kept thinking about the gambler's fallacy. I knew I could do this.

Durning the second half of the first day, I kept myself jazzed and motivated, trying to formulate a rap that I could use. I started talking about clean water, how people in industrialized countries take it for granted, and how cheaply it can be provided. One guy I stopped, when hearing this, told me that there was "A different water, an eternal water," that could help people more, and ended up trying to do his Jesus-rap on me. He left, eventually, and told me that I was doing the Lord's work. Another guy I stopped ended up being a Japanese tourist, and his eyese seemed to pop out of his head when I dragged out my Japanese. That was pretty fun.

My first day ended without a signup, but I wasn't discouraged by that. The trainer told me that that was normal, and that I'd probably be fine.

The next day I was on a different street corner, one where two homeless guys were playing the guitar and harmonica. They played "Love Me Do" incessantly. I didn't mind it, actually, and appreciated the soundtrack. During the day, I talked to lots of people. It was fun. Tons of people told me about their jobs and how they lost them, and a guy from Sri Lanka told me all about the situation there, with the Sinhalese and the Tamils. "This is a great country," he said, "this is great. I play golf all the time. People complain about the economy, but it's still great here." I agreed with him.

I chatted with this really cute girl who was rollerblading around, and had a long conversation with a guy who used to be in the Peace Corps. I got interested in these people, and loved chatting with random people. They had opinions and ideas, but again and again said that they didn't have money. I supposed it was true, and I felt bad for them. I know that's why I ultimately only signed up one person- I felt bad for the people on the street. I had tons of empathy, and couldn't really close the deal.

By the end of the second day, more of the new hires had quit, including the rasta guy who had tried to be so positive. That bummed me out. He'd seemed really motivated, and it sucked to see someone who looked so idealistic fold like that. I still felt positive about the job, though. I got to hear about Sri Lanka from someone who was from there. That was really cool, and I stayed positive. I was told, though, that if I didn't bring in results on my third day that I would get canned. I told the trainer I could do it.

On my third day, I talked to more people, including a tiny homeless woman who called herself Little Mama. She said that I could be her son, if I wanted. I said that was really nice of her, and she went away, talking to herself. At lunch, the unemployed construction worker quit. He'd gotten spit on, and said he didn't need this. Later, I did indeed sign up someone to sponser a kid, which felt good. I did feel accomplished, actually having paperwork to fill in. But, it wasn't enough. One sign-up in three days simply wasn't cost effective, and I was told to go.

"I have to," said the trainer. I told him I understood. "I'm impresed that you didn't quit though," he said, "most people quit." He said that shit happens, that some people just don't get lucky, and that he'd be a reference if I needed one. I thanked him, and left.

Now I'm back. Now I'm sending off my resume to tons of jobs each day, writing, and riding my bike a lot. Despite recent events and the economic situation, I'm optomistic. At the absolute worst, I'll ask for my old job back. That's not something that I want to do, but it's on the table. In the meantime, though, I've had some nice chats about prospective jobs, and there are a few that I'm excited about.

After all, all I want is a gig. My career options are looking quite good. At present, I just need something to pay the bills, and not very many of them. I have no mortgage, car, kids, or other commitments. I don't need to worry about any of that, and I'm way hireable than most other people. I'm lucky, really. Everything will be fine.