Swept Away

Jerry took a deep shuddering breath. Last one, he thought. Last one. I can do this. Last one. He glanced around the tidy porch and reached out a shaking hand toward the doorbell. I can’t do this, he thought, panicked, but his finger had already pushed the button and he could hear the chime in the house. “They aren’t home,” he muttered, but before he could even turn to leave the door was yanked open. A man in a loose wife-beater undershirt with an unlit cigar dangling from his mouth peered at him through the screen door.

The man took the cigar out of his mouth. “Yeah?” he said. 

“Hello, sir, my name is Jerry Willen and I’m selling vacuum cleaners, they’re actually pretty good, it’s not those two-thousand dollar ones, these are pretty cheap and they work great but I know you don’t need one, you would go to a store if you wanted a vacuum, right? But if I just show I did one more visit, I – I . . .” Jerry finally stopped for a breath. “Just – just one more cold call and I get to go home. So can I just leave a card? Can I just write down your name, and if they call you can say I tried to sell you one? Honestly, that’s all I need. I just need to go ho – home.” He held out a business card, but without any hope.  He was on the verge of tears, if not a breakdown. If he yells at me like the last guy I give up, he thought. If another dog comes after me I’ll just lay down and let it eat me.

“Huh.”  The man leaned on the doorway, studying him, absently chewing on his cigar. Jerry just stood there, hand out holding the card, his other arm awkwardly holding his display case and clipboard. He wasn’t sure where to look - at the man, or the cigar, or the stain on his shirt, or the cozy hallway behind him.

“Vacuum cleaner, huh?” the guy finally said. 

“Yeah. I know, this is stupid,” said Jerry helplessly. “Who does this? Except those Kirby guys make a killing, but they’re selling to those little old ladies, it’s not right. Those old ladies can’t pay for their meds, and these con artists selling them a thousand-dollar vacuum? It’s not right.

“These aren’t that, though,” he added hastily. “These are better and . . ." he trailed off. “I’m – I’m sorry to bother you. Thank you for answering the door. Will you just take a card and say I tried to sell you one if they call?”   

“Huh,” the man said again. “Not bad. Come on in.” 

“What – wait - ” but the cigar man had already turned and headed into the house, leaving the door open. “Um. Ok.” Welp, Jerry thought, I guess I’ll either sell a vacuum or get killed tonight. He hefted his case and opened the screen door.  

He followed the man into the living room and found him already plopped onto the couch. “Tell me about it,” the man invited Jerry.  

“Oh, I didn’t mean – just - ” He shuffled his things around to hold out the card again, but the man just looked at him from the couch, arms folded.  “Ok, sure.” Jerry theoretically knew what to do, but he had never gotten this far in real life before.  “Yeah. Um.” He cleared his throat and then got busy unpacking his case. “Ok, so the thing is, these actually are pretty decent. And check this out, the whole thing fits in here.” It took him a minute to get it unpacked and clicked together, and then he was holding a slim, sleek vacuum cleaner. He stood with the plug in his hand. “I’m Jerry – oh, and you are? I’m sorry, I was supposed to ask that.”

The man was grinning. “Bob,” he said finally.  

“Bob. Great!” Jerry sighed and looked around for an outlet. “So, I’m supposed to do this whole spiel, they want us to sound like those Kirby guys. I hate those Kirby guys!” he said with sudden passion. “Oh, sorry. Anyway, so you want – can I plug this in?” 

Bob gestured to the wall. Jerry plugged it in.  “So,” he continued, “It really does do a good job, and it’s only a hundred and seventy dollars. Well, I’m supposed to tell you it’s like eight hundred and then I keep giving you deals until you buy, but anything you pay over one-seventy, I get a five dollar gift card and my boss gets a bonus. Screw him.” Bob chuckled, and Jerry looked up in surprise. “Anyway,” he said awkwardly, and turned on the vacuum and quickly swept up the room, and turned it off again. “So it’s pretty nice,” he said. “Did you want one of these, or . . .”

“I can’t believe you really brought a vacuum for this.” Bob said, still grinning. “That’s great.” 

“Um, yeah.” Jerry’s brow furrowed. “I guess I could have just told you about it.”  

“So, let’s see.” Bob leaned forward. “You know what, I could use a vacuum. But here’s the thing, I let my kids build sand castles in the living room. Sand everywhere. Would it get it out?” 

Jerry glanced around – he saw no sand, hardly any dirt, but whatever. “Um, it actually does pretty good on that. My cat dumped her litter box, and this did pretty good. Wait – not THIS one - " His eyes were wide, and he stumbled over his words. “I mean, I wouldn’t bring cat poop into your – I have another at ho – Um.” He ground to a halt. “Yeah, it’s good for that.” 

Bob was chuckling again. “That was great. Ok, um, candle wax. Just gets everywhere, spots all over. Would it get that?”  

Jerry was excited. “Oh, you know what you do? I learned this from my grandma. So you get like a cloth, right? Like a dishtowel you don’t want. Put it over the wax, and then use an iron, real low. Barely hot. Run the iron over the towel. Then turn it over – the towel, I mean. Not the iron. Why would you – you’re not gonna grab the bottom of the iron – then do it again and again, it gets more each time. Then get like a butter knife, you let that wax dry and scrape it up, and vacuum it up!” Jerry grinned triumphantly. 

Bob nodded thoughtfully. “Thorough,” he said. 

“I mean, well.” Jerry deflated a bit. “That’s not really anything about this vacuum. Any of them could do it.”  

“Snake poop.” 

Jerry hesitated, mulling that over. “What?” he said finally.  

“Snake poop,” Bob said simply. “I have a lot of big snakes, poop gets everywhere. Would that get it?”  

“Wet or dry?” Jerry asked.

Now it was Bob’s turn to hesitate. “What?” 

“Do, do snakes poop wet, like birds, is it a smear, or more solid like rabbits? Or something in between, I guess like dogs? Unless the dog is sick of course. That’s awful to clean up.”  

Bob nodded thoughtfully. “Pellets.”  

“Oh yeah. I mean, I’d get a broom for the big stuff, but put this on the highest setting, like this, that should do it.” 

“Wood shavings.”  

“Look, look, this is so cool.” Jerry brought the vacuum around the coffee table to Bob’s feet, and then knocked the vacuum over and pointed to the bottom. “Look, the beater bar is metal, and look how long those bristles are. They get in there! Sawdust gets stuck, but this gets under it. Oh, yeah, that’ll get it.” 

“Gum.”

“Put an ice cube on it, get it hard, pry it off with a knife, and then use this attachment.” Jerry stood the vacuum upright again, plucked a tube with a scraper at the end off of the vacuum, waved it around, and put it back. 

“Ink. My pen exploded.”  

“White vinegar, dish soap, and water. Spray it on, blot it up over and over til it’s gone.” Jerry stood there, waiting for whatever came next, then jumped and his eyes went wide again. “Oh, and then vacuum, I guess. With this.” I’m supposed to be selling a vacuum! He thought with despair. I’m so bad at this.

“Water,” Bob said. “The kids brought a hose in the house, flooded the whole place.” 

“You know what.” Jerry was excited again. “It’s not supposed to – I mean, we don’t say it’s a shampooer – but if you clean it out, empty the cannister so you don’t make mud, it does! It’ll suck up water!”  

“Lasagna.” 

“A whole lasagna?” Jerry asked. Bob nodded. “Sure,” Jerry said. “Why not?” This guy sure is a worrier, he thought. The carpet barely looked walked on, much less the victim of every possible carpet catastrophe. “Scrape it up, and use spot cleaner before you vacuum – we have some but it’s cheaper at the store.”

“Blood.” 

Bob was still grinning, he looked positively delighted, but Jerry just felt a wave of resignation. I guess I’m going to die tonight after all, he thought. Well, it’s better than trying to sell more vacuums.

“Cold water and peroxide.  You’ll have to go over it a few times.”  

“Bravo!” Bob stood and clapped. “Great job. Well done.”  

“Um, thanks.” Startled, Jerry ran over the script in his mind – what was he supposed to say to an ovation? “So, do you want - "  

“You didn’t break character for one second,” Bob continued. “I felt like I could have thrown roadblocks at you forever.”

“Um, sure - "

“And the pathos, and then anger – screw Kirby, right?”

“Right!” That was something Jerry could definitely agree with. 

“You had me ready to buy a vacuum. Anyway, you got the job. You came pretty highly recommended, but I’m impressed. Welcome to the team.” Bob held out his hand. 

Jerry shook it absently. “What?” he asked finally.

“Oh, man. I’m sorry, you’re right, I should go over the details, make sure this is a fit. Have a seat.” He gestured and Jerry joined him on the couch. “Oh, sorry about this, by the way.” He grimaced and gestured at his shirt and the ragged pants. “What a way to run an interview, right? I just came from a rehearsal and hadn’t changed yet. So,” Bob continued, “the thing is, this is a pretty steady gig. We want to make sure you’re available, we really need someone we can count on.” 

“Oh, yeah. I’m very reliable. I’m here, aren’t I?” Jerry laughed weakly.

Bob nodded just as if that had made sense. “They told you, I guess, this is murder mystery improv. Show and dinner thing. Five shows a week, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and two on Sunday. Show up at five, we’re done by ten o’clock. Longer on Sunday. We make scale, so it works out to about four or five hundred a week.”

Jerry shook his head. “Four or five hundred? Dollars? A week?”  Bob nodded. “To do what, again?” Jerry asked.  

“That character was perfect,” Bob reassured him. “You nailed it. I can’t believe you brought the vacuum – that is commitment to a bit!  What we are trying to fill right now is a small town encyclopedia salesman – you know how these things go, right? Everyone’s a suspect, the stranger shows up from out of town, turns out he knows the victim – whatever.” Bob waved his hand dismissively. “You’ll get all that. I tell you what, everyone I’ve interviewed up to now, they were trying to act like a salesman. This bit – you have to be clueless, and naïve. Everyone suspects the stranger right away unless you pull it off. You were perfect. You weren’t acting, you were selling a vacuum.” 

“Well, trying to, anyway,” Jerry muttered.  

 “Have you done murder mystery dinner theater before?” Bob asked. Jerry very honestly shook his head no.  “With your experience, you’ll be fine. We mingle before dinner, in character, get people interested. During dinner we do bits, just parts of the story.  We switch up who did the murder.  You just have to drop the info they need, but you can do it however you want. Honestly, just do this.” He gestured at the vacuum.  “That was brilliant, just so real.” 

“Yeah, it felt real,” Jerry said. 

“So, is this a fit? Are you in?” Bob asked eagerly.  

"Is this a joke?" Jerry asked.  

Bob's smile faded a bit. "A joke? What do you mean?"  

"I mean, um, yes," Jerry said quickly. "Of course. Great fit. Yup, exactly what I was looking for. Where do I sign?”