Chapter Fifteen - Sunday Was Sacred (But Only Kinda)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Sunday Was Sacred (But Only Kinda)

THERE WAS NO knocking on Sundays. Not because of local laws. Not because of any actual rules. But I guess because God was watching.
The same God who didn’t care about sales permits, safety regulations, or mental health checks, but who absolutely drew the line at pest control pitchmen disturbing the Sabbath.

That’s why Sunday was quiet. A miracle, honestly. No doors. No heat. No quotas. Just a full day of not pretending to be someone I wasn’t.

And I needed it. I needed it bad.

I’d made it through four straight days of rejection, sweat, and psychological warfare. Technically, that wasn’t even the full week. Some guys knocked five, maybe even six. But for me, it was enough. I was cooked. Caleb too. We were the only ones who hadn’t closed a single deal, and that little fact would get brought up again, don’t worry.

So Sunday, I stayed in.

Locked in the room. Rehydrating. Recharging. I wasn’t praying. I was eating mini corn dogs and watching Step Brothers in the dark. All my cheese was gone, but I still had chocolate milk. It was the saddest happy meal known to man. And it was kind of perfect.

There was a cookout happening down by the pool. Burgers, hot dogs, and good vibes. People kept texting me to come down, but I didn’t trust it. It was a trap. I knew it was a trap.
You don’t just get free food around here. Not unless there’s a meeting attached to it. That’s the oldest trick in the playbook. Feed ‘em, then feedback ‘em. Trap ‘em with buns, then bring the heat.

So I stayed in.

Caleb was starving though. He couldn’t resist. He went down there like a lamb to the slaughter.

An hour later, he texted me:

“Yo, I don’t think it’s a trap. Just food.”

I didn’t believe him, but I also really wanted a hot dog. So I caved. I went down. Light drizzle in the air, grill smoke curling through the parking lot, and just for a moment, it felt okay.
Like, weirdly okay.
Like, human.

No burgers left, of course. But I scraped together a meal: one hamburger bun, two naked hot dogs, some mayo and ketchup, and one cold-ass Dr. Pepper from the vending machine. Paid for with quarters I had left from my nonexistent budget.
Gourmet.

I was starting to feel good again. And then the trap closed.

Zack texted.
Chris called.
“Come back down,” they said.

And I knew. I knew. I knew.
I got caught slipping. I took the bait. And now, it was meeting time again.

Same speeches. Same performance. Only this time, Jacob made sure to point out how everyone made at least one sale that week.
Except two.
Guess who.

Caleb and I stood there like the altar boys of failure while the apostles of commission glowed with glory. Whatever. I had hot dog grease on my breath and ketchup on my chin. They couldn’t hurt me.

We were told the next day would bring insane rain. And I had nothing. No coat. No umbrella. No budget left. The stipend hadn’t dropped yet.

So I asked Connor if I could go to the store in the morning and get a raincoat.
His response?

“Nah, just knock on some old lady’s door and ask to borrow an umbrella.”

Very questionable. Morally insane. But, logistically, very in character. There was no safety net.

I went to bed knowing what was coming.

Six more days. More rain. More doors. More rejections.
And still no coat.

That night felt heavy. Not just because of the hot dogs.
Because the illusion was gone.
This wasn’t a one-time thing. This was the job. This was my life now.
And Monday was already knocking.