I am glad that I'm not a salesperson.
That my life does not depend on the pitch of my sales or the whims of my buyers
That I do not have to run from pillar to post trying to sell my wares.
That I do not have to cow down, bow down, grovel before these pillars and posts made of unmoving concrete.
That I do not have to turn into a wily fox, to devise new ways, each one more devious than the next to trap the unwary customer.
That I do not have to morph into a crafty mind reader, catching a poor buyer at the point where he is most vulnerable, to induce him to buy what I have to sell.
That I do not have to sell myself to sell my goods.
That I do not have to display Oscar worthy histrionics to coerce a stoic man into a malleable hapless buyer.
That I do not have to face rejection of varied hues: a blank see-right-through stare of pure ignoring, a sweet, sweet smile veiling a complete disinterest,  a promise ("of course", "sure") that is never honoured, an exhausting haggle that never culminates into a sale, a barrage of undiluted rudenesses, bottles of unwanted advice, flings of veiled abuse and many such others things.
That I do not have to lock up my obese self respect and puncture my bloated ego when I step out each day to sell what I have to sell.
That, at the end of the day, I do not have to open my faded purse with a jittery hand and count the notes and the coins to see whether they add up to enough for tomorrow's lunch.

I thank my stars that I am not a salesperson.


PS: Dear Readers, do not forget to buy Of This and That, a meandering of verses written by Indrakhi Bhattacharjee Mandal, an aspiring poet. I know her well. Her writing is not that bad. You can hazard a look without any risk.