My Dream of Being a Traveling Salesman

As a child, I dreamed of becoming a traveling salesman. Every April, my mom and dad did their taxes. My grandma took my brother and me down to Marriot’s (Great America) for a few days to get out of 1040’s way. My brother loved the log ride and the bumper cars; I loved the Ramada Inn where we stayed.
I told my grandma, “I love motels. They are so much more fun than home. I want to be a traveling salesman when I grow up.”
“Don’t you want to go to be a doctor or lawyer?”
“No. I like eating breakfast at Denny’s. It is fun having the waitress ask me how big I am and the truckers ask me how long it’s gonna be until I get big enough to handle a big rig.”
“That’s not what being a traveling salesman is about,” my grandma said. It is about being away from your family and being alone on the road.”
“Do I get to stay in motels like this one?” I asked.
“Well, yes, I suppose,” she said. “But why would you want to do that.”
“I like the way Denny’s and motels smell.” I said.
“That is an awful thing to say for a boy your age.”
“I just do,” I said. “I just like the way they smell.”
“Well, if that makes you happy. Just you don’t smoke.”
“I promise I won’t. I just like Denny’s and motels. Maybe I’ll become a football player.”
“I guess you could do that,” she said.

Motel photo by Andy Fletcher

Tags: Humor