"Beware of deals in parachutes, brain surgery, and tattoos." --Miller Cotton, tattoo parlor owner.
Dwayne Dearth goes door to door selling goods and services, but he doesn't call himself a traveling salesman. "I specialize in changing lives by selling people the things they don't even know they need," he says, his eyes glowing with evangelical fervor. "It's not a job. It's a ministry."
Dearth, 47, pursues his ministry in small towns across the midwest, where stay-at-home moms and elderly shut-ins welcome his visits, eager to see the new items he's added to his line: auto-accupuncture kits one month, bikini-wax booths the next. "The cockfighting starter kits were selling like Tupperware last season," he says, "but the market got saturated pretty quick. I mean, how many cockfighting parties can one soccer mom host?"
Today he's showing his new line of home brain surgery kits to Norene Stinkel, 82, of Glimpse, Iowa, and her 37-year-old daughter, Wanda. "That genuine naugahyde carrying case sure looks sharp," says Norene, "but does it come in red? Wanda likes red."
Wanda rocks back and forth on the sofa, looking intently in Dwayne's direction. "Red," she says. "Red."
"She don't talk much," explains Norene, "but she sure do like Dwayne. Once when I got her the do-it-yourself root canal kit, she got so tickled I had to lock her in the closet. Last month I got her the tattoo gun. Wanda honey, show the nice lady your tattoo."
Wanda shyly pulls up her shirt to reveal a vivid red heart tattoo with the name "Dwane" centered upside-down just above the belly button.
"Not bad for a amateur, is it?" says Norene. "She practiced on the cat first."
Dwayne beamed with pride. "These are the kinds of folks that make my life worth living," he says. "If I can bring one spark of sunshine, one hint of joy into the lives of these people, then I can die a happy man."
But will he die a rich man? Dwayne admits that he has taken a beating on some items that just didn't sell. "The Create-an-Antibiotic kits were a mistake," he said, "and I've got a whole storage unit full of Insta-Subs. One little incident involving a rogue nuclear submarine and all of a sudden the bottom falls out of the market."
Dwayne seems well on his way to making a sale today. "I've got you down for one home brain surgery kit with the red naugahyde case, and since you're such good customers I'm willing to throw in a genuine military surplus parachute in its original packaging, never been used, complete with harness and instructions, only $14.99."
"Red!" says Wanda, clapping her hands. Norene reaches for her walker and moves slowly toward the kitchen to find her checkbook.
As we leave the Stinkels' tiny house, Dwayne gives the women warm hugs, but by the time he turns around he's already thinking about the next customer on his list. "Next up is the Cornfords," he explains. "They'll love this new line of personal hair transplant products. You know you might think about getting one for the man in your life--he can kill two birds with one stone, get rid of some unsightly back hair while he starts a new crop on top. Only $27.99 plus postage."
As our time nears its end, I ask Dwayne whether he ever plans to stop selling.
"God rested on the seventh day, but Dwayne Dearth doesn't stop selling," he insists. "As long as there's someone out there who needs what I've got, I won't stop until I find 'em. Today do-it-yourself psychoanalysis, tomorrow lessons in advanced Sanskrit. There's always another product, and there's always another buyer. The challenge is in bringing 'em together. That's what I do best."
"By the way," he adds, "did you ever think about taking up forklift repair?"
To read the article that inspired this entry, go to:
http://www.thekansascitychannel.com/news/6447791/detail.html?subid=22100413&qs=1;bp=t
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