Edwin Childress

Bible Salesman

I honestly have no idea what the hell is going on. Why can't I seem to sell any of these fucking Bibles? I'm offering the best goddamn Bible I've ever seen—not some piece-of-shit Bible that'll fall apart before you're halfway through Matthew—and still, everywhere I go, I get the door slammed in my face. What gives?


Yesterday, I was going door-to-door on Sycamore Drive. The first house I went to, this nice-looking old lady opened the door, and the first thing I noticed were these two big fucking crucifixes hanging on her living-room wall. I thought for sure I had a sale in the bag. I thought, if I can't sell a Bible to this woman, Jesus, who in all of God's fucking kingdom can I sell one to?

I didn't waste any time moving in for the sale. I asked the woman how much she'd expect to pay for a handsome Bible with a 32-page full-color insert, a genuine, hand-fucking-crafted leather cover, and a reinforced spine that could take just about any beating she could dish out.


She didn't answer, so I went ahead and answered for her: A fucking hell of a lot more than $14.99, that's for sure!

You can't get workmanship like this from those sons of bitches at Christian Book World, I told her. Just look at the gilded edges on this cocksucker! Take it into your own hands and examine the quality of this hardback volume made with 100 percent acid-free paper, I said.


This Bible will last a fuckin' lifetime. You want a Good Book? This is a good fucking book! You'd have to be brain-dead not to get in on a deal like this. Hell, I said, I'll throw in a motherfucking "Parables & Miracles Of Christ" bookmark for absolutely free!

I poured my heart out on that doorstep, and do you think I earned one red son-of-a-bitching cent? Nope. I tried not to show my disappointment, though, and acted real professional. When I left, I waved and said, "Thank you, ma'am, perhaps some other time."


Why does this happen day after day? I'm offering one seriously nice Bible for a goddamn song. Still, I've got three fucking crates of them sitting in the trunk of my car. Christ!

It can't be me, 'cause I know I'm a good salesman. I worked for 14 years at Jensen Used Auto Parts, and I was the top man in sales six years running. Before that, I sold plumbing fixtures and made a goddamn fortune on commissions.


At this point, I have no choice but to contact the Beechwood Bible Company and complain, because I'm doing everything their official Bible salesman's handbook says I should do.

First, it says, Greet the customer in a friendly manner. I do that. I flash a big smile and say, "How the hell are you doing today?"


Number two, it says, Politely ask, "May have a moment of your time?" I've started reading the sentence right out of the handbook, just to prove I'm doing things to the letter. I say, "Ma'am, may I have a moment of your time?" If she says no, I leave. If she says yes, I say, "Thank you, I won't be long. I know you're probably extremely busy keeping up this big-ass house of yours."

Step three is to present the product. Well, fuck—that's the easy part! This fucking Bible should sell itself! It has everything: It's got the New Fucking Testament, it's got the Old Fucking Testament. It's got a full index and supplemental material in the back. It even has all the shit Jesus said conveniently highlighted in red ink.


I guess this proves people just aren't religious anymore. The Word of God must mean nothing to people nowadays. Christ Almighty, that's just fucking sad.