D began his career selling hardware items: nails, saws, hammers, handles and magic eye door viewers, brand name Kramp.
The first time he left the guesthouse where he lived with a sample case in hand, he couldn’t work up the courage to step inside the leading hardware store in the city, which back then was just a town, until he’d walked past it thirty-eight times.
His first sales attempt happened the same day man took a step on the moon. The townspeople assembled in the square to watch the moon landing thanks to a projector that the mayor had wheeled out to his office balcony, which cast the moving image onto a white sheet. As it played no sound, the fire brigade band provided the backing track.
When D saw Neil Armstrong take his first step on the moon, he thought that anything was possible—all it took was the right attitude and the right outfit.
So the next day, after approaching the hardware store for the thirty-ninth time, he stepped inside it in the most polished shoes the city had ever seen and offered his Kramp products to the person in charge. Nails, saws, hammers, handles and magic eye door viewers. He didn’t close a sale, but he was told to come back the following week.
D treated himself to a coffee and jotted down on the serviette: Every life has its own moon landing.
Later, when D told his father that man had reached the moon, his father said it was an out-and-out hoax, that God created man with his feet on the ground and with no wings to speak of, and everything else was lies spouted by the president of the United States.
Either way, the following week D made his own small step for mankind: he sold a half-dozen saws and a dozen magic eye door viewers. When he left the hardware store with the order inside his suitcase, he felt that all moments of happiness, large and small, deserved to be projected in a town square.
Read the rest at The Nashville Review.