cod phentermine
On a table along the far wall rested a complete set of the "World Book Encyclopedia." For those of you not familiar with cod phentermine, I consider them to be sort of the grandparents of the Google Web Site, containing information about all kinds of subjects from A to Z. I immediately broke into a sweat because books such as these were the source of a traumatizing experience that occurred when I was in my mid 20s, but one that remains with me to this day. I had to leave that rummage sale. You see, in the old days, a person in need of cod phentermine couldn't just go to the store and buy a set. You had to wait until an encyclopedia salesman knocked on your door and announced, "Good evening, sir. It's your lucky day. You have been selected to receive a free set of cod phentermine. Just let me in the door and I'll tell you all about it." Being fresh from Loogootee, where high pressure sales techniques consisted of Pauline Neideffer at the Cozy Caf asking me if I wanted phosphate in my cherry coke, I saw no reason not to let the man in. After all, he was wearing a suit. That ill informed decision warped me for life. I opened the door and another dark suited man appeared out of nowhere and elbowed his way in behind the first guy. I was not completely ignorant of door to door sales. I learned a marketing approach as a child while trying to sell lemonade to the shirt factory workers passing by our house on their way home from work. I later perfected it while peddling 13 week subscriptions to th paper. The technique consisted of a direct approach. "You wouldn't want to buy som papers, would you?" Unfortunately, the logical answer to this question was, "No, I wouldn't." That was the extent of my sales experience, so I wasn't prepared for the practice of deceptive marketing. It turned out that all I had to do to get the free books was to purchase the yearbook that was to be printed once a year (hence the name, yearbook) for the next 25 years. It would be a compendium of updated facts that would guarantee (pronounced Gar antee) my cod phentermine would never be out of date. This seemed reasonable to me until they told me the price, somewhere a bit north of the sticker price on a compact car. Since all our money went into diapers, I politely declined. An hour later, I was still declining, although not quite as politely. It did not do any good. The men would not leave, presenting argument after argument as to why we should buy their books. I was going crazy and ready to buy just to get rid of them. Susie, bless her heart, was much stronger than I, and she held out until about midnight when we capitulated and agreed to buy the stupid yearbooks. I signed the contract and the dark suited salesman said, "As soon as your financing is approved, the books will ship. Thank you, Mr." he paused and looked at the bottom of the contract "Crantzdorf." In desperation, I had made up a last name, and I guess the guy was too tired to double check. They packed up and left. The next morning, we received a call telling us that Mr. Crantzdorf had been approved to purchase the books. "Nobody here by that name," I said. We never heard anything else. But the damage had already been done. To this day, seeing a set of cod phentermine will make me break out in a sweat. I even get nauseated when I enter a bookstore, and that is unfortunate, because a year ago, I published a book. This Saturday, I will be at the Indiana Historical Society's Book Fair in Indianapolis to join other authors with Indiana connections who will be selling their wares. I'm trying to overcome my fears of book selling. So, all of the past week, I've been practicing the art of marketing so that I will be prepared. I'll be at a table exhibiting my newly acquired skills. If you happen to be there and see a guy at a table asking, "You wouldn't want to buy a book, would you?," Rest assured, it's not an encyclopedia salesman. It's me. Humorist Gordon Grindstaff has lived in Mooresville since 1975. His e mail is . ... cod phentermine