peter's college fund

So this teenage kid knocked on the door as I was headed out this evening to pick up Chinese. I refuse to have food delivered to my house; it's the laziest form of self-indulgence.

"So." Big sigh, knowing eye-roll. "What's your gig?" I asked him.

"Well, my name's Peter, and I'm trying to..."

"Wait. You're not selling anything, are you?"

"No, no," Peter said, looking a little frightened. He had lovely blue eyes and a rather large zit on his cheek. He's very cute. "See, if you order the Times from me, I get points.."

"I hate the Times. Do you know what a crappy paper the Times is? Just look at this print quality. It's out of registration. How can you expect me to subscribe to a paper that referred to our ex-president--in its editorial, written by its editor-in-chief--as President 'Clifton'?"

"Well, uh...I get points for college, and it's half-price for a year."

"College? What are you, 12" I asked. He looked 12.

"I'm 17," he said indignantly. But he was smiling.

"What are you going to college for?"

"Uh...uh...sales?"

"Sales? Not judging by THIS exchange. Consider another major."

"Uh...business?"

"Better, but you have to be more specific. What do you WANT to do? What's your gut tell you to go to college for?"

"Psychology." He still looked a little tentative, but he seemed to be enjoying the conversation. Let's put it this way: the broad hasn't sent him running screaming from the porch.

"Hah. There you go. You can use psychology in sales AND in business. That's more like it. A major you can sink your teeth into."

"Yeah, I like psychology. I like to help people."

"Ok then." I didn't want to subscribe to this dirtrag of a local paper. Occasionally one of the boys might be in it for something, but usually other suckers who subscribe will alert me to it so I can get a copy.

I dug out ten bucks from my wallet.

"I can't subscribe to this nonsense. Here. Put this in your college fund."

He looked at me suspiciously, but then you could see he was debating in his head if it was a Big Mac or a six of Bud for dinner. He smiled.

"And I mean, your college fund. No booze. No broads. No drugs. No cigarettes. No gambling. No junk food. Got it?"

He got scared again. "Uh, yeah, ok.."

"I mean it, Peter. College fund. I know your name and where you live, I saw it on the form. Yes?"

I started down the steps and he joined me.

"Ok, sure. Thanks. You're a nice person." There, see? He was already putting his psychology major to work.

Then he scampered off to the the next-door neighbors. Nice to see young, enterprising kids these days are still trudging door to door, begging for money the old-fashioned way.