All Sales are Final

“Well there she is! Ain’t she a beaut?”

An old man of at least eighty years pointed at an even older red barn. Its doors crisscrossed with faded white stripes, splashed with dirt. At least Joe hoped it was dirt. This was a barn after all. Could manure be flung onto doors? There was a lot to learn about the barn business that Joe was still pretty new to.

“I guess. It does have all it’s walls so that's a bonus.”

“Sure does! Especially with all that duct tape! One of nature’s wonders!”

“I don’t think duct tape is natural.”

“What you think duct tape comes from space!”

The old man slapped Joe in the back and walked forward toward the ominously swaying barn. Joe checked his watch and then checked his phone. He stood up straight and stretched his back, though he didn’t need to stretch it for that long. With a quick glance at his Blue Cross Blue Shield card, he followed the spry octogenarian into the moldy mess held together by kindling and questionable choices.

“Here is where you can put some cows, horses, horse cows-”. The old man elbowed Joe in the ribs. “I’m just kidding. That would be a crime against god and nature. And up there is the loft. Not sure what’s up there. Haven’t been able to climb that ladder since the Macarena.”

Joe walked past four stalls on each side of the barn. There were no gates and some of the walls had massive, non-duct-taped holes in various sizes. There was even a possum staring at him. Just staring. No anger. No fear. Just curious eyes peering into Joe’s soul. Spider webs and ant hills littered the floor along with actual litter from fast food restaurants and pharmacies. And of course, not to forget, the unmistakable smell of feces from several unknown, untraceable sources. It was a fog of poop smell for Joe that made him fully aware of his feet and the floor’s texture.

“Why don’t you head up there and tell me what you see.” The old man said pointing to the loft. “It’s pretty safe. I think. Or whatever.”

Joe, fully confident that it was in fact not safe or just reasonably dangerous but a full on deadly hazard, grabbed the ladder and climbed up. The cracking sound of each step vibrated up his leg, through his spine, and across his chattering teeth. With every movement upward, the ladder moved with twice as much force and three times as much violence. Apparently, this ladder was minding its own business and Joe just walked up to it asking for signature on a petition to save the endangered mosquito.

Joe walked onto the loft, balancing his feet in a stance that was ready to get back on the decrepit ladder at the first sign of danger. After a few seconds to calm his nerves, he looked around at the dusty, wooden floor. There was nothing of any consequence or alarm. Not even a passing sense of dread. It was warm and cozy. There were small hay bales arranged in a way for someone to sit, covered in cloth. Taking a few careful steps forward, Joe noticed a couple of comic books and even a half pack of cigarettes. Some local teenager must have used this place as a hide out. In the corner he spotted a magazine with a woman on the cover with a huge set of breasts. Yup, definitely a teenager. And a poor teenager at that. Does he not have the Internet?

The floor started to creak and moan with Joe’s weight. With bent knees and prediabetes, Joe braced himself for the worst. “Hey, you alright up there?” He heard the old man but paid no mind. His ADHD focus was on the sounds of the floor boards, signaling their forthcoming demise.

Nothing happened. Maybe the floor was just stretching into its position. Joe started to relax and breath again. To stretch his back again, he stood up to his full height. He was going to have to get that checked out at some point, the signs of old age he guessed. Looking over to the magazine, Joe stretched out a hand to grab it. He immediately fell through floor.

“Jesus! You alright buddy? That was a mighty bad fall you got there. I hope you got some good insurance and none of that Obamacare nonsense.”

Joe looked up at the old man. “No, I’m okay. The hay broke my fall, along with this possum.” It screeched at him as it scurried away planning its revenge.

The old man walked Joe back to his car looking dejected. To be fair, the stinky, drafty, moldy barn did almost kill his only potential customer. Pretty sure the salesman’s guide to barn selling starts with and ends with don’t kill the customer.

Joe looked at the old man. Then at the barn. Back to the old man. And then repeated this for the next ten minutes in silence. It was very disconcerting.

“I’ll take it.”

#

The old man got into his truck and peeled out of the drive way with a check in his pocket and Willie Nelson blaring on his radio. He couldn’t get out of there fast enough. You can’t change your mind if the guy who sold it to you isn’t there to take it back. A phone range just as Joe was walking back up to the barn.

“Hey sweetie, we are almost done here.... Yeah everything looks good... Nah, he didn’t try to raise the price, I think he saw we were the only ones calling.... Uh huh.... I do feel good about this. It’s really something. You are going to love it. Out here in nature, with the sounds and sights of life. It’s going to be amazing. You’ll see.... I know.... Ok, well the only thing left to do is to start bringing all the lab equipment and chemicals so we can start making crystal meth. Oh, and sorry for calling you sweetie.... Yeah, that was weird.”

Joe put away his phone and stood in front of the barn with his legs wide in the superman stance with his fist on his hips. In all his struggles, obstacles, and near constant incarceration, things were finally going to turn around. This would be the beginning of good things to come. This would be his very own slice of the American dream.

Making a butt-load of meth.