This morning, I went into the office, turned in my orders, and returned my newspaper sales materials.

I met the sales manager, who was also entering at the same time, as I walked into the door. When he saw me carrying my stand, he said, "Uh oh, this doesn't look good."

I told him that I couldn't work for wages that amounted to less than minimum wage. Instead of going up, as I had hoped, my sales have gradually gone down since I started. This past weekend was the last straw.

His response: "The money is out there. You just need to improve on how you get it."

Up until this point, I thought there might have still been some small chance that I could be convinced to stay in it a little longer. Maybe negotiate placement in some better stores, or something. Obviously, this response was not what I was looking for.

Though he may be perfectly content for me to continue to work on "improving my technique" while I make crap in the slum stores in the meantime, I am not.

I turned in my materials, confident that I had made the right decision.

I went back and met with mom, dad, and bouncing before the airport. (It might have been called breakfast, except nobody was eating anything. bouncing and mom drank coffee though.)

My dad apologized for getting me into this mess. He said he didn't realize they were going to be giving the new guys such a large proportion of totally crappy stores. He told me that if he had been given the string of bad luck stores I have gotten, he likely wouldn't have done much better. (He has worked the bad ones in the past, but his have usually been interspersed with better ones. I suppose this is due to his veteran status.)

He won't be referring any more people to the operation, and will likely discontinue his own involvement (provided another venture he is working on pans out).

We all went to wish bouncing off at the airport.

The future once again is as it has always been: Unknown.