Marketing: Week Eight

Sold one “Cheesesteak” to a physician/acquaintance at the French, one to a physician/acquaintance at the Claremont, and one to a prior customer there, who wanted it as a gift for a friend. Sold a “Best Ride” to a painter/acquaintance at the French, who became the first buyer where I got to use the gizmo that allows me to take credit cards on my iPhone. Boy, that was cool!

But my July Fourth Weekend Sale (“Buy One; Get One Free”) produced zilch. The closest was a woman who engaged me in conversation as she carried her latte and muffin from the French’s counter. “My hands are already full,” she concluded, resisting my charms. When she finished, she exited through the door where she would not have to pass me.

As for feedback, a professor emeritus of molecular and developmental biology, another former resident of Powelton Village (See p. 82), who had lost a best friend to heroin and considered himself another ’60s “survivor,” was impressed by my evocation of the times. And “Max Garden”‘s widow thanked me for writing the book — and cried. (Between tears, she noted mine was the only record of their wedding (p. 86) that existed. She did recall a dog, also in attendance, which had failed to impress itself upon me.)

Though not directly on point, I also received a note from the 24-year-old Serbia-born woman I mentioned a blog or two ago. She wrote that “Outlaws, Rebels” had “deepened (her) understanding and appreciation of the beauty and struggle of truly free-thinking creators” and influenced her present work. “Your fan,” she signed it.

When I ask myself why I keep doing this, that will be good to remember.