One great thing about my job is that I’ve been to half a dozen towns around the state in a week. I’m pretty sure I’ve met the best and worst this state has to offer. And all of their dogs.
Home of Northern Colorado University. About an hour north of Denver. Greeley is an old cowtown with as many historical landmarks as condemned buildings. Students, rednecks, old folks and white trash all refused to give me money. I still did well thanks to an nice old lady with a beautiful yard and a woman who runs a doggy day care.
This is the backyard of a nice biker guy and his wife who gave me 50 bucks. Notice the elaborate carved furniture setup surrounding a pond. You can also see on the swing, he has an antique Gibson from the 1930s that he can’t bring himself to sell.
Greeley smells like shit. Cow shit. It also has this strange canal running right through town. Those are houses on the edge there, along with thick growth that makes a canopy over the water. This canal causes a mosquito problem.
I canvassed this cookie-cutter neighborhood on the edge of town. I did pretty well here, I think because the houses are built by green standards. All of the homes are brand new, some not yet finished. As much as I dislike the suburbs for their boredom and hidden misery, there was something about this neighborhood that I loved. Every home I lived in as a kid was a new house in a new subdivision in the suburbs. I think the shiny new homes with construction equipment and bulldozers lingering around is very much the landscape of home for me. The new soil, mulch, sprinklers, piles of dirt in the road. I felt very comfortable and safe; optimistic. I met several young couples starting families that had this giddy excitement about the future. I also had my favorite completion in this neighborhood: An older couple wanted to become members, but were low on cash. They were Messianic Jews and clearly devout. They looked at each other and contemplated for about 20 seconds in silence, and the man finally said, “Yah-weh would want us to do this.”
Colorado Springs, CO
The most beautiful turf I canvassed was also filled the worst humans I’ve canvassed. This part of C-Springs was all mansions nestled in the mountains. The afternoon was physically exhausting from all of the walking up hills. I expected rich people in the mountains were going to shower me with contributions. Wrong. They were old, conservative, hateful, escapist assholes, for the most part. The most common response was closing the door in my face as I was talking. Once a short, Mexican servant answered a door, and after hearing me out she told me that the mistress of the house could not come to the door. I was also chased by a dog, and had security called on me twice. The security guard had no recourse, but kept trying to scare me away by saying she had been receiving complaints. When I just shrugged, she said that I also ran the risk of being attacked by Mountain Lions. I told her that I had never seen one before, and looked forward to it. She just drove off.
A short polo shirt-wearing fuck stood next to his identical polo shirt-wearing fuck son and told me straight-faced, “I’m all for money-making,” and closed the door. He didn’t care about industry razing the forest because he’s all for money-making. I walked away thinking, When the revolution comes, I’m heading straight for your door asshole. I’m gonna burn your house and family to the ground using your riches as fuel. I would think this several times that day. This was my worst fund-raising day yet. I saw two deer and a fox.
This is the view from the courtyard of a house:
These are construction paper awards I won for having some of the best nights of the week. My top was $320 in Loveland. I’m supposed to pin these up on a bulletin board, but it’s all a little bit kindergarten for me. What I want is a raise. Save your construction paper. I also don’t like the little green bear, because I think it implies luck. My shit is skill. I’m like a canvassing scientist. Stay tuned for more on the cult-like behaviors of non-profit groups. I hate these Lance Armstrong bracelets because all they mean is that you spent a dollar to support a charity. A bride-to-be gave Face and I these bracelets at a bar the other night. I like it because not only is it a meaningless, token charity bracelet, but I didn’t even pay for it.