People Person

“Wait – Tony, Tony can you hear me?”

I turn the volume on my phone all the way up, disconnecting the call from the Mercedes. No service out here in BFE (bum-fucking-Egpyt). And quite literally, too.

Well, as long as Egypt – the remote Appalachian village of 250 residents – in eastern Kentucky counts.

“Tony, just repeat the address one more time for me, will you? My service keeps going in and out.”

“6...66… Chayne …. Saugh Lane,” came the jagged sounds of Tony’s voice through the phone’s speaker.

“Tony,” I chuckle, “you’re kidding me, right? 666 Chainsaw Lane?”

“No-oo,” came more cackled remnants from my investment manager. “It’s… spelled… in… like… a French way.”

“Riiiiight. Anyway, dude’s name is what, again?”

“Do… you… read… any… your… emails… ass… hole?”

“Of course not,” I shoot back. “I’m just the pretty face for your commercials and postcards.”

“Name… John… Doe…”

“Mr. John Doe of 666 Chayne Saugh Lane. I’m sure he is wonderful at parties.”

“Collin… you … prick…”

“Oh, I love when you tell me sweet nothings, Tony,” I tease. “Call you later.” I end the call and enter the address in the GPS.

It’s only a 25-minute drive, but with each minute I’m taken deeper and deeper into the Appalachian woods. No streetlamps, of course.

The dwindling light from the late afternoon struggles to make it through the dense tree canopies as I get closer to John Doe’s home. Which, at this point, seems like it may be the only home in the entire area. I look outside my driver’s side window at the silhouette of trees, the forest beyond them like a black void. This place is really having me embrace nature, I like it.

Finally, I see a rusted mailbox, stuffed with rolls of newspaper suffocating on top of one another, dangling on a wood post with “666” engraved on its side.

This must be the place!

I pull into an overgrown, dirt driveway that looks as if it hasn’t seen a vehicle in ages. It is long and winding, and then about an acre in, I see a small ranch home nestled between crowded trees. Cozy!

All of the timber siding is rotted, and aged two-by-fours are haphazardly nailed across every window. The grass is tall, and reaches all the way up to the middle of the windows. This dude needs a lawnmower.

I step out of the car and begin the trek to the house, my eyes on the ground in case I step in a hole or even worse, animal feces. This guy seems like the type to have a few feral dogs running around.

But as I head to the front door, I see something metal sticking out of the grass. What the…

I narrowly miss the bear trap.

“Jesus H. Christ!” I catch my breath. This guy takes home security very seriously. Avoiding any further booby-traps, I make it to the door and give it a knock. I wait a minute or two until I hear slow, heavy footsteps approaching from inside the house.

John Doe begins to open the door.

Creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeak.

Holy shit, these hinges need some gnarly greasing. The door continues its painful scream as he deliberately takes time to unveil himself.

Finally, with the door fully open, I take in his appearance.

John Doe is extraordinarily tall, his shaved head inches from the ceiling. He wears a canvas apron that extends past his knees, sporting all kinds of miscellaneous spills and stains. His nails are unusually long, and his hands are caked with what could be dirt or some other unidentifiable dried substance. But what is most striking about John Doe is his face.

Well, only because I cannot see it because it's disguised by a filthy hockey mask. The only visible feature I can see are the gray eyes staring at me like he’s trying to infiltrate my soul.

Not everyone cares about being fashion-forward, I get it. And who likes seeing salespeople at your front door? No one. But it’s time for business.

First step. If a client opens the door, give your spiel as fast as you possibly can.

“Hi, Mr. Doe, is it? I’m Collin, Collin Smith of Fib Investments, a leading firm that specializes in identifying key tourism prospects for up-and-coming communities and offering life-changing opportunities for its current residents. We have found that Egypt, full of quaint charm and wonderful mountain views, is just the place that travelers want to visit on vacation to escape the city life. And sir, your house sits on prime real estate.

John Doe stands silent in the doorway, yet to break his stare. Sweet – he’s interested.

“But you seem like the kind of guy that likes people to give it to him straight, John. Is it okay if I call you ‘John?’ Got your name off the city records. So here’s the deal: We’re going to buy your house for an exorbitant amount of money, kick you out, demo the place, rebuild it with the cheapest materials possible, then list it as an AirBnB to get rich, yuppy couples to spend $500 a night here – not including the cleaning fee – so we can make even more money than we offered you to bulldoze this shithole. In short, I could say we’re experts in gentrifying everyone’s favorite hidden-gem neighborhoods and converting them into little tourism pits. But – we’ll make you rich. How does that sound?”

John Doe continues to stand like a statue. Dude hasn’t even blinked yet.

Whew – this is going to be a hook-line-and-sinker sale.

“And, I got even better news for you, John,” I continue, “if you let me in for a tour and show me that the inside of this house has even greater value… I can write more zeroes on this blank check of mine so that by next week, you’ll be shirtless on a beach in Cabo drinking a mai-tai out of coconut. Does that sound like a good deal to you, John?”

I put on my best salesperson smile and dazzle him with my pearl-white veneers.

John Doe turns back inside his house, leaving the door open. I can tell he is a man selectful with his words – I like it. I take this as an invitation to enter.

The front door leads right into what some may call a living room. Except this living room has no furniture or light fixtures. It’s just a plain, open room with John standing in the center.

“Wow! Very spacious,” I compliment. “You take down some of the wood on all the boarded-up windows and I bet this place has stellar natural lighting.”

John, silent and stoic, continues to stare.

I swear this dude has not blinked ONCE.

From this vantage point, I can see the kitchen. I mean, the place is small. Cramped even. I begin to walk to it, John not making an attempt to lead the way, and take in my surroundings with my back to him.

The kitchen is mostly barren. There is a small fridge, a utility sink full of what looks like clothes, purses, and shoes, and a stove littered with pots and pans, with gnats doing figure-eights over the range.

“You know, you have a very minimalistic vibe going on here, John. Very on trend.”

I turn around and John inches away from me. Wow! For as massive as he is, he was silent as a mouse.

I gesture to his apron, “I notice you’ve gotten quite a lot of use from your apron! Big cook, I take it? Like to grill? I just got some Wagyu beef as a gift from one of our clients. I’m stoked to go home and cook it up.” I won’t do this. “Have you ever had wagyu before, John?”

John says nothing.

“Yeah, it’s not for everyone, I get it. Sometimes, I prefer the good ole’ sirloin.” I’m vegan.

After our conversation in the kitchen, he leads me down the hall to what appears to be a bedroom. But once again, there’s no furniture in it to indicate its use. The only thing in the room is some avant-garde wall decor. Mostly just handcuffs chained to the wall. I look down on the floor and see brown puddles of what could be dried blood.

“Oooh, original hardwood floors. None of that laminate shit. This is definitely adding another zero to your check, sir.”

I leave the room not expecting him to reply and hope he takes my eagerness as a sign to continue the tour.

He leads me further down the hall to a barricaded door with five lock systems. John reaches under his apron and starts fidgeting with his belt. He pulls out a massive iron ring full of keys.

John takes his time opening the locks and then steps aside to open the door.

The door has the same creak as the front, except this time, an odor creeps up the stairs that burns my nose.

There are no lights, but I assume this must be the basement. It’s where I’d keep all my smelly shit, too.

John watches my expression as if waiting for me to say something. I just smile.

He steps in front of me and starts walking down the steps in the pitch black. I follow him, waving my hands around trying to feel for a railing, until I hear John reach for something metal-sounding. John pulls a chain and a single light bulb flickers on as I reach the bottom step.

The basement is a small box of gray concrete. There are no laundry machines or moving boxes or Christmas decorations. Just a few human bodies piled in the corner. I pinch my nose and tip-toe to the carcasses. Yep – dead.

I look back at John. “Alright, so we got an unfinished basement,” I look at the bodies, “and a small rodent problem. But guess what – no biggie. We can work with this! We’re going to demo this hunk of junk anyway.”

John blinks. I think I sold the deal, hell yeah. I follow him back up the stairs until we are standing face to face in the living room.

“So after the tour, I’m happy to add another zero to your check, Mr. Doe,” I extend my hand and offer a handshake. He continues his million-dollar stare. I continue anyway, “Fib Investments will buy this property for $475,000. We can direct deposit this into your account in about 48 hours if you’re willing to digitally sign a few papers?”

John blinks.

“Great! I’ll go get my iPad out of the car. You’re going to be a rich man, my friend! Congrats.”

After I go through all the legal mumbo-jumbo bullshit with John and he lets me sign his signature for him, I say my goodbye and head to my car to leave.

The sun is just starting to set and I wait until I’m out of Egypt to give Tony a call. He answers after two rings.

“Collin – you have service. Cool, you’re not dead. So how was it?”

“Smooth as butter. Dude looked like he’d never seen an iPad before. Psh, boomers. But, I need to tell you something. Something I saw today… I need to get it off my chest.”

“What? What is it?” Tony says hastily.

“Inside John Doe’s home I saw… ”

“Saw what? Spit it out, Collin!”

“I saw… I saw my future, Tony. Minimalism. I am deep cleaning my apartment when I get back, dude. I am SO inspired right now.”

“Great. So happy for you,” he says, slick with sarcasm. “Anyway, congrats on another sale, brother. You just made us another million richer.”

“What can I say?” I joke to Tony. “I’m just really good with people.”