Moral dilemmas and kissing the bumper of a Kenworth

            When I was selling liquor I had a territory that covered 3000 miles in a month.  I was responsible for 144 accounts in my territory and covered every type of retailer you could work with in my industry.  I sold ½ pints of cheap vodka in the morning in the inner city and then high end wine in the afternoon at a white linen dining establishment.  It was a mental workout just keeping it all organized in my head.

            Compound this by the fact the next highest number of accounts in my division was under 40.  They drove under 1000 miles a month…and yet we got the same amount of reimbursement for fuel…$100.  But that’s not what this post is about.  And yes, I’m still bitter.

            One of my accounts was almost on the South Dakota border.  It was so far north the owner of the account only needed to see me, in person, once a month.  Everything else was done by phone.  With that kind of understanding I made it a point to show up when I promised them no matter what the conditions.

            One fall day I was up at the bottle shop enjoying a pickle.  (They added extra salt to these gigantic kosher pickles and they were amazing)  The bottle shop was close to a Native American reservation, so a majority of the patrons were natives.  As I was talking to the owner in walked a man who took my totally by surprise.

            The man was walking with a cane and his face looked like Frankenstein.  And by that I mean his face was covered with scars from where they had stitched his face back together at one point.  His eyes were milky white and he spoke with a slur through a mouth that was missing most of the teeth.

            He ordered a pint of vodka and slowly shuffled out.  The owner of the bottle shop said “see you in a bit!”.  Slightly taken back by the shape of the man I asked what the story was.

            Apparently our friend lived a few blocks away.  He was known to drink a lot and one day ran out of booze before he passed out.  So, he walked up to the bottle shop to buy more booze.  On his way out he stumbled into the road in front of the shop.  That’s where he met the front grille of a Kenworth truck hauling grain.

            The impact with the truck stopped his heart.  His body was thrown several yards and the impact with the concrete restarted his heart.  He was rushed to the hospital and was stitched back up, lucky to be alive. 

            After many surgeries and a long recovery process our friend also won his law suit against the trucker and/or trucking company.  When he got back home he threw a huge party…where he got drunk and ran out of booze.

            He staggered up to the bottle shop and bought a 1.75 of vodka this time.  On the way out of the shop and back to his house a pickup truck lost control and hit him with a glancing shot. 

            He also sued this driver and after his recovery he threw yet another party.  At this point I was waiting for the punch line of the joke.  I’m sure you’re doing the same thing reading this right now…or you’re yelling at your monitor. 

            At the party he ran out of booze again.  …I’ll spare you the details but it was a car this time.  And he sued them as well.  Luckily he learned his lesson and didn’t throw a party this time.

            Basically this man had been detonated and rebuilt several times over.  He lived in constant pain and was unable to work.  Luckily he was able to live off the settlements from his accidents and was financially set.

            I asked my customer why he still came up to the shop.  “Oh it takes him an hour and a half to walk up here.”  I was speechless.  “He’s only a few blocks away but the walk slows his drinking down.  That’s why he only buys the pints of vodka.”  Just then another local walked in and commented on the man I was just starting to comprehend. 

            “Hes walking a lot better these days…maybe that car knocked something back into place.”  The man said as I sat there horrified.

            Apparently this man had come to terms with being an alcoholic.  His method of control was to only buy pints of vodka from the store up the street.  His 3 hour round trip and the hours of operation meant he was only there 3 or 4 times a day and didn’t get that drunk.

            This story has been the center of a 10 year struggle in my head.  While I wasn’t directly responsible for this mans shattered life, he was drinking my brand of vodka.  I had no control over what people do with the stuff once I sell it to a retailer but was I “allowed” to feel bad for this guy?

            As the person who sent cases of pints of vodka up each month, assumedly for this one man, was I contributing to this? 

            It was this story and several others that ultimately lead to me leaving the company.  Well…and several other things.  But the stories like this haunt me to this day.

            The only thing I have been able to find comfort in is where my responsibility ended.  There are just as many people who bought my products to celebrate something beautiful in life as there were people destroying theirs. 

            People make THEIR choices in life.  Some make good choices and others make bad ones.  Ultimately if you’re selling a product or products that can potentially ruin lives you need to be ready for this observation.  I made the choice to pay my bills and build my life by using my skills.  In this iteration my skills for creative problem solving and customer relationships made me a damn good liquor rep, but it doesn’t absolve me of the guilt.