When I was in 8th grade, our fiercely challenging, academically stringent, hard-knocks Catholic school sponsored a week-long class ski trip in the middle of the school year. Reach for those accredited stars, Sacred Heart School. Anyway, we sold overpriced wrapping paper to pay for it – the kind where the company would award the top seller with White Sox tickets. Laura Bales would always kick ass because her dad would take the order form to work and have all his coworkers go bananas on it. My dad worked by himself. And I was a shit salesperson. Still am. I so take no for an answer. More...