Commentary It was the summer of 1989, and I was working a job that robbed the season of all the joy that so many associate with the months in between school. I was selling door to door 1,500 miles from home. On foot. In rural Illinois. This comes up because a co-worker was doing the same difficult job; albeit by car. Marco Perez drove from neighborhood to neighborhood, only to park his car upon arrival ahead of knocking on the doors of strangers. Soon enough Marco was spending more time in his air-conditioned auto than suffering the indignity of curtains closing as he walked up to front doors. At least in the 11-2 hours. What changed? Well, the job was pretty awful. While nearly all work has a sales quality to it, inveigling one’s way into houses manned by skeptical mothers and fathers brings new meaning to “cold call.” All …