So, what are you doing this summer? I — um. Well, you see, it's kind of hard to explain. It might also sound a little creepier than it really should. Are you really sure you want to know? Okay, these are the exact words my manager told me not to say: I sell knives. See, I told you it was weird.

But let's go back to how I got there. I had just found out that my school didn't need another camp counselor and I was cruising Craigslist.org, looking for anybody (and I really mean anybody) that would hire a 17-year-old for the summer. And I stumbled upon an entry that read something along the lines of, "We're looking for energetic people who are outgoing and ready to control their own work schedule, but still make money. You don't need any experience, training provided." Thinking it would be a long shot, I set up my interview with a company about which I knew nothing and for which I couldn't find a website.

The interview site was a sketchy-looking place near USF; for all I knew, I was about to be brainwashed into joining a cult. The décor was a collection of silver cups and trophies — and Samurai-ish swords. I was definitely the youngest person in the room, but I wasn't nervous. I thought I could do anything (even fight somebody with one of the swords on the wall). And then the interview started. Thousands of what-ifs filled my head, until I got comfortable with my spot in the interview group (I'm the annoying one who takes unnecessary amounts of notes and raises her hand to answer every single question). And then I heard the words that I needed to hear, the name of what we would be selling. I am a representative working with Vector Marketing to sell CUTCO cutlery.

When I heard the name "CUTCO," I breathed a sigh of relief. It was a name I knew. I knew other people who had had the same job. I knew it would work out. And it did: I was offered a spot in the training class a few weeks hence, made it through, and after three days of sports metaphors I didn't understand, I was on edge and ready to cut.

I scheduled five appointments on my first day. The hardest presentation was (surprisingly) with my parents. They had seen the demo before and were purposefully difficult — interrupting with questions they knew I couldn't answer, grabbing at my presentation notebook while I was talking, and saying "No, it is not alright to use the training manual."

I haven't done enough presentations to have gathered war stories like some other representatives, but thus far I have been greeted by a naked toddler and a woman with a tutu on her head. I'm a fairly clumsy person, so I drop things from time to time (usually my shears or a spoon), but in one appointment I got nervous and dropped my entire felt of seven knives, spilling them everywhere, causing the customer to speculate (out loud) why I was hired to do this. One of my favorites was a customer who said to me on the phone, "I think I have some CUTCO, but I'll listen to your presentation anyways." When I got to her house, she showed me the knife that she thought was CUTCO, but upon closer examination revealed that it was an impostor made in Japan (all CUTCO is handmade in Olean, NY).

In this job, I've learned that you get to see many different sides of humanity. But there are a few things that always get the same reaction. For instance, when I say that the green ring of crud around the rivets on your knife is food that's gotten stuck there, I always get a look of complete disgust.

Hannah Walk is a senior at Tampa Preparatory School. She is interning with Creative Loafing this month and will enter Emory University in the fall.

This article appears in May 20-26, 2009.