No Sale

I had just come home from a 12-hour shift. My kids weren't eating, my wife was hating her life because of that, the dog had just eaten one of the kid's sausages, and I saw a spider. A BIGGGGG fucking spider about the size of Rhode Island, smoking, and listening to rap. Needless to say, knocking on my door in a sing-song kind of way, thinking it would be a light-hearted attempt at establishing rapport probably wasn't in this guy's best interest. Especially at 9AM, at my address, at this moment. Did you get all that? Essentially, it was a bad idea, a wrong idea. He couldn't be more wrong if he decided to dry hump a lamp shade at Walmart. Just....well, bad idea.

For starters, who usually comes knockin' at 9AM on a weekday? Missionaries, mostly. "I am here to talk about Jesus." OK, shoot. "Well it all started when Joseph Smith peered inside a gopher hole and the Angel Moroni gave him a golden Trapper Keepe..." **SLAM** At least, that has been my experience. If you are Mormon and you just got offended, I won't apologize for religious expression. You have your God and I have mine, and if I hear one more time they are the same, I might go Davidian. I am getting off track. I hate it when that happens. It seems I can never sta...OMG LOOK AT THE BOUNCY BALL!

Last year, I had some guy come by, winded from hauling his cankles around my apartment complex, asking if he could demonstrate a shampooer, one room, free. Sure, I said. Why not. The living room looked like it was part of Pamplona. He said he would be right back. He shows up with a Kirby. This guy was good. He had a great personality. In fact, I was sold on him alone, and sure enough the Kirby was as delivered. Cleanest carpet this side of Lady Gaga. He claimed to have won a trip to Denver with this sale. It took about 90 minutes, his boss came in and played Wii with my kids. It was almost like we were a family. Of course, even though he took my number because he said he and his wife were moving here after the trip, I haven't heard from him. In fact, he probably threw it away right after, just selling me the vacuum. My point is he sold me. He sold me the vacuum, he sold me the attachments, he sold me the possibly phone call down the road. He earned the sale.

I guess I should state that when this guy told me he was doing a demonstration, he handed me a pamphlet that said, in no more words than this "FREE CARPET CLEANING, TODAY ONLY, ONE-ROOM." Here was this 6'4 300lb black man stating he was going to clean my carpet for free. I guess in reality, he could have been casing the joint, which would be fine because I needed a lot of shit gone since were moving soon. When he came in, his first words were, "nice TV." Fuck.

I used to love hearing from telemarketers. I used to point out to them that their script sucked worse than Gigli and that the best advice I could give them is to develop a stutter and then a fictitious family so that pity would warrant a possible 20% increase in sales. I used to mock these poor bastards. They didn't stand a chance. A lot like this tool bag standing at my door. As I side-stepped the 70 pound menace known as Gus and held him at bay with one foot, all I got was "HI," and the flyer. Before he even started in I said, I'm not interested. Why not? Well for starters, your tie is a clip on, and the shirt needs to find an iron worse than a cheeseburger needs to find an Olsen twin. Your slacks either (A) aren't yours or (B) were hemmed by Hellen Keller. White socks and black dress pants don't work, ever. Your diastema can hold Kim Kardashian's ass. The last time your hair saw a comb, let alone shampoo was Y2K. Two words, your teeth are more yellow than a Lemonhead. If that isn't enough, I already have a Kirby. I don't need another one. You are one-year too late and I can't even tell you how many chromosomes. I start to close the door.

"Well, how did you know I was selling a Kirby?" Your marketing department blows more than Jenna Jameson. This is the same flyer that was given to me last year, when I bought my Kirby. There is that, and you are....well, you, standing here at 9AM and you don't have Jesus on the pamphlet so that kind of narrows it down, you jack wagon. "Well, how old is it? You might want to have a backup in case something goes wrong." Seriously? This is what is going to make me keep the door open? It's guaranteed for life, nutjob. If anything ever breaks I can take it to the Kirby store and get a brand new one. Why would I want to spend more money on a backup? You need to try harder than this. Why not try, do you need more shampoo? I have some in the van of felons that can't find employment elsewhere. How about, sorry for my appearance, I just flew in from Afghanistan. You could try, sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you would like me to mow your grass and clean out your gutters? No means no, craftsman.

Now go away before I release the Cracken.