Just because I’m feeling great lately doesn’t mean I have to be nice to door-to-door hucksters. Those people irritate the living daylights out of me. Brad’s really nice to them. I, on the other hand, tend to cut them off right away and get on with my life as efficiently as possible. The only ones I’ll make an effort to listen to are cute kids who come right out and say they’re fundraising for sports or a school trip or something. Otherwise, I consider it my duty as a human being to discourage the obnoxious occupation of door-to-door “not selling anything,” as they always seem to want to reassure me right before they try to sell me something.
I mean, a bit of advice, for goodness’ sake: If you’re going door-to-door to present your bullshit “promotion” or “free opportunity” or whatever the “anything” is that you are “not selling,” and upon ringing the doorbell (a sure tip-off that it’s nobody I know), the first thing you hear is a pack of insanely yapping little dogs and some crazy person yelling and cussing at them behind the door to SHUT UP!, then your best bet is just to save your spiel and move along to ring the doorbell of your next victim (usually my in-laws, who live next door, lucky them). Because you have already disrupted my life more than I wanted, and I am not about to stand there blocking multiple pets from escaping and let you recite your whole script before I shoo you along on your merry little way.
Doorbell rings. I crack the door open enough to acknowledge the pimply little bespectacled guy standing there, but not enough to get my head all the way out the door. He starts right in moving his lips, and I can make out a long sentence including the words “ma’am,” and “promotion,” but I can’t hear any more than that because the part of my head that includes my ears is still inside the house, where my dogs are gleefully getting their bark on in a most piercing fashion.
“Sorry, but I’m going to cut you off right there and say I’m not interested…” I say, to which I hear him reply something to the effect that (of course) he is “not selling anything–” to which I interrupt again with “Sorry, have a nice day,” and close the door, trying to be firm without being outright mean.
I think we’re done. Unfortunately, as the door closes, this young whippersnapper finds it necessary to toss out an appalled-sounding, “Wow.” This tells me I may have failed in my firm-yet-polite effort somewhat, which I kind of knew anyway. Well, regardless, it’s too late now, so I might as well roll with mean.
I whip the door back open. “Don’t say wow to me, dude! I said I’m not interested! I don’t have time. Can you hear these dogs barking? I’m trying to work here.” Which I was. SLAM.
Then it briefly occurred to me that this kid might have been one of the legitimate fundraising types I usually give a listen to. I doubt it, though. If he were, he wouldn’t have gone with the “not selling anything” angle. So you may call me a mean, intolerant, Scroogey recluse, but I don’t care. These people come to MY door, unwelcome, cause a big ruckus here at the zoo, and generally disrupt my little world, so they shouldn’t be surprised when I’m less than receptive to dealing with the same old sales pitch from yet another shifty little runt who insists he isn’t selling anything.
Since, I’ve been feeling pretty creative lately, I think I’m going to paint up a charming little sign for the front door that says in cheerful lettering, “The last door-to-door guy sold me Mace.”
Now have a nice day. And good luck out there, door-to-door guy. I hope you don’t sell a single thing. 🙂