I don’t know why, but my neighborhood
seems to attract an unusually high number of door-to-door salesmen. One of my neighbors
said it must be because they think everyone who lives in this area has lots of money to burn.
I’m still laughing.
Anyway, as a result, whenever someone knocks
at my door, I immediately click off the TV and hide. I don’t care if I’m missing out on a visit
from a long-lost friend who’s back in town and wants to surprise me, or that I might be ignoring representatives from some big cash-giveaway I entered, here to tell me
I've won $100,000. I refuse to answer the door unless I know in advance who’s out
there.
I blame it on the horror stories my neighbors
frequently share on Facebook. Tales of victim-seeking,
suit-wearing young salesmen zooming around on Segways and then refusing to take
no for an answer when the unsuspecting person who answers the door refuses to
buy their products, make me less than eager to deal with any of them.
Also, one particular pest-control
company, according to my neighbors, is famous for its door-to-door salesmen who
are so pushy, they either will use scare tactics (e.g. “See that lone ant walking
up your driveway? I guarantee it comes from a colony of about 750,000 more that
will swarm your house and chew on all of the beams until your walls collapse!”) or they will try everything short of tossing a handful of live roaches into your
house to force you to sign a contract with their company.
It reminds me of this Fuller Brush
salesman who often came to our house in Manchester when I was a kid. Whenever my mother said, “no thank you,” to him and
tried to shut the door, he’d stick his foot in it to stop her. It’s no wonder
the guy’s shoes had so many dents and scuffs on them.
As careful as I am about avoiding salesmen, however, a few weeks ago I was caught totally off guard and was
forced to deal with one.
I was walking up my driveway to get my mail and had nearly reached the road when a truck suddenly pulled in and nearly ran me over. A guy who looked about 25, rolled down the window and greeted me.
The first thing I noticed was his smile. I honestly can say I’ve never seen one
that was more perfect – and that’s saying a lot because I used to work for a
dentist. My first impression was that even though I had no idea what he was
selling, I figured his boss had chosen him to be in sales solely because with that smile,
he probably could sell a Beef-of-the-Month membership to a vegan.
“I just finished paving a driveway up
the road and have some leftover asphalt,” the guy said. “So if you’re
interested in having yours done, I can give you a good deal.”
I couldn’t help it. I cracked up
laughing. I’d heard that same line about a dozen times back when my house was being built and paving companies swarmed to it like bees to honey.
“Leftover asphalt, eh?” I repeated. “I’d
say you’d need at least a few full truckloads for this one.”
He stretched his neck to look at the
length of my driveway, but my house isn’t even visible from the road. “How long is
your driveway anyway?” he asked.
“About a quarter of a mile.”
It was his turn to laugh. “Oh.”
He picked up his phone and punched
something into it, then said, with a completely straight face, “The estimate
comes to about $55,000.” He then laughed and added, “Will that be cash or check?”
“Sorry,” I said, “I’m about $54,975 short at the moment. Besides that, you didn't happen to notice my driveway’s already
paved?”
He smiled. “Yeah, and although I hate to
admit it, it still looks in decent shape. But maybe we could seal it for you for around $6,000?”
That smile of his nearly was enough to melt
me into signing the paperwork. Most sales people have what my dad used to refer to as "constipated smiles," but this guy's looked totally warm and natural. I nearly told him he was wasting his time peddling asphalt in
a small town – that he could be earning millions doing toothpaste commercials,
but I kept silent …mainly because I didn’t want him to think I was some lonely
old lady who was trying to hit on him.
Fortunately, other than him, I haven’t had to deal with any other door-to-door sales people, pushy or otherwise, due to my refusal to answer my door. But I guess I’m in the minority around here because just yesterday one of my neighbors posted a photo of a sign she’s threatening to hang on her door.
However, I would add at the bottom that it
doesn’t apply to the guy with the asphalt.
I'd be okay with him knocking on my door...and then just standing there for a few minutes...smiling.
# # #
Sally Breslin is an award-winning syndicated humor columnist who has written regularly for newspapers and magazines all of her adult life. She is the author of several novels in a variety of genres, from humor and romance to science-fiction. Contact her at: sillysally@att.net.
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