I'm a very generous person. Really. I'm a sucker for any kid who comes by selling coupons, raffles, discount cards, etc. for any organization or sports club.
(This does not include Girl or Boy Scouts. I dislike them immensely and have been cautioned repeatedly by my husband that it's never okay to throw a box of store bought cookies out the window at a Girl Scout selling hers. Doesn't seem fair, but so far I've been good.)
But.....Smarmy salespeople REALLY rub me wrong. People like Terminix sales jerks who come by and "can't help but notice the large amount of spiders you have around your home." That implies that he, not unlike the spiders, was slinking around my house in places he's definitely not invited. At least the spiders take out other annoying bugs. I haven't seen the pest guy do anything about these mosquitoes that are eating me alive. More than anything, I hate the ones who treat me like I'm stupid when I say we have no bug problem, our driveway really doesn't need to be resurfaced, and our rain gutters aren't about to fall off the side of the house. Even worse is that look of pity they give me, that last ditch effort to try and scare me, like I did what I could. I'm sorry I couldn't make you see the light. May God have mercy on your soul. Also, it doesn't make them one ass inch more trustworthy when they name drop my neighbors. Gee, we're going to be doing your neighbor Jeff's yard tomorrow and we can put you on the schedule for the same time if you'd like. My answer is always a polite, then very, very firm "NO."
I've found the best deterrent of all is my horribly ill-mannered dogs. While Pups does the small yippy dog act preventing any conversation, Ginger gets the deep gruff barking and slamming herself against the door act that more than helps my cause. I can do a little sales scaring of my own. Look, we don't want a repeat of the pizza delivery man incident we had last week, but right now my dog smells fresh meat and eventually this door is gonna break and she's gonna eat your face. I would try to stop her, but we failed obedience school and our shrink said she rules me instead of vice versa and it's a really long work in progress, but you should probably go. HOLY SHIT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, GO NOW!
Today I had a young girl at the door and before she even rang the bell, I knew she'd be getting none of MY money. She was already talking before she even got to my door. Who the hell was she talking to? Herself? A friend on her bluetooth? Imaginary friends? Someone hiding in the bushes waiting for her all clear signal to jump at the door and rob us blind or force unspeakable sex acts on my husband? I never did find out, but what I did find out was that her name was Queen (which could be a great conversational starter, but I didn't want to give her the impression I was feeling friendly). She then went on to tell me they were raising money for a man named Michael in a wheelchair. No last name, no organization, just "Michael in the wheelchair." I guess that's how I'd write a check if I were dumb enough to donate. He was paralyzed in an auto accident and he still can't walk. At this point, she brought up Exhibit A, which was a laminated photo of "Michael" in his wheelchair surrounded by people. She wanted me to donate whatever amount, but a $20 donation would get me a coupon card for a local pizzeria.
Never mind that the pizzeria place sucks ass. Trying to keep my mind on the road of pure and heartfelt charity, I still found myself confused. Who is this Magic Mike person? Why is it necessary for street youths to go door to door begging for money for him? Why can't he walk? What kind of accident was he in? Did he cause it? Was he drunk driving? Doesn't he enjoy his first-rate parking space now that he's in a wheelchair? All of these thoughts ran through my brain, and try as I might, I just didn't find that little bit of faith necessary to give away money to Mike. Do I believe he was in a wheelchair? Sure. Do I believe it was accidental? Whatever. The main issue, though, was that she was a horrible door to door seller. She didn't SELL me on the need to help Mike. She didn't make me feel the pain and suffering he may or may not be going through. She didn't make me feel anything but annoyed that I had to get up off the couch, restrain my dogs, be polite, and still say sorry, I don't do door to door donations.
And guess what? As I turned away to close the door, she ROLLED HER EYES AT ME. This moment froze in my mind as two missed opportunities. First, to tell her no one was buying her Queen act. No self-respecting royal would go door to door for cripples. Second, had I known she was so obnoxious, she definitely would've gotten the full on crazy dog attack, and I would probably even let them chase her down the street just for the fun of it all.
The moral of this story? I'm still the Queen, and I do NOT believe in fairy tales, especially ones where a crippled man gets enough donations by giving out crappy pizza coupons to get miraculously healed. That just doesn't happen in real life. Sales people getting eaten by dogs who mistake them for pizza delivery? Happens more often than you think.
Queen of my own Magic Kingdom, full of all the irreverent, obnoxious, and sometimes offensive sarcasm you know and love. I don't care what people think of me, but I do care if you like my blog. Read, forward, repeat.
