I made this sign the other day, and now every time I walk up to my front door, I laugh.
If you’re neighborhood is anything like ours, then you’ve got a serious solicitor problem.
Don’t get me wrong— I LOVE supporting people trying to make a name for themselves. And I think it takes courage to walk up to a person’s front door and look them in the eyes for a sale. But I have a serious problem with about 95% of the people selling things in my neighborhood, and they have officially ruined it for the other 5%.
I can handle the Girl Scouts, and the little league coupon books, and even the tree cutting service that feels the need to stop by monthly to see if we are ready for a trim yet.
What I can’t handle— No, what I refuse to handle, are the people who literally come to my house at 8:00pm at night. The ones who BANG on my door, in addition to ringing my doorbell. The ones who wake up my kids and act like they are being chased by a murderer with their fist pounding, only to tell me that they are from “Save The Children”, but “No, I don’t have a manual or anything with me to prove such.”
I, no joke, have had two different men from the “same organization” come to my door and begin our conversation at 8:00pm like this:
“Don’t worry, the dark man isn’t here to rob you!”
Who is in charge of their sales pitch script? Because hot damn! I wasn’t worried about you robbing me until you said it, guys.
And I’ve got to tell you, nothing is worse than when I finally get both kids down for a nap and a realtor comes knocking on the door. They don’t care that we moved in less than three years ago, they really want us to sell our home.
“You’ve got a lovely property!”
“Yes, I know. Which is why I don’t want to sell it…”
“But the market! THE MARKET!”
Have you ever experienced the chaos that is packing your car for a weekend trip with the kids? Because if you have, then you would never suggest I pack my entire house up and move with kids— that’s just insanity. No thanks, I’ll be here until these boys are old enough to move their own shit.
I wish I could take this sign around with me places, because the over-selling doesn’t stop at door to door.
We walked into an Ashley’s Furniture the other day for a couch, and the guy wrote on our paperwork that he handed his boss that we would be leaving with an $8,000 Tempur-Pedic mattress. From the moment we walked in he had decided that HE was in charge of what we left with that day, not us. He didn’t care that we had two small children with us and only wanted to browse couches. He stalked us like prey, and kept begging us to take a “quick and fun test for a $50 gift card!” We got tired of the circling, but we also felt bad for him. We aren’t naive. We understand that his job is heavily commission-based and that he is just trying to make a living. So finally, we agreed to his “quick” test. He took us over to the Tempur-Pedic and had us lay on it. He showed us all of the wonderfulness that is a Tempur-Pedic and did his best to convince us that in addition to spending $1400 on a couch, we could totally swing the $8,000 for the mattress we don’t need as well. Realizing that he wasn’t going to win us over, he got his manager involved.
She came over “to give us the $50 gift card”, looked at the paper he had been jotting on, and said, “So you’re getting a couch and a Tempur-Pedic? How would you like to pay for that?”
I’m sorry, what?
I was so turned off by the entire situation that I didn’t even want the damn gift card anymore. (But we still got it). And with that, we gave them an old phone number and left.
I’d like to note, that he literally DID NOT CARE about the couch we wanted. He gave us ZERO information about it, but a plethora of info about the damn mattress. In fact, I could probably pitch a sale to you now with all of the information he threw our way.
I think I’ll make a shirt version of my sign. That way, just maybe, I’ll be able to browse for furniture without someone trying to convince me that I really need something else.
And if you’re brave enough to ring my doorbell even after reading the sign, you’ll then be greeted by me wearing the shirt— making the entire situation that more awkward.
But seriously don’t do it. Don’t make it weird.