We Americans teach our sons that when our daughters say no, they mean no. Now if we could teach them that when the nice gentleman residing on Blueberry Hill says no he too means no.
No soliciting reads the new sign on my front door, or it will as soon as I finish it. I’m not buying: your product, your religion, your bullshit. If you are here to give me money or take my money, fuck off. If you are here for a bit of conversation look elsewhere, I’m not interested. I have a bat and a gun and a dog. If you’d like an unpleasant encounter stay on my porch and keep knocking. I see you’re getting ready to leave, good. Don’t attach that flier to my door, if you must leave something there is a garbage can at the side of the house, deposit it there.
I’ve had forty plus years of visits from door to door salesman, and it’s turned me into a part time curmudgeon. But, the day the fellows from First Line Security came to my door it was righteous anger. When someone comes to the front door, someone I have no intention of inviting inside; I step out on the front porch to talk to them. It keeps the pets from wandering off, and I’m loath to just close the door although I know I’ll be inviting them to leave in very short order.
“Hi, I like to ask you some questions about your property,” he said.
“I don’t think so,” I said, “I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling.”
“Oh, I’m not selling anything,” he said.
I know it’s trite, but if I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard that lame line . . .
“I don’t believe you, but whatever it is you want from me I’m not buying,” I said.
“Look I need you to answer a couple of questions about your property,” he said.
My patience is limited, and I’m at my limit.
“I’ve already told you I won’t be answering your questions,” I said.
“We want to pay you to place a sign on your property, we’ll pay you monthly,” he said.
“I don’t want a sign on my property,” I said, “and this conversation is now over.”
“I just want to ask you a couple of questions,” he insists.
“Listen I’m not answering your questions and I’d like you to leave,” I said.
“You’d like me to leave?” he said.
“Yes I’d like you to leave,” I said.
“But I have a couple of questions I need to ask you,” he said.
“You’re trespassing,” I said, “I’m ordering you to leave my property. Don’t say another word, turnaround and walk in that direction.”
I pointed the way.
“And fuck you,” I added.
He mumbled a fuck you in return, but left.
A nice story you say, typical you say, but hey we’ve all met that asshole and we’ve all had difficulty getting him to leave, that’s the price of living in suburbia. Yes, but you’ve only heard the first half of the story.
Three hours later I hear a knock on the door. I open the door, and there he is again, no wait, It’s not him, but another asshole in a blue shirt with “First Line” embroidered above his left breast. Okay, it’s probably not embroidered, but there it is as if it’s been embroidered.
“One of your buddies has already been here,” I said, “and I’m still not interested.”
“I know,” he said.
“You know that someone from your company has been here and that I’m not interested,” I said.
“Yes,” he said, “that’s why I’m here.”
“That’s why you’re here?” I said.
“Yes,” he said, “it didn’t go well.”
His tone was condescending, the message I got was that I’d been rude to his cohort and he was here to straighten things out.
“I have a couple of questions I need to ask you about your property,” he said.
I know that sales people are instructed to never take the first no. In the sixties, it was Napoleon Hill that spouted this ‘wisdom’ and I’m sure there are modern day equivalents that spout the same bullshit today. I didn’t like it then, and I don’t like it now.
“I didn’t answer your buddy’s question and I’m sure as hell not answering yours,” I said.
He stood there, having taken half a step toward me.
“You’re trespassing on my property. I’m asking you to leave now,” I said.
He was glaring now.
“I just need to ask you a couple of questions,” he said.
“Get the fuck out of here,” I said.
I was getting quite shrill and decidedly surly. He stood his ground.
“Do I have to call the police,” I said.
He said nothing nor did he show any intention of leaving.
I didn’t know the number for the police so I took out my cell phone and dialed 911. After verifying my address and in response to the question about the emergency. I said, “There is a man standing here on my porch; he’s some sort of a salesman. I’ve asked him to leave and he won’t, and frankly I’m feeling a little threatened by him.”
He continued to glare.
“Would you like me to send the police,” she said.
I started to say yes, but at that moment he started to leave. “I don’t think the police will be necessary, it looks like he’s leaving,” I said.
“Okay,” she said. “If you’re sure you don’t need the police.”
“He’s in his car now,” I said.
“Okay,” she said, “If he returns don’t open your door and call us immediately.”
The following day, I saw the first salesman, oops advertising director, knocking on a neighbor’s door up the street. I can’t verify that it belongs to the asshole, but a car I hadn’t seen before was parked a few doors from mine. I could see that the plate was personalized, but it was too far away to read it. So I walked towards it until I could make out the details, and there it was an explanation for the pushy arrogance exhibited by these two twenty-somethings. The plate read, 2COOL4U. They’re not cool, they have a lot to learn, and they ought to start with no means no.
