I’d just like to leave some information with you…

This year’s batch of door-to-door salesmen is more aggressive than last year’s. Many still follow the same routine of “okay you’re not interested but can I leave some information with you?” All well and good; just fodder for the garbage. But a few seem to be trying new guilt-based tactics that I’m not familiar with. Little do these guys know that I am completely immune to guilt. I thought I’d share some of the more entertaining sales pitches with you.

A young woman walks in with a bundle of pamphlets. Before I even can say “Good morning” she introduces herself as Julie from such-and-such document company, and could she please speak to the person who handles all outgoing mail for the office?

“I don’t actually have any outgoing mail.”

“So you’re in charge of outgoing mail?”

“Well, no. This office doesn’t really mail anything.”

“Is your manager here? Or is the owner in?”

“Afraid not, I’m all alone.”

“Well then maybe you can help me. My company assists small businesses with outgoing mail by–”

“You’re wasting your time. I don’t have any outgoing mail. I handle all my business by phone and fax.”

“I’d still like to go ahead and leave some information with you.” She sets a pamphlet on the front counter. “Do you have a business card or something?”

“No. But like I said, I don’t have need of your services anyway. I don’t send outgoing mail.”

“Well…” She curls up her face as she pulls the next part of her sales pitch out of her memory. “Such-and-such company also handles document shredding, it’s totally secure and confidential–”

“I don’t shred any documents either. Everything gets filed.” I’m flipping through he pamphlet half-heartedly. Maybe I can use it as a bookmark.

“Oh. Well I’ll go ahead and leave some information with you anyway…” She goes to set a second pamphlet on the counter.

“Thanks,” I say, holding up my current one, “I already have one.”

“Well, have a nice day then…”

“Yep, better luck next time.”

A gentleman comes in wearing a nice but sweat-stained shirt. He’s holding an armful of spray bottles and has a roll of paper towels tucked under his arm. He’s obviously been out in the sun all day. (Yes, Florida still gets sun in November. And no, you really shouldn’t be jealous.)

“Good morning sir, if I could just have a moment of your time I would like to tell you about this new line of cleaning supplies. Our products are completely environmentally friendly and–” He squirts some pink liquid into his mouth. “–totally non-toxic. Tell me sir, how much do you spend on cleaning supplies in a month?”

“Nothing. I get all my supplies from corporate.”

He squirts pink liquid all over my already clean countertop and starts wiping it away with his paper towels as he launches into his next form of attack: “Well sir, I represent a new program aimed at helping underprivileged young men and women, and all of our non-toxic products are safe for home as well as industrial use. So tell me, sir, how much do you spend on cleaning supplies in a month at home?”

It’s actually an interesting question, especially considering I’m not the cleanest of people. Most of the cleaning I do is just for the sake of personal hygiene, and my roommate ends up buying most of the stuff like laundry and dish detergent. Then, I catch myself doing the exact mental gymnastics this guy wants me to do, and instead of giving him a figure I just tell him: “Look, I’m not going to buy any cleaning supplies.”

“Well sir I can certainly appreciate that, but I would like to leave behind my business card in case you stop thinking here–” He points to his head. “–and start thinking here.” He points to his heart. The implication, of course, is that if I don’t buy his non-toxic and apparently delicious cleaning solution, it’s because I want poor and underprivileged young men and women to die in a gutter somewhere. Attempts to guilt-trip me automatically fail and trigger a sarcastic counter-attack.

“My heart pumps blood through my body,” I tell him. “I don’t want any cleaning stuff, and now you can leave.”

He leaves his business card on the counter. I make sure he sees me throw it away. Immediately afterwards I clean the countertop with my good old Pine Sol and water solution.

A kid about my age pulls into the parking lot. He steps out of his car with an enormous white binder and heads off to the business on the far end of the office plaza in which I’m located. Several minutes later he appears at my door. He looks the sign up and down for a minute before deciding to come in.

“Hi,” he says. “I’m looking to speak to he manager of the business, or anyone who loves great deals.”

“I’ll get him on the phone for you if you like,” I reply. “He works over in Tampa.”

“Well no problem, I’m here just to let you know of the brand new Chick-Fil-A that just opened up down the road, and to offer you some exciting new offers.”

Amused that he used the word “offer” twice in rapid succession, I point out that the Chick-Fil-A “down the road” is actually about four or five miles away. It’s about a fifteen minute bike ride at least, and I mention all the fast food joints between here and there. Not that I have anything against Chick-Fil-A, just that my office plaza is outside of that particular branch’s sales radius.

He ignores me. “Well like I said we just opened up, and I’d like you to take a look at some of these great coupon books we have for sale, good at any Chick-Fil-A restaurant and on all menu items–”

“Wait. You’re selling coupons?”

He gets a look on his face like he’s just now noticing the idiocy of the situation. He tries to salvage the sale. “Well, yeah, and on most of our combo meals these coupons can save you up to 50% off the menu price which–”

“If I’m buying the coupons from you, how am I saving money? Wouldn’t you just leave the coupons here, and then I could use them or not use them?”

The kid knows he has a line here and he tries to remember what it is. Why am I selling coupons… why am I selling coupons… oh yeah! “Well sir they make great gifts, this being the holiday season, and for small businesses they’re a great way for small businesses to show employee incentive.”

Yes, “small businesses” twice. “So that’s why you’d need to speak with my manager.”

“Yeah, but you could also give them to friends and family for the upcoming holiday season, and give the gift of great savings.”

I have to laugh at him. I just have to. He’s trying so hard. “Dude, if I gave chicken coupons to any of my friends or family, I’d get slapped in the face.” I didn’t mention it to him, but if I ever opened my paycheck and found a buy-one-combo-meal-get-a-free-large-Coke coupon inside for a restaurant that isn’t even in walking distance of my work, I’d have to call my boss and have a firm conversation with him about what is and what isn’t appropriate “incentive”.

“Well sir I’m very sorry to bother you…” The kid gathers his stuff and leaves.

I guess it’s my loss though. I mean, I eat at Chick-Fil-A at least once a year, and sometimes those combo meals can cost like five bucks. I’m sure everyone will be crushed come Christmas.

Three young girls come to the door with a basket full of flowers.

“Hi,” they say in well-practiced unison. “Would you like to purchase a hand-made flower pen for three dollars to help the such-and-such church girl’s soccer team?”

“Sorry girls, soccer is against my religion.”

They exchanged confused glances. I can see a woman waiting for them outside with a minivan, either their mother or their youth group leader. “Our soccer team is from such-and-such church…”

“I’m sure you guys are awesome. But my religion teaches that soccer is a sin, so I can’t help you. Sorry.”

“Okay… have a nice day…” They slink away.

I know it’s wrong to mess with kids, but it’s just so easy.

I half-expect the woman to come barging in to yell at me, but she doesn’t. Nor do they visit any of the other businesses in the strip, which I consider odd. They’re all busier than mine, and all employ old ladies who are more susceptible to the little-kids-charity sale.

One day, those girls will be taught to use guilt as a weapon in their sales pitch. Well, either guilt or boobs. I guess it just depends on which circles they land in.

For the record, I do give to charity. Just not soccer teams or non-specific “underprivileged youths”. And not for the cheesy products I’d get in return, either.