Every time I hear the sound of the Postie’s bike stop outside our house to deliver some mail, I clap my hands with glee and exclaim “Cheques! Cheques!” as if somehow, just by saying the word, it would make it so.
And every time there is a knock on the door, I think, with great hope, “Oooh, a package! Someone’s sent me a package!”. I just can’t help myself.
Of course, we get far more bills than we ever get cheques. And that knock on the door rarely results in packages, but rather sales reps, Jevohah’s Witnesses and charity collectors. Or, if we’re really lucky, a merry band of junkies checking to see if anyone’s home.
My husband has a very clear technique that he employs with such doorknockers. He refuses to engage with them by saying “No thank you. We don’t do business of any kind at the door” and promptly shutting the door. Short, sharp, swift: the bandaid approach.
I, however, can’t do that. I always think of how it must be a doorknocker and have everyone open the door on you and physically baulk when they realise you’re not the Postie delivering a present. It would be very wearing on a person’s soul…
So I try to let them down a little more gently than my husband. I usually end up saying something stupid like “Now isn’t a good time!” – as if the fact the smoke alarm is going off and there are naked, screaming children running around in the background doesn’t already tell them this. And of course that only gives the doorknocker the opportunity to say “When is a good time?” or (my favourite) “Perhaps I should come back when your husband is home?” like I’m not a responsible adult.
And then, when I start to explain that no time is a good time and/or that I really am a responsible adult (no, really!), before I know it I’ve been caught in their web of carefully scripted sales-speak.
So it wasn’t much of a surprise to anyone when my husband came home recently and I announced cheerfully “We’ve changed energy retailers!”.
I then added, for clarification: “The salesman really wanted to help us save money on our energy bills. I mean, he was Scottish and everyone knows that you can trust a Scot with your money!” (Albeit a Scot who was young, good-looking and charming and who was hungover like a bastard and had to sit on my front door step with a big glass of water. And who said it would just take “two minutes of my time” and twenty minutes later was still there getting me to fill in forms. But my husband didn’t need to know all that.)
My husband strangely didn’t jump for joy at the thought of reduced energy bills. Instead he stood and looked at me, blankly. So I said brightly, echoing the words of my converter: “There’s no fixed contract, a ten day cooling off period and there’s a good chance our current retailers will drop their rate to match the new offer and we won’t have to change retailers after all!”
Still nothing.
So I said “If I repeat all that in a Scottish accent, you’ll totally believe this was all a good idea. You really truly will.”
And then “Look, if you’re going to leave me alone in this house day in day out, you’re going to have to accept I’m going to save us some money on our energy bills from time to time.”
And then “You’re using your technique, aren’t you? Well, it’s not going to work.”
And then “Okay, okay! I’ll ring them up and cancel it. Sheesh!”
For the record, my husband does do some business at the door – but only with pizza delivery men and strip-o-grams. So if my Scottish friend is keen to change my husband’s mind on the matter of energy bill reduction, he’d be well advised to come back wearing easy-to-remove clothing and carrying a pizza. You know, just sayin’.
Your husband’s stony response to door-to-door-sales is mine also. I am civil, too, but I don’t have any moments to spare feeling bad about someone else’s sales pitch. I live in my house dammit – they can set up their shop in a location that is not my doorstep.
Yep, I am going to be a very reclusive curmudgeonly old fella…
Remind me to always ring ahead before coming round to knock on your door.
I am SOOOO coming round to yours speaking with a Scottish accent so you will do my bidding…before I know it I will have all cupcakes I’ve ever wanted….
I think my Obsessive Baking Disorder will ensure you all the cupcakes you desire with or without the Scottish accent.
I’ve always had a very strict “no dealings of any kind at the door” policy, but recently have opened my front door to little old ladies on 2 separate occasions – they’ve been collecting for very worthwhile causes, and “live just around the corner” and I’ve had that awful feeling I might see them again in the street or at the supermarket and if I turned them away would have to endure the shame…. And somehow a gold coin doesn’t seem quite enough when they’re practically a neighbour and before I know it I’ve given a note and blown my weekly budget! I mean, we donate regularly to other things on an even larger scale so I shouldn’t feel guilty if I say no. And then I think of my grandmother, whose dresser drawer was full of receipts from these people when she died. Am I turning into my grandmother?
Ah, the glass of water trick. Haven’t you seen Glengarry Glen Ross (“always be closing”)? Or Mad Men. But what temptation did Betty Draper nearly succumb to there?
And can I interest you in a gilt-edged, time-share investment opportunity? By the way but an’ that, go on yerself Hen.
Nice post! As a Scot, it’s good to hear that our lovely accent can have this effect… But it makes me ask which part of Scotland he came from? I’m guessing he didn’t have a heavy Glaswegian accent but rather a lovely lilting east coast or vaguely highlands and islands kind of thing going. (For a version of the heavy Glaswegian accent, see the episode of Sex and the City where Charlotte marries Trey and when the (Scottish) best man speaks, no-one can understand a word he is saying…). Or, see any episode of Taggart! I bet you wouldn’t buy a used energy provider from anyone speaking like that!
Ah – Lolled lots – and lots – I’m never quite sure what to say – my Mum used to say “I’m a priest, sorry” and while she was usually wearing her clerical collar, this usually worked – how this applied to energy retailers I could never work out – but it seemed to work…
I apply the peer and hide technique (peer through peephole in door after pulling down all blinds begging with children to just ‘SHUSH’ to which I get a very loudly yelled “but why Mum, aren’t you going to answer the door?” – think they would have figured it out by now…still life is much better now we are in flats with security door, can shut one blind and forget the front door exists 🙂
Beware them thar salespeople!
I, too, signed on the dotted line….only to cancel over the phone well within the 10 day cooling down period.
Phew!
I keep a pile of Unitarian Universalist “Principles and Purposes” by the door to hand to the prosthelitizers who show up: “Let me tell you about my atheist, humanist, pro-gay religious home!” But I’m way to cheap to talk to anyone who wants money.
“If I repeat that in a Scottish accent, you will totally think it’s a good idea…” AWESOME.
And dude, I hear ya. I’m an agnostic, and I let those poor young Mormons, in their ill-fitting suits, though my door all the time.
I missed you so much. When we finally get a real house, I’m totally going to start yelling “Cheques! Cheques!” everytime the mail comes.