Door-to-door anything

So I’m on the phone with my nephew Morgan, and the doorbell rings (Morgan’s just hitting stride as a teenager, good guy, and we share a love of animation, computers, weird videos on youtube.com, and a couple of favorite authors).

“Hang on, Morgan, that’s the door.” I opened it, still on the phone, and see a stranger with a clipboard. “Good evening, ma’am…”

“I’m sorry. I don’t do door-to-door ANYthing. Thanks, but goodbye,” and I close the door. “OK, Morgan, I’m back.”

“Uh… that was pretty fast, wasn’t it?” Clearly, Morgan was nonplused by my casual rudeness. But here’s the deal: I don’t mind sales pitches, but I want to choose when I get them, and I increasingly resent having that choice taken away when somebody calls me, spams me, or knocks on my door. Now, I’m not nasty about it, or angry–I’ve just made a policy and I stick with it. I make exceptions for people I know, like neighborhood kids or friends.

The last time I actually sat through a D2D sales pitch was about seven years ago. I lived at the top of a steep hill at the time and saw a woman in sweats trudge all the way up. She wearily knocked on the door, and in near tears asked if I wouldn’t at least listen to her demo of a concrete cleaning product. So I agreed.

Instantly, she transformed into one of those vita-vegomatic pitchmen you see at county fairs, smiling and animated like a 1950s commercial. She launched into a masterful sales pitch. She cleaned a concrete stair, she all but danced while showing me the vast array of packaging choices, and did a hey-presto-involve-the-customer close that nearly had the wax melting out of my ears. Then, like a deflating souffle, she collapsed back into a weary, sorrowful drudge and asked what I thought.

I was so impressed I told her I wasn’t interested in the product but wanted to give her $20 for a great show. She wouldn’t take it unless I took product in exchange. The goop completely sanitized my walks, bleached ‘em white as milk, and as a bonus killed a wide swath of bushes and flowers on either side.

Since then, I’ve just decided it’s easier to be fair and say no to everyone. Saves time, saves angst, and if I occasionally go to bed feeling guilty that I didn’t politely listen to the pitch before saying no, my plants are still alive.

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