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July 18, 2003
Thanks for Not So Much
I'm listening to an acapella version of "Brick," which isn't even done by Ben Folds Five. I dunno why I even downloaded it in the first place... I guess I was just impressed by the fact that someone (I was hoping for BFF, but it's really just a cover of the song done by someone else) had actually done the song that way, and was bored enough to click on it in my Kazaa window. You know, it sounds like an Episcopilian minister singing alongside the rest of a church choir. Lots of oohs and ahhs, and all that stuff. Very appropriate for a song about abortion, I must say.
Anyway...
I was about ready to go to work this afternoon when the doorbell rang. I thought it was going to be Marc, home from picking up Danielle and her babysitting charges from the library.
Wrong.
It ended up being this short Latina girl, with about as much energy as a Saturn V2 rocket. She was selling magazines to get a free (They're not really free when you have to earn 50,000 points) trip to Australia.
"All you have do is like, buy one of these magazines, yo, and I can be chillin' on the beach with hot guys and the kangaroos! Ya heard?!"
Yeah, I heard.
I guess I'm just too much of a nice person, because I didn't want to just slam the door in her face, and tell her I wasn't interested right up front. I find people like that incredibly rude and insensitive, especially when it's me who's trying to pitch the hard sell. I at least try to give people a chance and let them finish all their sentences before giving them a sold, "No, thanks."
But this girl just never stopped talking.
Ever.
It was just incessant jibbering and jabbering on and on about absolutely nothing. The screechy voice, the crazy jumping up and down, the obnoxious laugh. Ugggh, the laugh. I thought I was going to have to pee my pants if I had to hear that stupid laugh one more time. She had me standing in my doorway for about fifteen mintues before I just caved in and decided to buy something from her to just make her shut up.
I picked out a harmless subscription of "Seventeen" magazine. I don't really have any desire to read that kind of stuff anymore, but I figured Danielle wouldn't mind getting it, so I opted for it. Besides, how much was all this stuff going to cost? Ten, twenty dollars? I could swing that. That's how much they were when we sold magazines in middle school, anyway.
Only the girl had me fill out an application for a seventy dollar subscription to the freaking magazine.
Seventy flipping dollars.
I don't have seventy dollars to shell out to every crazed lunatic they let loose from the sanitarium. It was time for the sales pitch to end. So I told her to move on.
"Are you suuuuuuurrree?! I mean, you could pick out another magazine or write a check, or--"
"No, I'm definitely sure. I can't afford to pay that much for a subscription today, especially when I just bought a new computer monitor for my brother this morning (Which I really did, by the way)."
"But all you have to do is pick anottthhher magazine! And then I'll be chillin' in Australia with all those hot blonde guys and everything!"
Hmmm... Why in the world would I want to pay her seventy dollars so that she could go fly around the world to sit on the beach with some hot blonde guys? Doesn't this seem like a bit of a conflict of interest?
The answer was still no.
And it was still no ten minutes later when I got her a drink of grape juice, and even begged her to keep the cup, just so she could get the hell off of my porch. I ended up getting rid of her about five minutes after that, where she sulked away and ran down the street, with my Baja Fresh big gulp cup.
Damn her.
Today's Soundtrack: "Can We Talk," Tevin Campbell
Best Part of the Day: Ummm... I got paid today. And I finally fixed the link to that rotten "reviews" page. So everybody can sleep tight now, I guess.
posted at 11:03 p.m.
