Dear Door-to-Door Solicitors,
As you insist on continuing to knock on my front door, attempting to sell me something I absolutely-positively-truly-desperately need, I am offering advice on how to best approach me.
Don’t Lie. When the first words out of your mouth are, “Hello, ma’am. I’m not selling anything!”, and the very next words out of your mouth are, “I’d like to tell you about my company’s products,” you have based our entire exchange on a lie. Whether or not you know this, I know. And there is no way on God’s green earth I’m going to commit to any sort of business with a known liar.
Don’t Lie – part 2. Please don’t come to my door and tell me you’ve already spoken to my husband, and that he already committed to buying/hiring/supporting your services. I live with the man. I know for a fact that he has never so much as caught a glimpse of you. How do I know this? He doesn’t answer the door. Do you know who does answer the door? Me. And when you greet me with an account of your prior agreement with my husband, you have based our entire exchange on a lie. Whether or not you know this, I know. And, again, there is no way on God’s green earth I’m going to commit to any sort of business with a known liar. (Sorry for the redundancy, but this seems to be a big one.)
Tuck Your Shirt In. Okay. Maybe your shirt doesn’t have to be tucked in. But let me ask you this: does your exposed belly say “Professional Services” to me? No. It does not. So tuck your damn shirt in. If you’re wearing a half-shirt – heaven help us – and your underpants are bulging out of the top of your jeans, maybe you should consider a jacket. Do you think your pink roses underwear say “Professional Services” to me? No. Tuck your damn shirt in.
Get Your Sh#! Together. If I ask a basic question about your services, know the answer. And if you don’t know the answer, say so. Making up stuff sends you right back to Don’t Lie.
Get Your Sh#! Together – part 2. When you hand me a brochure about your services, and you write your name and number on that brochure, then proceed to scratch out the number because you recently changed your cell phone service, and then you write down your boyfriend’s number instead and tell me his name is Keith, and that I should just call Keith’s number, but be sure to tell him I’m looking for you and not him… Well, does any part of that say “Professional Services” to me? Do I really have to ask?
Respect My Property. Don’t press your face against my windows, trying to see if I’m home. Someone has to clean that. And from the sorry state of your exposed boxer shorts, I’m guessing it won’t be you. Don’t drop your flyers – also known as litter – on my front lawn. Someone has to clean that. And from the sorry state of the smeared face print you just left on my front window, I’m guessing that won’t be you, either.
If these suggestions seem old-fashioned, so be it. But put yourself in my shoes. You’re asking me to give you/your employer a chance. To give you a job. To give you a lot of money to provide said chance/job. You want to install solar panels, or chop down an aged tree. You want to paint my entire house or dig up my lawn. You ain’t talking about a few flimsy dollars here. Am I really supposed to count on you to provide top-notch service when you can’t even provide an actual contact phone number?
I can only sigh. For even though you have disappointed me by displaying the above-listed behaviors, I know it’s not your fault. It’s mine. For I am the one who opened the door in the first place. I am the one who allowed you time to go through your entire spiel, not interrupting or cutting you off. Yes, I am the one who opened the damn door in the first place.
But I gotta tell ya, I may be learning to keep it closed. I may finally have had enough of the blatant lying. I may finally be done with your unpreparedness. And frankly, I’m getting a little tired of seeing your underwear.
Sincerely,
Mikki