Magazines and Water Bottles
Aug
'07
So I was spending a nice, quiet evening on the toilet, reading a mystery novel and thinking, hm, this has been a pretty good day. I’ve been inside almost all day, in the air conditioning, reading and working on websites, generally doing things I ended up rather proud of. Then someone knocked on the door. My first thought was, “I’m on the toilet! I’m not going to get up!” Then they started jiggling the handle and my first thought morphed into my second thought which was, “Shit, it must be the maintanence guy.”
One of our bedroom windows is broken, so any day now I expect the maintanence guy to come and fix it while I’m in the shower or on the toilet or having sex or whatever else. He has a key to the apartment, so why wouldn’t he think, “oh, they’re not answering, they must not be home”? In order to save myself from this embarassment, I closed the toilet lid and answered the door.
First regret.
My second regret was when the guy standing outside the door asked for a water bottle and I gave him two, as he was very sweaty and standing next to an equally smelly girl.
I knew who they were. I knew the purpose of asking for the bottle of water. I’m sure some large percentage of Americans keep packs of bottled water in their home, and to them saying, “it’s really hot, could I trouble you for some water?” is the same thing as “I’m a scam-artist, could I trouble you for some money?” If you receive the water, you’ll probably at least be able to pique interest in what you’re selling, because you think you’re dealing with a sucker.
My intentions were all wrong; however, I still regret those bottles of water. Especially since she didn’t even touch hers, as if it was forbidden for her to be accepting the water at all.
He knew his script well. My favorite color is blue, I said, and right off the bat he shot out the words “loyalty,” “honesty,” and “laziness.” “Which ones of those apply to you most?” and I could only pick one. “What superpower would you most like to have? Have you ever been out of the country?” and here’s the kicker: “If you subscribe to one of these magazines, you will be able to send me out of the country.” Gee, thanks guy. I’d love to spend my hard-earned money to send you on a luxorious trip to London, so I can later pick up the scraps of what I have left and wonder why I wasn’t saving up for me to go to London.
I told him I was totally broke, and he said if I got a paycheck any time within the next month that it would be okay, as they don’t deposit the checks for at least two weeks. Right, but I’m still broke. All that money is going to bills.
And as soon as it became clear that I wasn’t going to help him out, I was given the cold shoulder. “I just can’t believe that you don’t trust us. I understand that you don’t think you have money, but it’s a small price to make some kids in a hospital happy. What can I do to make you trust us? Get you on the phone with my boss? I will do anything.” Again, clarity ensues, and he starts to walk away without even saying thank-you for the water bottle.
So I called him out on it. I congratulated him for his well-learned script, for his personable skills and for his ability to get a water bottle out of me, though I probably would have given the water to anyone who was sweating profusely at my door. I told him it was crossing the line when he asked to enter my apartment and that if he wants more sales, he shouldn’t be so quick to give the cold shoulder. Leaving in anger won’t guilt me to it; it’ll just make me annoyed that I even listened. Next time, you won’t be so lucky. I’ll slam the goddamned door in your face.
He listened intently and restated that it wasn’t a scam, not that I ever said it was.
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