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Kitchen Sink

The Dimwitted Adventures of a Dope

January 20th, 2012

You know how you might have a super intelligent friend who is book smart, but a little dim when it comes to stuff like life?

 

For instance, one of my dear friends, an attorney, is very smart and savvy. He wins every case. I would turn to him any day for legal advice.

 

But he’s a big dope.

 

After work, I’m pretty sure his brain falls out.

 

His sense of direction is deplorable, and his boundaries are wobbly. In 1997, one week after my mom passed away, he introduced me as, “This is Deb! Her mom just died!”

 

But I love the guy, I really do. He and I get pretend married a lot, but then our respective spouses remind us that if we were to marry, we’d end up dead in a gutter. Because we drove into it thinking it was the garage.

 

Which is to say, I am also a big dope.

 

And you may remember my inability to say “no?

 

I mean, I’m no molecular bioengineer, but I know my way around things that aren’t stupid. Until it comes to saying no. Then my mind slushifies and I’m no good to anyone who might want people to be smart.

 

This is what’s been happening:

 

For some reason, this month many solicitors have knocked on my door (word of my idiocy might have spread). I am patently unable to turn them away because I feel bad for these salespeople and their little babies they all seem to have just had. Not only do I open the front door, I allow the solicitor to talk and talk and talk, about their newborns and their hard luck, and how everyone in their family will die of beans for dinner unless I buy a magazine subscription.

 

If The Rock is home, he will yell at me silently from the corner and threaten me with gutter death if I don’t shut the door pronto, but usually The Rock is not home at the time of these solicitations.

 

So most recently, I invited a young chap inside to tell me about AT&T U-Verse. A crappy service we had about five years ago that blew ass. However, this time I was assured that all the kinks were worked out, and the customer service had improved, and everything in my life would be better — my Internet service and television viewing choices especially. The salesguy spent about 20 minutes convincing me that I needed AT&T (and about five minutes showing me pictures of his new baby), and when he left, I had his card pressed into my sweaty, stupid palm, and my pitch all ready for The Rock. It was time to change cable service. Maxwell the salesguy said so. Plus! His wife just had a baby!

 

I worked on my husband for two weeks, I’m not even kidding. I told him about the faster Internet service, the sheer volume of cable channels ripe for the plucking, and how we really needed to give Maxwell his commission because: baby. The Rock hemmed and hawed. Said no. Said HELL NO. Said remember the crappy service and blowing of ass from five years ago?

 

Unfortunately, I wore him down. Eventually, we switched over to AT&T and it was worse than ever. Nothing we were told would happen, happened. The Internet remained slow, the TV froze often, and the ass blew. Even worse, we spent 89 collective hours on the phone with customer service to resolve the issues which weren’t issues until I changed perfectly fine cable service over to something horrible simply because I can’t say no.

 

So I was warned. The Rock was not happy. He told me to never open the front door to people I don’t know, ever again. Or the next door I opened would be to a divorce attorney.

 

In the interest of staying married, I tried to follow through with this new plan of cowering in my home when the doorbell rings because I’m a big pussy. I did pretty good for awhile, too. The guy selling meat? See ya later. The fellow hawking magazine subscriptions? Bye bye. The Jehovah’s Witness? That one was tough, but I turned a blind eye to my salvation.

 

Then my defenses came down. There’s only so much a dopey, gullible person can take. So this week, when the doorbell rang, I opened it to find a young woman with drug addict hair, dirty nails, and a Bebe half-shirt holding a muddy bottle of blue cleaner and a skanky rag. This cleaner would change everything, she said! You’re the youngest person I’ve seen on this street, she said! You’re house is so clean, she said! She would know because I let her inside to clean an oven burner. Like a dumbass. I mean, I knew I had no intention of buying this cleaner for 80 DOLLARS a gallon, but I didn’t have the heart to say no. Her baby needed crack.

 

It ended up that I found my resolve at last and told her no, but man, was she pissed. Now I’m locking my door at all hours because I’ve recently been informed that there’s a team of crazy crack addicts roaming the neighborhood pretending to clean your oven burners but are really just casing your house.

 

I learned my lesson. Until later when a young man came to the door raising money for the Smithsonian and blah blah blah, he lived down the street, and blah blar, and his parents know us, and bleer dee bleer bleer. Does it occur to me to ask who his parents are? No. Do I think to ask where on the street he lives? No. Have I ever seen him before despite living here for almost three years? No. Did he have a newborn? Thankfully, no. Did I say no? No.

 

I gave him 20 dollars to go away.

 

Don’t tell The Rock.

 

On January 20th, 2012, Trish said:

Ha! I’m telling you, this is why I don’t answer my door. Or the phone.

On January 20th, 2012, Indigo said:

What you need is a dog who sounds absolutely ferocious whenever someone knocks on the door. Delivery men leave packages without a signature, repair guys can’t finish fast enough and get out of the house.

The thing is (my dog) wouldn’t hurt a flee, the cats literally run her over. (Hugs)Indigo

On January 20th, 2012, Carl said:

Oh, no! Guess what I just ordered!

On January 20th, 2012, Alexandra said:

Oh, it’s the other way around in our house.

My husband just stands outside the door holding his wallet open calling “anybody? help yourself..really…”

I’m the one “let ‘em ring…they’ll go away…”

On January 20th, 2012, Christina said:

LOL – I am so The Opposite of you that I am fairly certain every sales person within 100 miles knows not to come near my house or call my phone. The other day I was out for a run and I saw a pair casing the neighborhood. They turned up my street as I came towards them from the other end and I glared – I mean GLARED – sweaty and red faced from my run I am sure I looked a scary as hell! Lo and behold, they went right past my house. Wise wise, sales weasels.

On January 21st, 2012, Me said:

Don’t answer the door. It’s dangerous – I sound like my mother.

On January 21st, 2012, Karima said:

LOL, I just opened a new Spa, I’ll be right over. Or maybe I’ll wait till Monday when the Rock isn’t home, though a massage for him might help fix the AT&T wound!

On January 21st, 2012, Motherhood on the Rocks said:

Oh gosh! I’d think we lived in the same neighborhood if you weren’t San Diego momma. We had a woman trying to sell us some cleaner like that. She proceeded to spray it on her arm and then lick it off. I closed the door because I am not as nice as you are. Yuck

On January 21st, 2012, Galit Breen said:

Oh my, I know! I know! I have such a hard time saying “no,” too and it drives my husband absolutely batty!

{Did I tell you that we’re selling Girl Scout cookies this year? Hee! KIDDING! xo}

On January 22nd, 2012, Amber-Lee (@girlygrizzly) said:

Hey there. I am Amber-Lee and I promise I wont EVER attempt, try or coax you to into buying ANYTHING.

If you show up at the door someday (and strangely, sometimes people, strangers, do just that) I promise I will either make you stay outside, whether it is -50* or not, OR I’ll just invite you to stay awhile and never charge you a dime. (Promise)

I came over because of a tweet I saw that led me to the vent. Now, here I am! I can’t stop reading or laughing. Just thought I’d say so.

Happy Day, San Diego Momma. Thanks for being you. I needed that.
~Alaska Chick

On January 23rd, 2012, Jack@TheJackB said:

$20 bucks to go away. Hmm…I might have to try out a few of my disguises and see if they work. ;)

On January 23rd, 2012, heidi said:

Okay, you are hilarious! And how, how do you have so many people trying to hawk stuff in your neighborhood?? They must know about you.
I never open the door to anyone I don’t know. I just can’t handle listening to their spiel when I know I’ll say no. So, I pretend I’m not home…which is exactly what you must do to save yourself. Act like you’re not there. :)
Loved this post.

On January 23rd, 2012, Jennifer said:

Thankfully this is not something I have a problem with, and I NEVER let anyone in my home. I actually called the police on a guy once that was doing door-to-door sells for a security system. He was legit.

On January 23rd, 2012, julie gardner said:

Oh sister.

I’ve lived in this house for ten years. Ten. So we’ve built some equity. And we’re finally doing some improvements. I’ve kind of earned them. Sort of.

But it’s hard to tell the guy (who – I swear IS dying from beans for dinner) that you can’t afford a magazine subscription to (let’s say) Oregonian Fisherwoman when a truck full of construction workers are unloading flagstone onto your front lawn.

Have I mentioned besides being unable to say “no” that my timing is also crappy?

Yeah.

So I bought $157.00 worth of magazine subscriptions and paid with a check from our home equity line.

Because I’m a dope.
I’m pretty sure Bill is contemplating a separation.

Shall we wed soon?

On January 25th, 2012, Middle State/MomZombie said:

Ever since I was totally duped by a phony magazine salesman (He was blond, buff and had an Australian accent–probably fake, too.) I totally ignore any and all sales people on the street, at my door or wherever. The only exception is cute scouts in uniform selling cookies.

On January 25th, 2012, Middle State/MomZombie said:

Ever since I was totally duped by a phony magazine salesman (He was blond, buff and had an Australian accent–probably fake, too.) I totally ignore any and all sales people on the street, at my door, or wherever. The only exception is cute scouts in uniform selling cookies.

On January 26th, 2012, Jennifer Cook said:

We get these people at our door at least twice a month. If you open your door, you can se them scanning the inside of your home. I NEVER answer my door anymore, unless I know them :) One time my husband answered the door and the guy said, “well finally you are home, we noticed you are not home during the week from 9 to 5.”

On January 26th, 2012, Mama Mary said:

OMG I abhor door to door solicitors! They give me the heebie jeebies. On rare occasion I cave and buy their frigging product, but typically I spit at them. Not really, but I want to.

On February 3rd, 2012, Cass said:

“drug addict hair” hahahaha! My husband keeps giving me that look with the one raised eyebrow, wondering what I’m doing and why I keep snort-laughing and slapping my thigh. I’m breastfeeding the baby as I read and he jumps every time I do it. My poor kid.

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