I’m the person who believes almost anything. If you tell me a ridiculous story you completely pulled out of your ass? I will ask with eyes wide open, “Really?”
Like:
Any Person: “Hey Deb! I have monkeys in my butt!”
Me: “Really?”
Another Person: “Deb! Want to borrow my invisibility cloak?”
Me: “Ooooo. Really?”
Or
Yet Another Person: “You should be a model.”
Me: “Wow!” {{thinks for a moment, then:}} Really?”
So it comes as no surprise that I am often the target of ne’er-do-wells. Whereas The Rock will answer telemarketer inquiries with “No thank you,” and then hang up, I say, “Tell me more!” and then hang up. In the year 2013.
All this came to a head this week in two separate incidents that got me thinking:
Maybe I need to toughen up a little.
See, earlier this week the doorbell rang. I answered to find a young 20-something man holding a packet of leaflets. Well give me a Mormon boy in a tie and on a bike and I am jelly. I will listen to those guys for days because they’re just so sweet and earnest. I feel horrible sending them away when they’re only doing God’s errand.
Thankfully though, this guy wasn’t a Mormon.
He was in pest control.
And this is what he says:
“Hi! I’m just doing a neighborhood survey. Have you noticed any bugs inside or outside your house?”
Well I know where this is leading and THIS time I’m going to be smart about it.
No, I say.
“Oh?” He says back. “Because your next-door neighbor has been seeing black widows outside. And….” he pauses ominously. “Inside.”
My resolve weakens and I blurt out, “Really?”
“Yes.” He says confidently. “And your neighbor across the street noticed holes in his garage suggesting rodents.”
Now I’m quivering. “Rodents? Like. Ro-dents? Those big ass rat things they show scurrying over subway tracks on Law and Order episodes?”
He nods. “Uh-huh. The very same.”
He’s got me. Hook, line and mousetrap. “So you’re saying…there might be black widows and rodents in my house?” I am literally shaking like a Polaroid picture. “Right now?”
He knows I’m his. “Right now. And here’s where I can hel—–”
The Rock is upstairs in the office. He knows what’s about to go down. He clunks and clatters to make his presence known. He’s about to fly down the stairs and give me a talking-to, I just know it. I hurriedly shut the door in the Mormon pest controller’s face. “Thanks but no thanks!”
Gullibility crisis averted. Until…
Well I’ll have to tell you about the mall kiosk guy in a bit. Honestly? I’m pretty sure I’m THIS is scurrying around in my garage disguised as a Mormon.
P.S. Seriously. There’s a mall kiosk guy story. And I’m coming back to tell it.
YAY for husbands with resolve! I am so you. I will talk to anyone. And, as a person with a monthly pest control bill for black widows — WHO STILL GETS BLACK WIDOWS IN THE HOUSE OCCASIONALLY — I think you’re doing just fine without Mormon Pest Control.
And that is why I quietly hide behind my door and stare through the peephole. :)
I’m the opposite. I can’t stand being solicited. Seriously, if I need something, I’ll think of it on my own and go make a purchase. Blech.
Mmm…I’m as bad as you on this. My story involves a man, a van, 10 cases of meat, a new freezer, $1000, a terrified teenaged boy and a furious husband.
Try this: say, “Oh, sorry, I’m not the homeowner.”
I’m a sucker, too…
Trade you a couple Mormon black widow rats for cockroaches. Seems they really LOVE the heat in Vegas and find a way around every bit of pesticide you lay down. And they’re really big. As in HUGE.
blech
I love you for your gullibility, Deb. That and they way you make me laugh!
My husband’s favorite weapon against telemarketers is to say, “Hang on just a second,” then put the phone down on the counter and never come back. It could work for street peddlers, too.
I was accosted by Mormons the other day when I was walking my dog. I mean *accosted!* I ran and prayed they didn’t see which house I popped into. Note that my prayers probably went to a different place than theirs.
I need to toughen up more too. I am entirely too trustworthy when it comes to people in the service industry and thankfully, like you, my husband knows how to spot a BS artist.
I can’t wait to hear the mall kiosk story!