Things I’ve Learned About Solicitors Offering Me Bug Extermination Services:
1. If you say “We don’t have a bug problem”
or “We don’t need exterminators” or “We don’t really mind the bugs”, the person
at the door will argue with you and tell you that EVERYBODY has a bug problem
and that you may need exterminators more than you even KNOW (suggesting that
perhaps you have termites in the attic or a giant wasp nest* or gremlins). But if you smile and phrase your
refusal this way—“No thanks, we live in peace with our bugs”—the solicitor will
smile back uncomfortably and say okay and tell you to have a nice day before
backing off your porch. (I can
only assume he thought we were Buddhists or something and had nothing in his
salesman’s kit to combat religious objection.)
 |
| Scorpion, trapped under a glass, with cat hair stuck to its tail. |
2. If you decide to humor the guy at the
door and let him give you his spiel—“Well actually, yes, we have seen twelve
scorpions in our house in the past month and we are slightly concerned that one
half of our attic is nothing but a giant wasp hive”—and if you engage his
attention with friendly banter long enough, he will eventually tell you things
that his boss probably does not want him to tell you. Such as…
Me: “I’m definitely not going to buy
anything today (or ever) but you can
leave me your contact info if you want (so
I know what company not to hire).”
Him: “Ok, but I’ll only be here until August
15th, so you need to decide by then.”
Me: “What do you mean?”
Him: “I don’t live here, I’m from Utah.”
Me: (Ah-ha,
your summer job is to go to Texas and sucker people out of their money, huh?) “We have better bugs than you do in
Utah, right?”
Him: “You definitely have MORE bugs! My job is easy down here, I don’t even
have to BS people!”
Nice.
And, for the record, I am
not purposely protecting this guy or his company. I accidently recycled his info and can’t remember who he
was.
3. Despite the fact that it is sometimes
fun to reveal solicitors as idiots, I have decided henceforth to stop opening
my door to strangers. Though (and
this is a real piece of advice from the police and everything) I will also not
take the coward’s way out and pretend to not be home, because that can tell the
solicitor-burglar hybrid that it’s ok to kick your door down and rob you. So from now on, I will say, “Who is
it?!” And then if it’s not a friend or a neighbor or a pizza or a puppy or
Google Fiber, I will say, “No thank you!
Go away now!”
Things I’ve Learned About Baby Screech Owls:
1. They are adorable.
2. They are born with only one
emotion: SURPRISE.
3. When they are first learning how to
screech, they sort of sound like a mockingbird with a cicada stuck in its
throat. Or maybe a cicada with a
mockingbird stuck in its throat. *
* In the absence of a
video of baby screech owls screeching, I instead offer you this fifteen-second
video of a goat at the Capital of Texas Zoo.
Things I’ve Learned About Doing Research For My Writing:
1. If you are writing a short story with a
Chihuahua as a character and you are trying to find out whether or not to
capitalize the word “Chihuahua” (the answer is yes) when it is referring to a
dog breed and not the place (still yes) and you do a lot of Googling about
Chihuahuas, Facebook will decide that you really love (and need lots of)
Chihuahuas and will show you several ads like this:
2. If you decide to mess with Facebook by
Googling poisons for fifteen minutes or so (clicking on such links as “10
Poisons Used to Kill People” and “The Deadliest Poisons in History and Why
People Stopped Using Them”), Facebook will stop showing you Chihuahuas and will
instead start showing you sunglasses and jewelry and Toyotas and swimsuits (all
things you have never shopped for online) because Facebook is worried about you
and these are the things Facebook thinks might make you happy and pull you back
from the brink. Because people who
drive Corollas while wearing swimsuits, sunglasses, and earrings never want to
poison themselves or those around them.
3. If a scene in your short story takes
place in Torchy’s Tacos and you decide to have lunch there in order to do “research”
and you spend your whole visit jotting down notes on a pad of paper, you will
get the BEST service anyone has ever gotten at a Torchy’s Tacos ever.
* Number of times an
employee asked me, “How is everything?” = 3
* Number of times an
employee asked if they could throw away my trash for me = 2
* Number of times an
employee gave me a nervous smile =
4
(I was not trying to give
the poor guys an anxiety attack—I was just too wrapped up in my note-taking to
realize they thought I was a restaurant critic until after I left. Rest easy, Torchy’s. I enjoyed my green chili pork taco.)
No comments:
Post a Comment