I arrived home the other afternoon from grocery shopping to find a very large man happily vacuuming my living room.
“Oh hi!” he said. Seeing my puzzled look, he continued. “I’m just vacuuming your living room!”
“Yes I can see that, but….” I said coolly. At the same time, Tate came into the room looking at me with wide eyes and a “help me” look. “He’s a vacuum cleaner salesman,” Tate explained.
The house was in complete disarray, the children were in the playroom screaming, there were bags and bags of groceries to be unloaded from the car, and it was time to start preparing dinner. And the vacuum cleaner salesman was trying to spout the wonders of his Kirby over the chaos.
I was not amused.
My darling husband kindly offered to retrieve the remaining groceries from the car, leaving me to deal with screaming kids and the fracking vacuum cleaner salesman, who continued jabbering on and on and vacuuming every surface of my house.
“See this flexible hose?! It’s great for getting to all those hard to reach places, like behind your TV. Wow! It sure is dirty back there…”
Annoyed, I attempted to calm my children and unload grocery sacks, AND start dinner. I completely ignored the vacuum cleaner salesman. Tate invited him in, Tate could deal with getting him to leave.
He kept right on talking (and talking), as if I were listening.
Tate finally completed the unnecessarily long process of unloading the groceries and went back to the vacuum cleaner salesman. I was sure that Tate could see my irritation, it was obvious in my glare. He surely could also hear the children crying because of hunger, and I KNOW he could see all the groceries that needed putting away. Head hanging low, Tate went to deal with the vacuum cleaner salesman.
The vacuum cleaner salesman apparently had some sort of mesmerizing effect on Tate. “How much would you be willing to pay for this vacuum?” he asked Tate.
I wanted to scream, “NOTHING. Please GO AWAY. Can you not see that this is a VERY BAD time?????” Surely I didn’t need to say anything. SURELY Tate would tell him to leave.
My darling husband kindly inquired about the price and told the man how impressed he was with the vacuum. I nearly screamed.
The vacuum cleaner salesman refused to give a price and somehow wrangled himself inside of our bedroom to give a demonstration of it’s “awesome” mattress cleaning abilities.
With the groceries put away, I began to fix dinner. I could hear the vacuum cleaner salesman wheeling and dealing with Tate.
“This is a one time offer. I’m just down from South Bend, doing the folks here in New Town a favor by offering you this Kirby.”
I can hear Tate stammering in reply. “Uh. We don’t. Uh. No. Uh. Can I just get your card? Uh. We’ll call you?”
After about TWENTY minutes of this “It’s a one time deal,” “Uh. No, we don’t want it,” the vacuum cleaner salesman finally gave up.
I wanted to scream, “Praise Jesus! He’s leaving, he’s leaving!!!”
That’s when Tate did the unthinkable. He said, to the ALMOST FINALLY DEPARTING vacuum cleaner salesman, “So, you’re from South Bend? You a Notre Dame fan?”
And that’s when my head exploded.
As I was picking up the remnants of my skull, I heard Tate offer the vacuum cleaner salesman a DRINK. A DRINK! For the next HALF HOUR, they talked football. FOOTBALL! All the while, the vacuum cleaner salesman is guzzling glass after glass of water and hinting about how the dinner I was preparing sure smelled good.
I know one thing. When you’re trying to get a MALE SALESMAN to leave your house, under NO CIRCUMSTANCE do you bring up fracking FOOTBALL, nor do you offer them food and drink.
Let this be a lesson learned.