One of the fun things about blogging, I’m discovering, is having Opinions. I’ve always had them, I just never thought about them much.
One of my Opinions is about door-to-door salesmen. Solicitors are one of my pet peeves. When I lived in Salt Lake City – briefly, a zillion years ago – they frequently came to the door. Missionaries, people wanting to know what kind of laundry detergent I used, and so forth. My responses apparently weren’t typical. I felt like an exhibit in the zoo.
Except for the laundry detergent, solicitors aren’t much different here. Instead of Mormon missionaries, it’s Jehovah’s Witnesses now.
Although a Mormon missionary did stop me in the street a few months back. I was pleased to tell him how much, as a non-Mormon, I disliked living in Salt Lake.
I remember a couple Jehovah’s Witnesses coming to the farm when I was in my early teens. I was wearing lipstick. They were appalled.
Wonder what this generation of Witnesses makes of my tattoos?
There was a Fuller Brush salesman who came to the farm regularly. He had dreadfully twitching eyebrows. I couldn’t help but stare at them, try as I might. Hey, I was just a kid.
If it’s not Jehovah’s Witnesses at the door now, it’s inner city kids trying to convince me that I’ll change their lives forever by subscribing to some magazines or sending them to camp. Or cute little girls selling cookies. Or someone wanting me to sign a petition for some cause they consider worthy of taking up my time.
I never sign. I never buy anything. I don’t even let them start on their sales pitch. Sometimes they argue that I don’t know what they’re selling. I reply that I know I’m not interested, whatever it is.
If I want to buy something, I’ll go to the store. I like going to the store.
And if I ever start to worry about the state of my immortal soul, which is highly doubtful, I’m sure not going to entrust its well-being to some stranger who comes knocking at my door.
Lee listens. Lee lets them go through their whole spiel, and then he says no.
Not long ago we bought a pretty little brass plaque that reads ‘No Solicitors’ and put it up right by the doorbell. It’s amazing how many people still ring the bell. I point at the sign. They say, but I’m not soliciting; I just want you to buy my whatever-it-is, or sign my petition, or let me save your soul. That nice little keep-the-hell-away sign surely can’t be meant for me.
Wrong, folks, it is.
Someone came to the door the other day. Lee answered. They said, ‘do you have an opinion about marriage?’
Lee said, ‘I have an opinion about solicitors.’
I said, ‘Yo, babe!’