The [Near] Death of a Salesman

Well as you can see I let Jewell out of the basement and to punish thank me, she has stopped by with another rant story to share with you all. Please enjoy :)

I'm sorry everyone. Really. I am. Apparently Ron didn't learn his lesson the last time I wrote a guest post for him. OR you people haven't behaved appropriately, and this is considered your time out chair in the corner. (Dunce caps will be handed out at the end of the post.)
I, on the other hand, have brought the little red shovel that I stole from the sandbox during my last visit, and I am not afraid to use it. So, shape up! *waves plastic sand shovel menacingly*

Now, knowing Ron, he wants me to dig deep, and find something profound and inspirational to share with all of you in this post. Consider this your notice that all of you – are - screwed. I gave up deep, profound, and inspirational years ago. Instead, I've decided to take a moment to vent.

As some of you might know, and others will learn over time, I don't hate anyone. For those that are vocabularily challenged, hate means "to dislike intensely or passionately". Which, is truly ironic, because there are plenty of people or things that I dislike intensely or passionately. Chew on that one while I work out this post, would ya? Thanks!

One of those things/people that I generally "dislike intensely"?? Salesmen. Now, I know, it’s not politically correct that I said men instead of people. Suck it up, pansies. Another thing you should know about me, if you don't already, is that political correctness is often the most politically incorrect thing bandied about. However, this really is directed toward the male species employed in the sales field. I have yet to meet a female sales person that is remotely as obnoxious as male sales people.

I "dislike" them so "intensely" that, when in the mood to shop for a car, I absolutely refuse to go to a car lot unless it's on a Sunday when I am positive no one is going to be around to irritate the crap out of me.
"Why would you do that?" I hear you mumble behind your coffee cup.

Have you seen the price of a vehicle lately? I haven't, but considering the cost of a car usually runs about 1/4 the cost of the principal on my mortgage, the chances of me walking off the lot the day I visit are about 1/4 as likely that I am getting into AND then jumping out of a perfectly operational plane. It's just NOT going to happen.

Besides...I'm the edumciated sort. I'm fully capable of doing all the research I need on the vehicle(s) I'm interested in without a salesman blowing smoke up my you know where. *shakes shovel at Ron for having a non-swearing playground* Once I have figured out what I need to figure out to justify spending that kind of money, I will come looking for you.

So, anyway...I avoid salespeople. In fact, I do so about as religiously as I would were I presented with the plague. Unfortunately, because my husband has a bad back I came to the slow, nails on a chalkboard, soul crushing realization I was going to have to go toe to toe with a salesperson.

See....we own our own business, AND spend more hours on our butts in front of computers than would be considered healthy by either the Surgeon General or our chiropractor. As a result, the husband's office chair was starting to cause him more back problems than my nerves could handle. So, being that we are the only ones in our office, I suggested we could maybe find him a relatively affordable recliner he could use when he's at the office. So, off we go to a local warehouse discount store. We've bought furniture there before, at relatively nice prices, and they normally have a decent selection to choose from.

So we pull up, and I suggest we go into the "real" furniture store, next door, just to look around. I mean they are a furniture store after all. Maybe they are having a sale. Being the affable sort, he shrugs and says, "Sure."

We get to the door, and because I haven't been able to throw him to the sales wolves ahead of me break him of his sporadic gentlemanly ways, I go in first. Of course, being that we are married and tend to get along, we are talking as we get to the door. Only to be interrupted mid-sentence by, "Hi guys! How's it going?"

*internal groan, plaster pleasant smile on face*

"Fine thank you."

"Can I help you guys with anything today?"

*look at husband for wit and wisdom - crickets*

"No thank you. We're just looking."

At this point I pretend to start looking, and I walk past the sales guy.

All the while I hear the 2 guys jawing incessantly, well more the salesman than the husband.

"Blah! Blah! Blah! This weather. Blah! Blah! Blah! My car is stuck in Tulsa, and I'm going to pick it up. Blah! Blah! What are you guys looking for today? Blah! Blah!*

Somewhere in there the husband manages to insert that we are in looking for a recliner, while the entire time the salesman is looking at me like my head fell off and rolled under one of the floor displays.

*biting tongue - Ow!*

I look at the husband, "I'm going to go look at the bedding!"

*Sucker! I take a sharp left turn toward the bedding ensembles, leaving the husband behind*

So I am pretending to shop in the bedding area. I mean my bed doesn't have a head and footboard so I always like to look and see what's out there.

*tug*

WTF?

*Make sharp right turn into another ensemble display*

Oooo...that's pretty.

*tug*

WTF? Does this place include free under bed gremlins with their bed purchases?

*sharp right turn into another ensemble display*

Crap! Dead end.

*sharp about face - SMACK! - right into the salesman*

I look over his head at the husband with the, "When we get out of here I'm going to snap you in half so you only wish it was your back that hurts." look.

*plaster pleasant smile on my face as the salesman gets a close up view to determine if my head is attached biologically or by bubble gum and duct tape*
"Shall we see what we can find in the recliners?"

"Sure." I reply.

*biting tongue harder - Ow... blood, definitely blood*

We finally make our way to the recliners. The salesman points out the different types. He answers the husband's questions by asking managers the same questions. The husband tries out the different chairs, foot rests, "hmmmm..."s over the pricing of each. I wander around the variety of different recliners quietly contemplating whether a trip to the hospital to get stitches in my tongue will be necessary.

*tug*

WTF!? I turn around and watch the salesman start to mount my leg.

"You *hump* have been *hump adjustment* really quiet. *hump----hump---hump—hump-humphumphumphump*"

I grab him by his tie, hold him up to the light to make sure that he turns the proper shade of blue, and grin at him like Jack Nicholson in The Shining.

"My butt has no stake in this decision."

I hate salesmen.