kirbyman

Did you know that the bad taste in your mouth every morning is the result of the dust mites who feed off your dead skin crawling into your mouth and pooing? And that they also crawl into your eyeballs seeking moisture and they poo there, too? How do I know these shockingly repugnant (and very likely fraudulant) factoids, you ask? Because the door to door Kirby salesman told me so.

I sunk to new levels of naivity today. A woman came to my door, telling me a new company was visiting our area in hopes of creating word of mouth credibility for a brand new carpet shampooing machine. For free, she said, they would shampoo up to three rooms in my house. In my defense, I told her this sounded sketchy, there was surely some catch. She smiled a gap toothed smile and assure me that no, they just wanted to come in and show me how this worked, so that if I were impressed with the product I'd tell all my friends and family about them. I knew better. But....well, my carpets are dirty, and who doesn't like a freebie? I figured he'd get in, clean the carpets, leave a business card, and leave me to my afternoon. I called J and told him to call in 10 minutes, so if they were really here to murder me and/or steal my pretty earrings, he could come rescue me.

Uh, yeah. After 2.25 hours, I got the creep out of my house. He showed up and took an unconceiveable amount of time setting up his Kirby contraption. Then, I had to see all the parts. Then, I heard all about the evil microbes lurking in my carpets. Before I knew it, I was pushing his fancy machine and agreeing that yes, it is very lightweight and yes, I agree that my current vacuum has been letting me down. With a sure smile, he tells me this $1,989 vacuum is the answer to my problems. TWO GRAND! For a vacuum! I shook my head, crossed my arms, and thanked him for his time but gee, I really should get my dogs out for a walk about now and had a zillion things to do. Unfortunately, Kirbyman just wasn't ready to take no for an answer. He vacuumed my air filter. He asked about my bed, and told me the above horrifying tales in hopes of cleaning my mattress. That sounded mildly creepy to me, and I doubted J would appreciate the thought of me taking a Kirby salesman to my bed, so I declined. He then started in on the couch, as I stood helpless to remove the eager fellow from my house. I pictured evening falling, me in my PJs, as he continued to suction away. He. Wouldn't. Leave. He needed water. He needed to show me another thing. He wondered if he could see my vacuum. He thought I should try pushing it again. He bargained, telling me we could spread the payments over 36 months and that really, even if we didn't pay some months, Kirby didn't mind. He asked for more water. He started to resemble a child who didn't want to go to bed, one with the likely capability of turning violent if told no, and I was desperately watching the 3 o'clock hour slip away, Dr. Phil drawing to a close, afternoon of relaxation down the drain (or...sucked up by his magical machine).

And finally, after he carried on a long personal conversation with his dad, on his cell phone, from the comfort of my couch as I cowered upstairs gmail chatting with L...he left. I had a clean living room floor, a sink full of fur and dirt and those mouth pooping bug thingies, and a firm talking to from L about letting strangers into my house like that.

So, note to all of you....beware the smarmy Kirby salesmen. Who knew?