About Windows and Sales and Food and Such

About a week ago, after 32 epic hours in New York City that included a tattoo, a concert, some really good food, and 1 hour of sleep, I then went straight to school from the airport and spent 4 hours of teaching. By dinnertime, I was a shell of myself. And that’s when I met Gio….

Shadows of Sycamore trees stretched like taffy in the late afternoon sunlight of my lawn as I rushed around finishing my laundry. I had 45 minutes before I needed to leave the house. I was waiting for Chick-fil-a to arrive. 

In a manic stumble down the stairs, I caught eyes with a man gliding up my sidewalk toward my front door. Oh, good, I thought. Dinner is here. And without verifying my first impression, I opened my door in a wide, welcoming sweep. 

That was my first mistake.

“Oh,” I said without masking my tone, “You aren’t my dinner. I was expecting Chick-Fil-a.”

“Oh, no ma’am,” said a young man with a five o’clock shadow and a head full of brown curls, “I didn’t mean to leave you with the wrong impression.”

You didn’t, bud. I think I had the exact right impression from the moment I swung open my door.

“Are you a windows guy?” Let’s just get right to it. I could smell the sales pitch from inside my house. I would recognize a window salesman even if I were blindfolded and heavily medicated, because I’ve fallen prey to them on more than one ill-fated occasion. I have been forbidden by my family from ever opening my door to a salesman again. Like EVER. When I do, I bring disaster upon us all that can look like anything from setting formal appointments with 8×10 glossy pamphlets and a team of polo shirts to sitting through lengthy presentations about Cutco knives and timeshares in Fort Lauderdale. 

I cannot be trusted.
I am incapable of saying no.
I am also incapable of saying yes. 

I am the worst kind of person. 

Because I only slept 75 minutes the previous night, I tripped headlong into the following open-door conversation with a sales guy. I tried. I really, really tried.

Gio: What is your name, young lady?
Me: Missy. I’m not young. 
Gio: Nice to meet you, Miss Missy. I’m Gio. 

Oh, good grief.

Me: OK. Hi.
Gio: Well, Miss Missy, we are going door to door in this neighborhood because we are just finishing a window install on Montrose.

THIS CANNOT BE TRUE.

Gio: I notice you have older windows.
Me: Yep, they’re old, but we are not interested in replacing them right now, Gio.
Gio: I understand. I didn’t mean to leave you with the wrong impression.
Me: You didn’t. But I’m kind of in a hurry tonight and I’m not the one who makes renovation decisions, Gio. So if you want to come back on a different day, my husband would be glad to discuss this.

Sorry, Todd.

Time passed. More time than I can convey in the retelling of it. I was in pain, wishing for a Time Machine. At this point in the conversation, I saw a car pull into my driveway. I celebrated internally, because now I had an organic ending to this excruciating sales pitch. My eyes followed the delivery person up my sidewalk. 

Gio: Well, Miss Missy, how do you feel about the changed recipe at Chick-fil-a?

I couldn’t believe it. He was going to keep this going. 

Me: I feel great about it. I didn’t know anything had changed. And I’m about to eat it with no complaints.
Gio: Oh, I just couldn’t get on board with the new recipe. I still like the fries, though. So, Miss Missy, about how many windows does this house have?

The delivery driver handed me my food. I stepped back into my foyer. I thought Gio was going to follow me inside. 

Me: I have no idea. I don’t count windows. A bunch.
Gio: Oh, ok. I get it. I know you said window replacement wasn’t really on your radar right now.

Yes, I did say that. And apparently, you heard me say that. 
Gio: So, how many windows do you THINK this house has?

I could feel the heat of my dinner pressing against my right hand as I felt my dreams dying inside me. This conversation was sandpaper on skin. I didn’t know how many windows I had. He didn’t know how close I was to losing my mind. I had 14 minutes to eat and be out the door. 

Me: Gio, I’m sorry. I can’t have this conversation right now. 

And I shut the door. In his face.
Because he wouldn’t come another day and he wouldn’t take “I don’t know how many windows we have and we aren’t buying new ones” for an answer.
And as I shut my door, I heard him say:

“I didn’t mean to leave you with the wrong impression.”

For windows sales people at large, here is my succinct open letter:

Dear Person Selling Windows:

1. Why do you still go door to door?. The internet exists so that if I need to search for a windows company, I can. With customer reviews.  That is the only way I will ever buy a window. I will never, ever, ever buy a window from a stranger at my door. Ever.
2. If a potential customer tells you that they are waiting on dinner and that dinner arrives in front of your eyes, for the love of all that is good and right in the world, let the potential customer go into their house. Take one for the team. Ain’t nobody ordering windows with warm chick-fil-a in hand. 
3. No one cares how you feel about the Chick-Fil-a recipe. 

That is all.