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This evening to my dismay there was a sharp rap upon the front door. It was the middle of dinner "naturally" and I reluctantly decided to answer it. I knew I wasn't expecting any company, and low and behold I was right. This was surely no company.

Standing before me in the near 100 degree heat, was a twenty-something, self proclaimed college student, with a shabby powder blue polo shirt with his name "George" in royal blue across the left chest. Khaki pants and a forest green back pack completed George's ensemble.

I had one of those special moments cross my mind as George proceeded to draw in "the breath". Some of you know the moment I am referring to. The moment when you fully realize you are about to waste between 5-30 minutes of your life listening to how you can make a difference in the life of "George" and what-ever he represents if you would only buy some of the "Low" priced items he is peddling door to door from his medium sized green pack.

That moment of realization is when I really stopped and thought all of the following:

What if I just slam the door?

Why do people like George get up in the morning and report to whom ever, it is that is directing this insane sales force of door to door, meal ruining time bandits?

Does George realize that there can not possibly be even one person who will answer the door, (over the age of 14) who would be glad to see him? With exception of his mother of course.

Could this be a scam?

Why me?

My dinner is getting cold.

Why did I answer the door? Why? Why? Why?

At this point George has drawn in his full breath and proceeds in amature auctioneer fashion to quickly try to exhale the following concepts:

1. Introduce himself
2. Build Credibility
3. Relate to me and my "plight"
4. Invite himself into my home
5. Pique my curiosity about his yet to be revealed product

All this in roughly 30 seconds and with a moderately rough European accent (He sounds Croation perhaps, definitely not English).... (and now I am getting annoyed and definitely not impressed.)

I mean common sense George! It is the absolute wrong time of day to come to the door of nearly any home. It is meal time, no better way to annoy your potential clients than to interrupt their dinner.

Clearly George has not been selling for very long, and is clueless about his "market". However this is at least one point in his favor in building credibility. No one trying to scam me, would be this poor at it.

Anyway, I answer George's first question of:
"Is there somewhere we could set down and talk?"

with

"Well George, there are 2 things that I don't have for you right now. One would be Time and the other is Money."

I personally didn't think this was too harsh, and it was totally honest. George in desperation sprang forward to unleash his product from his green pack. Which happened to be perched upon my front porch. (Just for clarity, my front porch is literally 3'x3' so his pack is leaning against my screen door.)

He whips out a small, colorful child's book and having drawn his second breath begins the second more desperate attempt to "build the bridge" to make the sale. You can imagine the feelings he is trying to create... but if you can't let me help you.

(George is trying to create the Sally Struther's "Think of the children" feeling. Which would mean I am supposed to think of my children and how deprived they are of teaching aides....LOL I bought them some better books than these George....)

I should interject that my 3 and 6 year old children have gathered at my feet to see what all the excitement is. I guess I was supposed to feel guilty as I was shooing my youngsters away from the stranger at the door for the 3rd time.

Another point for George for connecting with my 3yr old.... good job George. Now I really don't like you. I shoot George a sterner look, and repeat the fact that I do not have money to spend at this time. (Sometimes being broke is nice!)

George finally concedes and flings his goodbyes nearly three times over in disgust. Which actually brings him more credibility to being from Europe. As only a European door to door salesman, would dare to hurl, his good byes in such a flippant and disgusted manner. I could almost see George sitting in a Paris Cafe' with his motor scooter parked nearby, discussing "Those damn American assholes." While he sips on his Macchiato and ponders the future of the Euro. Ah, but his accent was not refined like the French. Poor George.

Either way, I let the door go, which the swamp cooler was all too happy to slam. And I returned to my less than hot dinner. A quick explanation to the children about strangers, and George is happily a fading memory so to be forgotten.

Well, now that I have given my experience of the day over to all of you, I too can try to forget about him.