Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Finger Lickin' Good

I returned home after a rare solo-outing (the all-exciting errands) to a rather perturbed Spencer. In my absence, he’d had an interesting exchange with a door-to-door salesperson. It left him uncharacteristically agitated. He announced we were no longer accepting solicitors and muttered something about posting a sign by our door.

After a few minutes, I learned more about this bizarre encounter. Apparently, a woman had come to the door trying to sell an all-natural, home-cleaning product. In an effort to find his “need” she pitched a mild interrogation with questions ranging from how many kids he had to the name of his hometown. Spencer deflected most of the inquiries and lied about the rest. But, this train was not easy to derail. So, she continued trying to ascertain his habits while convincing him that this product-wonder was a true cure-all. 

In fact, in an effort to sway him, she started an on-site demonstration. She went so far as to try cleaning the front door, one of my shoes (not really loving that), and the sidewalk.  Much to her dismay, Spencer was not sold.

To make matters worse, she wouldn’t leave any brochures at the house, provide a website address, or leave an order form. She insisted that he must make an instant purchase or miss out on this incredible offer. It was as if every option to take something, and send her packing, was off limits.

Well, as far as Spencer was concerned, she had already lost him when she wouldn’t part with the pamphlets. So, he firmly declined her offer until she unwillingly accepted defeat. She left, and he began plotting future roadblocks for solicitors.

So, I get it. She was pushy and a bit overboard.

Oh, but it gets better. Later that evening, I was in the office when Spencer piped up with “You know what was really odd about that woman today?”. I came out of the office to listen, partially surprised that he was still thinking about today’s encounter. He proceeded to tell me about the most shocking of details.
Apparently, after the cleaning demo, the woman took her performance one step further. After reminding him that the product was “all-natural, all-organic” she opened the bottle. Then, she licked the tube of the spray bottle, and, in a strong southern accent, said “mmm mmm tastes just like fried chicken”.


After a mini-rant/outburst from what I’d just learned, the puzzle pieces of the day started to fall in place. I see now, laboring over a self-made “NO SOLICITORS” sign must have been his way of cleansing from this truly outrageous experience. I now also understand why he disappeared in the bathroom and his shaving experiment took a detour.  Typically, Spencer gets haircuts when “life” seems overwhelming. However, he’d just gotten his hair cut two days prior so options were limited. But, the urge must have been uncontrollable, because it won, only a foot and a half lower. Yes, that’s right. He buzzed off his armpit hair and, somehow, found peace with the situation.

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