Last night at damn dinner time there’s a knock on the door. I think it’s my sweetie mailman bringing me a package. It’s not. It’s some little blonde. New carpet cleaning place opening up, they are looking for peeps with some carpet to munch clean so customers can tell their friends about it and the rug munching carpet cleaning company can get some word of mouth advertising.
I think, “Hey, local business using social media methods for advertising. Building a relationship. And my stairs are fuckin’ gross dirty, so YEAH.”
I do tell her she has to come back the next day though – I’m not dealing with one more thing at night. I tell her 11 this morning.
On the dot, she arrives with some dude in Ed Hardy jeans and a Â blazer and diamondoid studs in each ear.
I think, “Huh, kinda dressed up for carpet cleaning.” as he carries in two boxes.
Did I just spy the word, “Kirby”?
Mutha effa. All I can think of is a facebook status update a few weeks ago about, “It’s 9pm, I think these people can leave now.”
I’m patient, the whole process entertains Alex, and hey, that’s worth something. I deal with the sales pitch, it’s fine. I get swayed by bright and shiny, and by gross and dirty.
I go for the reality check of the internet. Checking for prices on these things. Which, I’m not spending 2 grand on a vacuum cleaner. Not even if it came with a vibrator.
I think, “This vacuum would be too powerful for the only vacuum vibratorI know of.”
I come across this gem describing the full Kirby pitch. Which is all looking a whole lot like what I’m experiencing. I’m only about half way through this and we’re 40 minutes in. My stairs have foam shit on them. I’m done. The dude asks for a towel. Which is part of the pitch just described. I toss one down to him.
I say, “I have 5 minutes before it’s time to put toddler down for nap.”
What he doesn’t know is that I am now tossing all the filters of filth in the garbage and am taking his remaining bag downstairs. I open the door for him and wait there. Instructing Alex to say bye bye.
I kindly give him matches when he asks, as he calls his ride to come get him.
This is the last I saw of him.
Literally kicked to the curb. Sorry, dude, I’m not your girl.
(Incidentally the second photo was taken with my trial Virgin Mobile LG Rumor 2 phone. I like it. Which is totally not the purpose of me writing this post, but I thought I should share that last detail with you since they *did* give me the phone to tell you about.)
(Incidentally, Incidentally – it’s been an hour since that dry foam shit was put on my stairs and Alex is reporting, “still wet”. Fuckaz.)