Tuesday, January 8, 2008

I'm the New England man. I'm vital in New England.

Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Fucking Gil called to the door today. Just what I needed as I tried to get the dinner together for those two ungrateful bints that I call the Bridge Crew. Yes, kids, that's right, it is not Christmas any more, Santa is effectively dead for another twelve months and we are therefore returning to the daily nightmare of trying to get you to ingest a vegetable or two. Great to be back, huh?

Ding, dong. Ding fucking dong.

'Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!' goes the concept-of-time-free Data.

'It's not Mommy, sweetie, it's too early.'

'Mommy, Mommy!'

'It's not Mommy.'

Nor is it. It's the opposite of Mommy. It's male. It's unattractive. It does not make me laugh. Gil, really, is the wrong name to attach to the person who greets me with his aggressive foot in the door, his vacuum salesman schtick. Gil has the charm of the loser, he elicits sympathy. This guy is just a fuck. A fuck with a weird face and a dreadful intensity. His face looks like one of those rubber president's masks that those sexy surfer types wear in 'Point Break'. But, horribly, it's a rubber mask of his own face. I am transfixed by this terrifying visage, which is the first reason I don't ease the door shut with a muttered 'not interested'.

The other reasons are his age and his rapid fire, cleverly constructed questions and statements. His age is old. And I offer my elders my respect until they do or say something that necessitates its withdrawal. This happens about five seconds later, but by then it's just too fucking late. I've answered one question out of misguided old person deference and merely making my voice grumpy isn't going to derail the onrushing sales train. We're here until we arrive at Destination Changing Telephone Operators or until this train spectacularly crashes, maiming and killing all on board.

On it hurtles, this train. I need to make the dinner. I need to tidy up. I need to shower. I have so many needs. I need to make this train crash and I don't have time to call up Elijah Price for tips. So here's what I say as rubber faced salesman foolishly pauses for breath:

'My wife makes these kinds of decisions. I just look after the children.'

The 'just', of course, is a betrayal of myself and everything that I am but it's more than fucking worth it, folks. I'd snog Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane if it meant a close to this conversation.

Mission accomplished. When I first lay eyes on Mr. Freaky Features I think his face is about as collapsed as a face can be, but folks, this face has more collapsage to offer. It goes all Twin Towers on him, on me. To say that he is embarrassed by my revelation is to understate the fuck out of his demeanour. He wants out. Reflexively, he promises to call again. But he lies. We won't be seeing this guy again. He gets the fucking message.

I tell Common Law this story.

'He was from Talk Talk,' I say.

'You should have just told him to fuck fuck off.'

'Yes. That probably would have been better.'

12 Johns and Janes for the comment whore:

Manuel said...

was he all pepped up like he was on E or coke or something similar? cunts cunts

Sam, Problemchildbride said...

"A fuck with a weird face and a dreadful intensity"

There's a Cohen brothers' film in there somewhere.

I tried to get my door bell to not go ding-fucking-dong as does yours' (and doorbells worldwide - think you not I have fucken worldy-widey compassion? - but the best I've managed to do is a ding-de-Paraguayan curse-dong.

Best regards

A tiredy-boned drunkardess (M.Div)

Sam, Problemchildbride said...

Coen.

Je pense.

Something French anyhows.

fatmammycat said...

"I'd snog Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane...' I'm imagining it would all get super scratchy, what with the beards and all.
But I digress! Common Law is my unsung hero of the week, Friday's ginger will be dedicated to her and to her alone!
Alert the men.

gimme a minute said...

Manuel:
I wouldn't be remotely surprised if that was the case.

Fucker didn't offer me anything to get past the whole dinner, commute, spin thing though.

Sam:
He could have been a minor character in the Hudsucker Proxy for sure.

And bless your world-widey compassion. It's the best kind.

Fatmammycat:
Common Law is very excited. I'm very excited. Excitement abounds on the Enterprise.

Medbh said...

If I had a hat, I'd take it off to you, Gimme, for surrendering your perceived male privilege so effortlessly.
Common Law rules.
Love it.

I used to do that in the past to men and women on the phone and those who came to the door--say that Mr. M made the decisions--but then they all seemed to like it too much, so I had to stop.

sheepworrier said...

He, or more likely one of his bretheren/colleagues/dark progeny WILL call back in 5-8 months... I used to be one.

*hangs head in shame*

gimme a minute said...

Medbh:
Perhaps it's time you invested in a hat. For occasions such as this.

Sheepworrier:
Be not ashamed, this guy had special powers of being unpleasant that I doubt you share. You'd still be doing it if you had these powers.

And if they come back I'll be ready with Common Law's 'fuck fuck off' line...

Medbh said...

My head's too big for a hat, Gimme.

One of my favorite lines for the god botherers was to point to the barking dog and say, "he thinks he's a lion."
That made them clear out in a hurry.

Common Law said...

I am very excited indeed. Double can't wait for Friday now.

Camron said...

The last time the LDS boys on bikes came to call (they show up every six months or so), Hubby made them carry in the groceries. His attitude was simple: I'll listen to you, if there's something in it for me. He was all set to have them mow the lawn, wash his car, and rake the leaves when I derailed him and told him that nice people don't abuse the cultists (or salesfolk) that way.

I'm now wishing Hubby'd had his way. Those leaves were a bitch.

gimme a minute said...

Medbh:
You could have used 'He thinks he Aslan.' Then he would have been a lion and Jebus and God.

And hats come in all sorts of sizes, comedy large head.

Common Law:
Oh fuck it, I guess I can just speak to you.

Camron:
Always listen to wise Hubby is the lesson there. Did this happen before or after he told you he was sick and you didn't believe him and he almost died?

Is it tasteless of me to bring that up? If so I apologise.

 
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