Snow in the burg this morning, and Gracie’s first move is to go outside and roll in it.
Yesterday was a typical Monday. I’m working in a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt, and yes, it’s snowing outside. It’s no secret that my house is my office, even though my friends/family rarely acknowledge that I actually do work here (except of course my favorite brother who knows what is produced from this small house just outside of the burg). A mid-day knock on the door wasn’t really a shocker, but the fact that it was at the front door was unusual.
I open the door to a dude who explains my house is on his sales route (although I’ve NEVER been visited by a meat peddler before), and asks me if I’m interested in buying steaks. I quickly dismiss and thank him, telling him that we get our meat from a locker. Seriously, I’m a butcher’s daughter. The thought of filets frozen in fancy shrink-wrap doesn’t get me excited. He asks if I might instead be interested in chops or chicken. Again I tell him no thanks.
Have you ever been solicited and had to say ‘no’ a bajillion times, only to have the salesperson end up rudely acting like you’re stupid because you don’t want their stuff? Well, not this guy! He smiled, thanked me for my time and apologized for bothering me. As he rolled down the road out of sight, I thought about him. I figure he has a family and probably isn’t selling as many steaks as he once was. In those short seconds, I bonded with a meat peddler for crying out loud!
But yanno what? He didn’t give me a card. I have no idea who he was or how to contact him. He had the whole selling process down perfectly, but he didn’t do that one last extremely important thing. With all the invasive selling tactics that include phone calls and SPAM email we are bombarded with — we automatically shutdown those who contact US for a sale — instead of the other way around. I wish this meat peddler dude would’ve realized that he would’ve made a future sale by simply handing me a card with that last smile.