Attack of the Unwanted Lunchtime Magazine Salesdude

I left work early today to head home for lunch because I was feeling a bit off and felt like resting. I have this nagging ache running across my shoulder blade so I assumed a couple of Aleve and a Diet Coke chaser, followed by a short nap, might do the trick. The verdict is still out on that.

As I pulled on to my street, I noticed this cute boy, perhaps in his late teens, early twenties, walking down someone's driveway. He waved to me like he knew me and I waved back, being the cordial neighbor that I am. It didn't hurt that he was a cute young man smiling and waving at me either.

I popped my Aleve and took a 20 minute coma nap and realized that, because I left work so darn early, I had better eat something quick before I headed back to work. The last thing I need is a bout of hunger around 2 pm. I opened the fridge and opted for some leftover fajita meat from last night's Mexican extravaganza hosted by none other than, me, myself and I.

I plopped down in front of the TV and watched a quick blurb on E recapping last night's Emmys. Yawn. Just then the doorbell rang followed by a loud knock. Sigh, I hate being interrupted at home. I peeked through the window and sure enough, it was cute young boy from down the street. Now that he was in front of me, he wasn't all that cute. Whatever could he want?

This kid started spewing on about points and all this garbage that I could hardly understand. He handed me a poorly laminated card with his credentials that looked like a six year old had written it. He was yammering on about Cancun, Cozumel and St. Thomas. Finally I stopped him and said, "Dude, what are you selling me?"

More song and dance. Literally. He asked me to touch my nose twice and then hop on one foot and repeat some ludicrous saying that ended with "cutie." My patience had run out. I'm all for people making a living. I'm all for the creative way in which he presented himself. But he went a little too overboard. He talked too fast and never point-blank said what he was there for. He started to give me the creeps. After handing me yet another poorly laminated card with about 100 magazines listed, I finally figured out what he was doing.

Sorry, dude, not interested. He tried again, this time coming at me from a different angle. He tried to play the "cute mom" card but fumbled on the 2 yard line by calling me ma'am. He wasn't getting anywhere. Finally, I patted him on the upper arm and said, "Sorry, guy, just not interested. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to work."

I turned and shut the door on him, abruptly locking the door. I kept mumbling explicatives under my breath as I was preparing to return to work. Touch my nose twice and hop on one foot. You've got to be kidding me. I'm getting a "NO SOLICITORS" sign for my front door. Crikey.