Blogged

Ethics 201: Solicited

And not the fun kind of solicitation, but the soul-deep irritation of the doorbell at a quarter ’til eight on a goddamned Saturday evening, too late to pretend you’re out or asleep or dead because the front window is open and he can see your ass, so it’s out the door and onto the porch, face-to-face with some salesdroid peddling whatever the hell, doesn’t matter what really, and he’s at once into his spiel, the script he’s been trained to recite and from which he must not deviate an inch, and while he’s droning on and on you’re wondering what’s the right thing to do here, what’s the best course of action given the situation and how pissed you are even though you kinda pity him because he’s had doors slammed in his face all day, the ethical thing to do when you already know you have no intention of buying whatever the fuck this guy is selling, do you let him go on, let him keep stealing minutes of your life that you can’t possibly get back just to be polite, or do you cut him dead, stop him cold, mid-spiel, tell him save it for the rubes, pal, I’m not -

Oh.

Too late. He’s done. Awaiting your response. Your chance for manly self-assertion is gone.

But at least you won’t buy anything.

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