Death of a Salesman - I Wish!

One of the 'joys' of working at home is that I'm constantly assailed by salesmen. Constantly. Assailed. By salesmen!

I work upstairs in my study, so if someone knocks on my front door I have to extricate myself from the computer headphones (or forget and suffer whiplash) and gallop all the way down to the front of the house. If I'm then met by some smirking salesman yabbering away on my doorstep, I'm not too berluddy happy I can tell you.

In the olden days (cue Hovis music) it was much simpler. They'd say, "Hello, madam, can I interest you in...?" and you'd know what was going on. These days they must take psychological degree courses on how to avoid answering awkward questions like, 'Are you a salesman?'

No, no, definitely not a salesman, tsk, perish the very thought, a mere salesman indeed. No, they're called 'representatives' now, or 'researchers', or 'canvassers'. It's all intended to put us off the scent so we'll have to stand there for a long time trying to figure out who they are and what they want.

Take yesterday for example. My doorbell rings. I unplugged myself from the computer, hauled myself out of The Typing Chair, and raced downstairs.

"Are you selling something?" I snapped at the bloke on my doorstep.

"We're just in the area and - "

"I'm not interested. As this bright orange sticker here on my porch clearly states. Can you see where it says No Salesmen and that I don't buy anything from the door?"

"People don't usually mention them," says the salesman, visibly flinching, "They don't often point them out quite like that."

"That's because you're the third salesman I've had knocking on my door today!"

"Yes," he said, "I'm getting that impression from people, that you get a lot of salesmen round here."

"And yet still you come!"

"We're just asking if you want your soffits done," the salesman continued tenaciously.

Just how many soffit companies are there in the South Birmingham area exactly?

"Soffits aren't high on my agenda," I tell him.

"You know they protect the wood, don't you."

Tsk. "Yes, but it's not something that keeps me awake at nights."

"Your neighbour has had her soffits done."

I gave him my best Lee Van Cleef look, all squinty eyed and menacing.

"Fascia boards?" he says.

"What about them?"

"Do you need yours doing?"

Lee Van Cleef was now sucking a lemon and feeling a bit trigger-happy. I didn't trust myself to answer without resorting to violence.

"Can I leave you a quote?" he asks.

"No, you can leave me alone!"

"You don't need anything doing then?"

Short of tattooing Eff Off on my forehead (and I've given it serious thought), I wasn't sure how much clearer I could be. "No!" I screech, so high pitched that my dog cried out in alarm from the other room.

He still seemed reluctant to leave, as they all do - maybe they want to see just how sarcastic I can get before I spontaneously combust, maybe they just like the feel of my driveway underfoot. Who knows?

Saying (or rather, shrieking hysterically) that I Work At Home elicits a variety of responses from said salesmen. Most assume I'm a homemaker (as they're called now), a Woman of Leisure who does nothing but lounge around all day eating chocolates and watching Jeremy Kyle.

One particular salesman, as my husband pulled up in the driveway, said, "Oh here's a proper worker, he'll know what I'm talking about." Hubs had to hold me back whilst he told the salesman to 'clear off while he still could'.

Another, upon being told through gritted teeth that I Work From Home, sarcastically sneered, "Oh I wish I could work at home."

I nearly said, 'Well you spend several years in a manic city environment putting up with back-stabbing colleagues and chronic corporate crap, perfecting your computer and survival skills to the nth degree and wasting hours sitting on a packed bus in rush hour traffic every single berluddy day and maybe you can!' But didn't.

There are now two signs in my porch. One reads, 'No Salesmen. No Jehovah's. NO EXCEPTIONS'.

The other sign is right next to my doorbell and it reads: 'Salesmen, before pressing, ask yourselves this question: Do you feel lucky?'

Brummie Broad: Here every Tuesday
Brummie Blogs: There rest of week.