Sunday, January 15, 2006
death of a salesman
i hate salesmen. detest despise loathe them. and the only thing i hate more than salesmen who try to sell me things i neither want nor need, are salesmen who claim not to be selling me anything, and then try to sell me something anyway.
unfortunately these vultures tend to circle around orchard mrt, clipboards in hand, (oh, that clipboard. how i feel like breaking it in half over their over-greased, fake-oakley-wearing heads and shoving the shards where the sun dont shine.) picking off the last few remaining shreds of joy hanging helplessly from the rotting carcass of my weekend social life.
i think i've developed a way to deal with them at least. (sometimes general irascibility can be a blessing.) read on.
random mat salesman (RMS): (jumps out from behind large easel) hello!
me: FUCK! (nearly has heart attack)
RMS: (shit-eating fake grin plastered all over his slimy mug) dont worry ma'am! im not here to sell you anyt'ing! look at thiss poor chil--
me: so you're giving it away? thanks! (snatches proferred booklet)
RMS: uhh, no. each voucher booklet costs 10 dollars. but its to help the Muslim Chil--
me: so i pay you money, and you give me this booklet right?
RMS: yeah, but im--
me: so aren't you trying to sell me something? LIAR. i dont buy things from LIARS.
i should've stopped to see his reaction, but i was really too annoyed to endure another nanosecond of his rampant idiocy. bah.
+ fictions&fires
5:52 PM
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plangere, latin: to strike, or to lament.
in the depth of winter i finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer.
--albert camus
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to be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best night and day to make you like everybody else means to fight the hardest battle any human being can fight and never stop fighting.
-- ee cummings
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