A robot attempted to upsell me windows in the form of a (maybe?) 19 year old, interrupting my manly gardening.
I’m literally holding a hand saw and 6" deep in bark and dead branches. Also, I’m behind a tree.
“Hello, hello!” she becons again.
I sigh and drop the saw and walk over.
“Hello, hello!” a third time.
“Are you the owner of this BEA-UTIFUL home?” She poured it on for that one word, as though it pained her to do so.
“Hi my name is [whatever],” as she extends her hand.
I politely deny, gesturing to my filthy hands. “Oh, I’ve been gardening.”
“Oh, I understand. My grandmother also used to garden.”
Wow, how relatable!
Her expression is frozen into an empty permanent smile, the kind where if your wisdom teeth aren’t visible, they’ll fire you.
“We’re from Renewal by Bonghole, have you heard of us?”
“Oh, well we are replacing some windows... not... far... from here...” Uh, oh. She’s forgetting the script already! “... and we always ask neighbors if they need new windows as well as a courtesy to community...”
For the next 20 seconds she speaks, I shut the part of my brain that cares in order to conserve energy. Then came the extreme level of professional expertise.
“... And I noticed that you have the ORIGINAL. WOOD. WINDOWS!!!”
Is this the part where I was supposed to gasp, and say, “Oh no! MUH WINDOWS.”
“... and I noticed some discoloration. Did you want to replace those?”
“Actually, these were replaced in the ‘70s.”
FYI, my house is well over 100 years old.
Silence, coupled with her frozen smile. Did their training account for the possibility that homeowners might actually know something about their own homes! I can see the problem if you’re an alleged window expert but make up crap in order to push a sale.
Her voice shakes and her shoulders sag.
“Oh well, that still pretty old!”
I smile back and say nothing.
“Is there... a reason why you... DON’T want to replace them?!”
“Because they work.” And work great, might I add.
“There’s nothing wrong with any of them,” I retort while increasing my smiling arc.
My body is now turned 87 degrees, but still maintaining eye contact. I have indulged your questions and would like you to get the message. Your attempts are for naught. Will you please leave, is all I’m thinking to myself.
“Well,” her once tightly clutched clipboard now extends out. “Can we call you in a year and ask again?”
“No, if I ever need windows, I’ll call somebody.”
At this point I’m completely turned around, doing George Carlin’s 45-degree lean in the process.
“Okay, have a great day!”
But it’s already 7pm as she said this 🤔