SweetWitch
Green Goddess
- Joined
- Oct 9, 2005
- Posts
- 20,370
This is a story about that great American institution, the door-to-door vacuum cleaner salesman. It’s a tale of disappointment, anxiety and fear—and it’s best read with a southern accent—that’s southern US, for non-Americans.
As I sat staring at my computer condemning my absent muse, a strange shadow passed the front window. It caught my eye and piqued my curiosity. The shadow turned out to be the round, balding head of a round, smiling man. Pity his three teeth were tobacco brown or it would have been a very nice smile.
As I watched from the window the round, smiling man seemed to be taking stock of the vehicles parked in the driveway. He admired our pickup truck the most, eyeing it with some envy before taking in the yard, the house and lastly, looking through the screen door at the entryway. By this time, I had moved to the door and caught him in the act.
“Hi!” he fairly bellowed when he saw me. “I’m Mark.”
I returned his greeting with a friendly smile . . . and I waited. It was obvious he wanted something from the way he watched me so expectantly. His round body was clad in striped dress shirt. Over the shirt he wore a purple striped tie with an over-sized tie tack in the shape of a “K” emblazoning the center.
“That’s a nice truck out there. Mind if I borrow it?” He laughed uproariously at his own joke. His belly shook like a bowl full of jelly and his St. Nick cheeks stuck out like two apples.
Giving him my best simpleton giggle, I called out to my husband, telling him someone was there to get his truck. The round little man took a step back when he saw the size of the Goliath who stepped up behind me. That’s when Mark got down to business.
“We’re thinking of opening a store around here,” he said. “A Kirby store. Do you mind if I ask, what kind of vacuum do you currently have?”
I answered him, smiling pleasantly. Something in his demeanor made me a little uncomfortable.
“How’s it running for you?” he asked.
“Like a new vacuum should.”
“Ah, then you’re not in the market for a new cleaner, eh? Well, I wonder if you could help me out. The company is giving us a bonus of $50 dollars for each house we clean. If you have one room in your home that’s high-traffic, I’d sure be happy to come in and clean it for you.”
“That’s sweet, but I can’t take advantage of you like that. Besides, I’d have to clean before you could clean.”
He laughed, his large belly shaking to the extent I thought a button would surely pop off his well-pressed shirt. “Oh, you should see some of the places I’ve been in. You won’t have to do a thing. If you let me in, I’ll get that carpet looking like new.”
I smiled again. In my best southern drawl, and with a bat of my eyelashes, I answered him. “But if I let you in, dear suh, you’ll be privy to all manner of things no man should ever witness. And . . . there are consequences for prying eyes. Few have survived.”
Now, my husband is a good sort, but not one who is blessed with a sharp sense of humor. Normally he shrugs off my little departures from the mundane and gives me that look that says he thinks I’m crazy, but this time,he stepped up just as if he were taking a cue from a stage director.
“Run,” he said, his voice hissing out in a broken whisper. “Save yourself. It’s too late for me. Run.”
The smile faded from my face for a moment as I turned to shoot him a withering glance. I pasted a fake smirk in place when I turned back to Mark on the outside of my doorway. His face was much less jovial, his steps halting as he moved backward.
“You shouldn’t come here,” I said with forced politeness. “It’s not a safe place to enter.”
It’s an amusing thing to see a man of such proportions moving at the speed of sound. I began to worry, as he rounded the corner, if his heart would hold out under the strain. Perhaps I should stop scaring our visitors. No wonder no one ever comes to see us anymore.
As I sat staring at my computer condemning my absent muse, a strange shadow passed the front window. It caught my eye and piqued my curiosity. The shadow turned out to be the round, balding head of a round, smiling man. Pity his three teeth were tobacco brown or it would have been a very nice smile.
As I watched from the window the round, smiling man seemed to be taking stock of the vehicles parked in the driveway. He admired our pickup truck the most, eyeing it with some envy before taking in the yard, the house and lastly, looking through the screen door at the entryway. By this time, I had moved to the door and caught him in the act.
“Hi!” he fairly bellowed when he saw me. “I’m Mark.”
I returned his greeting with a friendly smile . . . and I waited. It was obvious he wanted something from the way he watched me so expectantly. His round body was clad in striped dress shirt. Over the shirt he wore a purple striped tie with an over-sized tie tack in the shape of a “K” emblazoning the center.
“That’s a nice truck out there. Mind if I borrow it?” He laughed uproariously at his own joke. His belly shook like a bowl full of jelly and his St. Nick cheeks stuck out like two apples.
Giving him my best simpleton giggle, I called out to my husband, telling him someone was there to get his truck. The round little man took a step back when he saw the size of the Goliath who stepped up behind me. That’s when Mark got down to business.
“We’re thinking of opening a store around here,” he said. “A Kirby store. Do you mind if I ask, what kind of vacuum do you currently have?”
I answered him, smiling pleasantly. Something in his demeanor made me a little uncomfortable.
“How’s it running for you?” he asked.
“Like a new vacuum should.”
“Ah, then you’re not in the market for a new cleaner, eh? Well, I wonder if you could help me out. The company is giving us a bonus of $50 dollars for each house we clean. If you have one room in your home that’s high-traffic, I’d sure be happy to come in and clean it for you.”
“That’s sweet, but I can’t take advantage of you like that. Besides, I’d have to clean before you could clean.”
He laughed, his large belly shaking to the extent I thought a button would surely pop off his well-pressed shirt. “Oh, you should see some of the places I’ve been in. You won’t have to do a thing. If you let me in, I’ll get that carpet looking like new.”
I smiled again. In my best southern drawl, and with a bat of my eyelashes, I answered him. “But if I let you in, dear suh, you’ll be privy to all manner of things no man should ever witness. And . . . there are consequences for prying eyes. Few have survived.”
Now, my husband is a good sort, but not one who is blessed with a sharp sense of humor. Normally he shrugs off my little departures from the mundane and gives me that look that says he thinks I’m crazy, but this time,he stepped up just as if he were taking a cue from a stage director.
“Run,” he said, his voice hissing out in a broken whisper. “Save yourself. It’s too late for me. Run.”
The smile faded from my face for a moment as I turned to shoot him a withering glance. I pasted a fake smirk in place when I turned back to Mark on the outside of my doorway. His face was much less jovial, his steps halting as he moved backward.
“You shouldn’t come here,” I said with forced politeness. “It’s not a safe place to enter.”
It’s an amusing thing to see a man of such proportions moving at the speed of sound. I began to worry, as he rounded the corner, if his heart would hold out under the strain. Perhaps I should stop scaring our visitors. No wonder no one ever comes to see us anymore.
They tend to trip over each other when they believe they're in the presence of a witch. Apparently, they have edicts about consorting with such creatures. 
