no solicitors!

I'm chatting with the office manager, Rhonda, while a couple of strangers dressed in business casual talk outside the office window. I'm wondering who they are, but Rhonda figures them to be salesmen, prepping themselves to come in and make a pitch about our toner needs or whatever it is that people sell to software companies. I hate salesmen, but it's not my job to deflect them, so I want to stay and watch Rhonda tell them what they can do with their toner samples. She bemoans the fact that they're young and cute, and wishes she didn't have to get rid of them, but their goals are clearly at odds with the giant yellow "!!NO SOLICITORS!!" sign in our window. I speculate that they might be Jehovah's Witnesses, at which point, we would run and get my coworker who used to be Mormon to take care of them.

They enter and introduce themselves, Josh and Trevor. My heart immediately softens slightly, but then I remember that this Josh is just a blood-sucking salesman who was too indecisive in college to get anything but a Business degree like the rest of his frat brothers and is of no relation to my sweet and blue-eyed beau, who is, incidentally, much cuter. I will not be weakened. Salesman Josh does all the talking, as if Trevor is just along to learn the ropes of being professionally bothersome. He wants to talk about shipping needs, specifically with our President or CEO. Rhonda explains that we don't allow solicitation. Salesman Josh is persistent.

"Well, could I just have the name of your shipping manager?"

"We don't give out names."

"Oh, well, is he busy?"

"I don't know. He's in the back somewhere."

"Could you give him a ring and see if he's available? It'll take, like, two minutes."

"I'm pretty sure he's busy."

As Rhonda is performing this silly dance, the President of the company comes into the office and makes a copy. She does so quietly, trying to appear to be just another secretary. I snicker. Dramatic irony!

"What do you guys do here anyway?"

"We're a software company."

"Oh, okay. And what's your name?"

"Rhonda."

"Rhonda. R-O-N-D-A?"

"Yup." More dramatic irony! This is fun.

"Rhonda, it wouldn't take any time to just ring up the shipping manager and see if he's got a minute."

"I'm pretty sure he isn't available."

"Alright, Rhonda. Thanks for your time."

Exit Salesman Josh and Mute Salesman Trevor. Rhonda rolls her eyes at me and complains about how pushy our visitors were. I agree, but feel a bit sorry for them, too. Their jobs must suck. I'd rather be a waitress any day than a salesman (saleslady?). True, the jobs are not that different, but at least there is the understanding that the customer come into the restaurant specifically to be sold something. These guys are just wandering around being annoying and trying to earn commissions. Then again, I'm really glad it's not part of my job to tell them to take a hike. At first I would be meek and confrontation-averse, but after a while, I would just get snippy.

"We don't allow solicitation."

"I just want to talk to someone about your shipping needs."

"Solicitation, noun. The act of seeking to obtain by persuasion, entreaty, or formal application. To petition persistently. Does that cover what you're wanting to do here?"

"What are you current shipping methods?"

"We have a guy."

"A guy?"

"Well, he's got a pony, too. He delivers on Sundays, too, unless the pony gets sick."

"Uh, what's your name then?"

"Nebuchadnezzar."

"How is that spelled?"

"Exactly like it sounds."

I think I could learn to like that job.