Hard sell.

Yesterday morning tiny little 82-pound baby dog Izzy had to go to the vet for his first annual checkup. In future, his shots will be staggered, but on this one he got them all at once: Lyme, bordetella, rabies, and so on. He passed his physical and was very well behaved (why can't my doctor give ME cheese during an exam?). But he was completely wiped out afterward. So, in fact, was I. 

We were conked out in the living room when Izzy suddenly got an interior call on the Bladder Hot Line, and I woke to him whining. With no thought to my own bladder, I whisked him outside, where, like any dog with a strong urge to micturate, he started wandering around by the sidewalk, looking for the perfect spot. And that's when two things happened that led to my Irritation of the Day. 

First, a young guy pulled up to me riding a hoverboard. He had a lanyard and a clipboard, so I knew this wasn't going to be good. 

Worse, he had barely started into his pitch (Today only! Deep discount! Trucks in the neighborhood!) for lawn pest control when a pal from around the corner stopped his car on the way and said hi to both of us, him having used pest-control service. Now the salesman knew I live in this house, not just walking the dog past it, and he has a customer he can point to as a success story. 

The pitch continues, and continues, and continues. I keep saying no as nicely as I can. 

Why? After all, readers of this blog know I hate every critter this guy shows on his kill list, from wasps to spiders to ticks to mice. But I will not be driven into a snap decision when one is not necessary, and I despise the hard sell. 

Can't stand it, always have. Once when I was a kid, my parents made the mistake of going for a tour of a time-share outfit in Florida. For our willingness to look around and listen to the pitch, the salesman promised a gift certificate and some novelty prize. Well, my parents had a bad feeling about the whole deal (the same one many time-share customers would come to have) and their answer was no. That salesman went from funny young man to blank-eyed casino owner the moment we got in his office. You could not tell him no in any form or language that would lead the conversation to end. We would still be there to this day, us kids grown-up and the remains our dead parents, with the guy waiting for us to agree -- but finally my parents just got up and we left. If I had been younger I would have screamed "I pooped my pants!" to help them get out sooner. 

As much as I admire energy, get-up-and-go, and hard-charging ambition, I will not be told that I have to make a decision now, not unless someone is literally going to die. And when a salesperson asks "What is there to think about?" I shut down entirely. 

I swore I would call him if he'd give me his number, and I would have, but he wouldn't let go. I used my wife as my excuse for not agreeing to anything, and said she wasn't home, and no I could not call her right now, and finally got away. 

During this whole exchange, poor exhausted Izzy had flopped on the sidewalk, and neither of us had peed, and we were both losing our joie de vivre quickly.  

I should have yelled "I pooped my pants!" and run.

You know I've had it when I would rather have the four- and six- and eight-legged pests than that two-legged pest. 

UPDATE: The town has sent out this notice: 

We have received several reports from residents regarding recent door-to-door solicitation from a pest control company.  Please be aware that the Town has not issued any Peddler's Permits for this solicitation, as required by Town code.  Those who have been issued a Peddler's Permit by the Town should always be able to present this permit when asked.  Please exercise caution and do not invite strangers into your home.