Tuesday, July 24, 2007

I'll make you an offer you can't refuse

Last weekend, we opened up our garage (and our bathroom for one patron) to the general public to come paw through our things.

Garage sales... some people love them, some people hate them, some people just have them. We fall in that last category. I am not a saler by nature. I could take them or leave them. Unless there is something at a sale that I absolutely have to have, I won't go. And I can't think of a thing that I absolutely have to have.

I just let people look around because, let's face it, people don't step on your property to get the hard sale. They don't expect a salesperson to come out and ask if they need any assistance (although we do have the occasional "can you bag that up for me?" or "can you help me carry that to my car?" questions).

However, I think we have invented a monster in one of the kids, through no direct fault of our own.

The Monkey has decided that she is going to go down the path of being a salesperson. Car sales, insurance sales, real estate agent (which runs in the blood of our family)... you name it, she will probably sell it. Or ... she might be a mob boss.

There were two lines of thought going through her head: (1) if the patron had kids, her job was to entertain those kids, or tell them that whatever toy or book they were looking at were hers and were not for sale (and then she would cross her arms and scowl at the child, hoping that the scare tactic of giving them the evil eye would scare the child away from the sale ... sometimes it did, sometimes it didn't). There was one point in time when I looked up, and she was doing some sort of dance routine in front of the open side door of a van with her very captive audience of one, staring straight out at her with a look on his face that either said "this kid is crazy" or "mother, PLEASE shut the door... PLEASE!"

OR (2) if the patron was there by themselves, she would mercilessly follow them through the garage, asking them if they wanted to buy whatever they happened to be looking at or holding.

Hey... you gonna buy that?

Hey... you wanna buy a book?

Hey ... that's my bathing suit... you want it?

A number of individuals let us know that she is the perfect salesperson. I don't know if that was a compliment or a dig. The jury is still out on that.

The best encounter went like this:

I had to tell the Monkey that she needed to stop following people around because it wasn't nice. I am sure they felt like there was a little lapdog at their heels. So she decided to sit in her chair and haggle with them.

One woman stopped to glance at the books in a Rubbermaid tub.

In her best DeNiro voice: You lookin' at my books?

Smile from the patron.

You wanna buy one of those books?

Oh no.... ummm.... I have enough of those for my ... ummmm... kids. (she was a grandmother).

Oh. Whatchyour kids look like?

The patron, probably fearing for the lives of her children and herself, scurried out to her car and made a hasty exit.

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Anonymous Robin said...

LOL..love that girl of yours- she gets it honest!

7:19 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

OMG, too funny. This post has me roaring with laughter! I can just imagine that. Between the pictures of her, and your description...LMAO!

Love it!

10:04 AM  

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The Lovely She, that is me!

I'm a mom of three peeps ... Queen Bee, The Door Man, and the Chandelier Monkey, and wife to Ace, the Helpful Hardware Man. I created this space to get away from the people known as my inlaws, and because life with three kids and a hubby is all Unexplored Territory.

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The nine-year-old who seems to be growing older every minute, has an opinion and a comment for everything, and has a true servant's heart.
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The seven-year-old who loves the organization of things, will someday be someone's therapist because of his kind soul, and will more than likely be living with us until he is 40 years old.
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The five-year-old with the 13-year-old attitude, who has a dictator's personality, asks you to watch her all the time and say "hold on" to keep your attention, and will someday come home on the back of some dude's motorcycle with 10 tatts and a body piercing or two.

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The man of the house, the fixer of things, the winner of prizes, and the only person in his family to escape the South.

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Where I could have been yesterday
More than a village
Parent Communication
Now it is time to pay the piper
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Whatever happened to just good old fashioned getti...


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