No soliciting
I've always disliked "No Soliciting" signs. More often than not, solicitors offer a chance for an interesting conversation, if nothing else.
Weekly Three
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READ: Catholic culture is popular (?).
VIEW: A sushi chef answers sushi questions from Twitter.
No. 78: No soliciting
You know those No Soliciting signs people put on their front doors? I strongly dislike them.
I’ve disliked them since I first discovered what they meant. I remember being a kid and asking my mom about them.
“Mom, what does ‘no soliciting’ mean?”
“It means they don’t want people knocking on their doors, trying to talk to them about their politics, or religion, or sell them stuff.”
I thought, Well that’s rude.
Maybe, in the end, it’s really nicer than rejecting whoever it was that turned up on your doorstep. But from the perspective of someone looking at your house and seeing the officious signage No Soliciting on your door? It seems rude, anti-social, hermetic.
Plus, making that announcement to the world outside your home seems like a sure way to cut yourself off from a slew potential opportunities.
What if the salesman you turned away had some product that would have changed your life for the better?
What if the petitioner you turned away needed only one more signature to pass some political initiative that would have benefited the whole community, an initiative that is now dead because of you?
What if the missionary you turned away could have helped you through a hard time in your life, ushering you towards a new and beautiful state of mind?
I was very glad we never had a No Soliciting sign on our house. If we did, I wouldn’t have met the wide variety of people that I ended up chatting with.
“Are you the homeowner?”
“No. But what’s up?”
My intention was to at least let them say their piece. It was the nice thing to do. I would try to imagine what it was like to be in their situation. When I did, I saw myself walking around sun-beaten neighborhood streets, going door-to-door, and getting most of those doors slammed in my face. Repeat.
What a relief it must have been then for a solicitor to meet someone who would let them at least finish their pitch, and who even seemed to entertain their idea. Most of them must have known I wouldn’t pull the trigger — again, I was obviously not the homeowner — but they were happy to talk anyway. And maybe they could put our address down as one where they had at least conveyed some information, a minor success earning them a slap on the back from the boss. I was happy to give them that.
In turn, they gave to me. I learned about a bunch of interesting stuff, things like grassroots community efforts, who was running for mayor, how much money my parents could save by going solar.
Sometimes I bought chocolates with caramel inside to help some charity. Many times I bought girl scout cookies. And once, a guy gave me a little plastic baggie of rocks. I’m not sure what he expected me to do with them.
But most of all, I had some surprisingly deep conversations with religious missionaries, whether they were Jehovah’s Witnesses or bicycle-riding members of the Church of Latter Day Saints. The religious people would ask the most interesting questions.
Is a close, strong family important to you?
Do you have a belief in Jesus Christ as the son of God?
Do you accept the bible as the word of God or as a history book?
Do you pray?
“Would you like to be happier than you are now?”
“I mean, sure?” I’d say. “Not that I’m unhappy now. But I guess that sounds good . . . Hey, where are you guys from?”
I feel for the people that never get to enjoy these encounters because they have No Soliciting signs on their doors, which is why I found it so surprising when, last week-ish, for a brief moment, I actually considered putting one on my door.
I was getting bombarded by salesmen! Somehow, these people had found out I was a new homeowner in the community, and they came down on my house like a cloud of locusts.
All of them were salesmen. No religious dudes, or petitioners, or purveyors of candy and cookies. Just salesmen, and extremely persistent ones, too.
Maybe this was the homeowner effect. Back in California, they seemed willing to give up the spiel and just chew the fat for minute once they realized I wasn’t buying anything.
Here, not the case.
The home security guy: “You sure, man? Absolutely sure? Look, check this out, I can give you this security package for $500. Full home coverage, so you never have to worry. Most people pay $800. And, check this out, if you put our ‘PROTECTED BY ADT’ sign out on your lawn, I’ll take off another $100. How does that sound? Anyone else in the house with you? Your girlfriend? Got to make sure she’s protected. Gotta protect what’s most precious to us, don’t we?”
The tree guy: “Looks like your branches are getting pretty big. We’re happy to trim them for you. We’re a fully insured company. We could probably get it done in a half-day.”
I even got a guy who didn’t know where he was: “John? How’s it going! I’m Mike, here to build your fence. You had an appointment? You didn’t make an appointment? You’re joking me. Ha ha. Oh, you really don’t have an appointment? What’s your address? Shit, I’m supposed be down the street. Sorry about that.”
But the guy I’ve been thinking about a lot lately? The bug guy.
He came at the very beginning of summer, warning of bugs. I said I was okay, didn’t need it, and weren’t spiders good for a thriving home microecosystem? He said he gets that all the time. His answer was, yes and no.
He pulled the same tricks as the home security guy. I could get a special price, but only if I agreed to the service now. They would spray around the house to prevent bugs from getting in. I said we didn’t have any, and that we were good, thanks.
“You sure? You’re going to regret it in a few months. I’m telling you, man. When it gets hotter, you’re going to want this. You’re going to wish you got it. Trust me.”
I told him I like bugs, which is untrue.
Then summer came.
I see now: I should have done it.
You were right, bug guy. I’m sorry.
Alright, the bugs aren’t terrible, but there are definitely a good amount of bugs around here. They don’t bother me really, but you see them every now and then — an earwig here, an ant there. It doesn’t help anything that I don’t like killing bugs. A) I don’t want to kill a living thing B) I don’t want blood and guts and legs and heads everywhere C) Some bugs are scary. That can mean only one thing. The bugs and I co-exist.
Archer is our chief exterminator, although he’s not a very good one. Sometimes standing up on his back legs, only to come down hard with both of his front paws on a bug. Usually he misses, or his soft paws don’t effect the bugs exoskeleton, so he starts barking at the little moving fleck, as if that will solve it.
In any case, not having a No Soliciting sign taught me something new once again: that even when you don’t have a No Soliciting sign, you can still miss out on some opportunities, some useful products, some interesting conversations.
But I still strongly dislike them. I think life would be ever so slightly better, in the tiniest, most microscopic way, if everyone agreed to stop using No Soliciting signs, and instead used their words to meet a person face-to-face and say, “No.”
Or they could choose a sign that’s little more polite, something like . . .
Hello. You’re Welcome To Solicit Here, But, Just A Heads Up, You’re Probably Going To Get A No, If I’m Being Honest. But Still Feel Free To Give It A Go. Have A Nice Day.
My version might be a little long. ♦
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