Suits. Salesmen/women in suits, specifically. I don’t know what my problem is with them, but I don’t want them in my house!! And they’re a necessary evil. If you want life insurance you’ve gotta have a suit come visit your home and sit at your table. And you have to give them coffee or tea, and talk to them about the family, and be nice. Bla! Same thing goes if you want to manage your investments and have a nicely balanced “portfolio”. Want an RESP to secure your kids’ education? Another suit. Even if you want a vacuum. Another damn suit.
I have a suit coming on Sunday. My mom, who was very nice to think of us, gave the guy our name for some free insurance. Free. Now that’s a good deal, right? I just wish we could do it through email or something because even though the suit says it’ll only take twenty minutes ya just know he’ll be sitting here for an hour.
I don’t even like how they talk. All smooth and salesmen-ish.
I think it comes from my childhood. (Ohhhh, the childhood is always to blame in’t it??) My parents constantly had men in suits in the house, and they were always buying the next best thing from them. My favourite was the Sodamatic. A nifty machine with which you could make your very own pop. It came with special bottles and different syrups depending on what kind of pop you wanted to make. You put the syrup and water in the bottle, and then put the bottle in the machine for carbonation. It was fun, actually. The taste was…not like pop, really. But it WAS fun. I wonder if they still have it. Now that’d be a great science experiment with the kids.
Where was I? Oh yeah. Suits. Maybe if they came in jeans and a t-shirt I wouldn’t despise them so much…naaaah.