No Soliciting
Not longer after moving into our home, we realized our street and neighborhood were high traffic areas.
Even at the height of Covid—when we moved in—there were always cars whizzing down our street at obnoxious speeds and a decent amount of foot traffic. Granted, we live on an emergency route and many use our street as a cut-through to a major intersection. It made it pretty easy to convince my husband to put in a fence.
But the foot traffic isn’t reserved to dogwalkers or our neighbors getting their daily steps in. A lot of is it—I, myself, walk over a mile everyday—but on exceptionally nice days—typically between the hours of 3 and 5:30pm—door-to-door salesmen descend, ringing doorbells and hawking their products.
Before I go any further, let me say I would never knock anyone’s hustle.
We all need to make a living and start somewhere. Being a salesman—especially a door-to-door salesman—is an unbelievably tough gig and usually entry level for kids just starting out in sales. Arthur Miller’s “Death of a Salesman”—a standard in high school curriculum— accurately depicts the aftermath of a life dedicated to that profession. . When your livelihood depends on convincing someone to buy your product, the pressure to make that sale is insurmountable. You’ve got less than a minute to hook someone; you need to be sparkling and on from the minute a door opens. And if you’re constantly pursuing that adrenaline—the sale—the come-down and withdrawal is horrific—which is the premise of Miller’s play.
So I’ll never say anything disparaging about salesmen.
BUT…I think some tactics are a bit predatory and aggressive.
Because they’re all the same; like there’s definitely a “door-to-door salesmen” script that is performed by each and every individual. It involves the following:
A profound knock at the door (or multiple rings of the door bell in quick succession).
They stand a few feet back from the door’s stoop—to seem less aggressive.
Once the door is open, they inch onto the stoop and closer—angling themselves in the path of the door.
All smiles and personality, speaking a million miles a minute—getting that pitch in quick.
And if the homeowner starts to waver and voices disinterest, they seek a common interest to prolong the conversation, eventually circling back to the pitch.
All of this is to prevent you from slamming the door in their face. Because you aren’t only buying the service or product; you are buying them. If you feel some sort of connection, you are more likely to listen to their pitch and agree to a sale. So these salesmen need to lay it on thick and lead with their personality. Which is where I struggle saying NO. “You have a bleeding heart,” my husband says. When he answers the door, he easily cuts them off; “Unless you’re selling candy or Girl Scout Cookies, I will never buy from someone ringing my doorbell.” And there lies my problem; I can’t be inertly nasty to a perfect stranger—a perfect stranger who is just trying to feed their children or make commission.
That’s why I’m a perfect victim—I mean consumer.
A few examples of my utter failure at being assertive in these type of situations? Well, I’d be here forever if I documented each and every one. But here are two:
My eldest son was maybe 6-months old and was—as well stated in this blog—a very fussy baby. He preferred to be in my or my husband’s arms and would only sleep while being held. Which made aspects of life rather difficult. While trying to soothe him into a nap, the doorbell rang. And rang. And rang. Waking up my dozing baby. I stupidly answered the door, screaming baby on my hip. A smiling young man waved at me from the other side of our glass storm door. As I slowly opened that door, he stepped forward and wedged his foot in the jam, saying “What a beautiful baby! How old?” Then he went on for close to twenty minutes, explaining that he was in the area giving free roof estimates. I kindly explained we had just moved in and weren’t interested in a new roof yet. The word YET seemed to reinvigorate him; he started his whole pitch again, but this time leaned in to the fact that it was never too early to get a new roof fitted and that his company was offering a great promotion. I explained that I’d need my husband to be involved in such a decision and he was unavailable. I asked for a card, thinking it’d fulfill his obligation and get him off my property. “How about I take your number and we can schedule that consultation instead?” he countered. All the while, my baby was screaming his head off and my arm was slowly going numb. So in desperation, I agreed and gave him my phone number.
Like clock-work, he called a week later to discuss the details. I declined the call twice but then made my husband answer the call, knowing he’d shut it down immediately. “Please take my name off your list. I have your company’s name; when I’m ready for a roof, I will call,” he said as he ended the conversation.
After that, I dodged answering the door when I could see it was a salesman. Or I’d make him do it.
Except for one experience a few months back. This one with a group of Jehovah Witnesses.
I’m not 100% sure the draw my neighborhood has for these disciples of Jehovah, but at least once a month I see several smartly-clad groups of at least three making the rounds on my street and the neighboring blocks. Always around 9am on a Saturday, too. If I didn’t have kids who consistently woke up at the crack of dawn, 9am would be a pretty ridiculous time for a religious recruitment conversation. But by that time, I’ve already lived three lives—any parent to young kids would agree—and these “cold calls” have happened enough that I’m an old pro. Always respectful, the “pitch” is short and sweet and they usually leave after handing over a pamphlet, explaining their mission and the need for Jesus. All the recipient needs to do is nod your head, accept said pamphlet and they will be on their merry way. But this particular instance lasted a bit longer and I simply was not in the mood for a sermon.
“Ma’am, do you believe in the word of our savior, Jesus Christ?” the elderly gentlemen finally asked.
And the words kind of just fell out of my mouth; “Yes, I’m a Catholic but my husband,” I said looking over my shoulder in a dramatic fashion, “is an atheist.”
He clutched his chest and looked at me like I’d just said the dirtiest word in the English language. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” he whispered in a panic, stepping back from the door—like the lack of belief was contagious. I think he half expected said husband to come busting from my hallway closet to kick his ass all the way to the Jersey shore. “I’ll leave this with you,” he handed me his pamphlet and said “and maybe, with your permission, I will send you a letter to discuss more?”
“Yes, please.” I whispered, giving him a thumbs up. He left my stoop, thinking I was a religious-hostage to my heathen husband.
And sure enough, a letter arrived a week later; highlighting his favorite bible passages and imploring me to reach out for spiritual guidance.
My husband thought it was funny, but he promptly ordered one of these signs. Almost everyone on our block has one, so might as well give it a shot? And it has worked as a deterrent of sorts. Several times, I’ve watched unsuspecting salesmen step onto our lawn, spy the sign and walk the other way. Which is good! If I don’t want someone coming to my door—for any reason—it should be respected.
Period.
When that respect isn’t granted, that’s a whole other story. If someone blatantly ignores the clearly marked sign and still comes knocking, it’s pretty rude. And if that’s the case, I am 100% NOT buying whatever you’re selling, simply out of principle. My patience will be non-existent.
Like I said, the sign has—for the most part—been a deterrent. But there’s always those rare exceptions to the rule. We had two in one week—which kind of dumbfounds me. The first time—a kid selling exterminator services—I patiently listened to his pitch about ant repellants, all the while looking at our clear-as-day sign, planted in our garden directly next to our front door. The second time—a roofing service—I had absolutely no patience left and cut him off mid-sentence.
“Listen, thanks for coming out but can you see the sign right there?” I asked, pointing to the sign directly to his left.
Unphased, he looked at the sign and then back at me. “Yes, but I figured I would still offer you this great—”
“Sorry, no. We’re not interested. Thanks for coming. Please let go of my door.”
It was a juggling act in humanity for me; being nasty and short with a stranger is not in my DNA, but respect and kindness goes both ways. My kindness shouldn’t be mistaken for gullibility. I’m proud I was finally able to be assertive and stop people-pleasing. So was my husband, who watched the entire thing from our Ring camera. Will I have that backbone the next time a salesmen rings my doorbell, blatantly ignoring our garden signage?
That remains to be seen.
