Canned beans

I did mention that I hate salesmen, right? Some metaphor about flies shamelessly helping themselves to the wine of my life. Get. The freak. Away from me.

The following is an excerpt of my and the receptionist Sandy's day.

*ring ring*

"Reception."
"Hi, it's me. Bryan's coming in this afternoon and I don't want to see him."
"Ok, but you owe me."
"Fine, whatever."

After lunch...*ring ring*

"Anne speaking."
"Bryan's here."
"I told you I wasn't here."
"He just saw you come into the building."
"Well, tell him I'm in a meeting."
"But he's watching me talk to you."
"Pretend you're leaving a message."
"So no."
"Ugh."

I had such faith in people until I worked with the fakeness that salespeople possess. I will resent them until I die for jading me like that. They don't really want to have lunch with you. They could care less how your weekend was. Their secretaries gave you the Christmas wine, they signed the card in the car on the way over. They don't actually think what you say is funny.

Over time, my realizations have created a persona that is only concerned with communicating to their true side. How was my lunch break? Fine, thanks, what do you want. No, you can't come up to my office. How much, who's the contact, that was due a week ago, change this, add it to the quote, bring me back a sample after you fix the colour.

Don't screw with me. I've got enough men in my life that do that.