The Tenth Circle of Hell: Taking Reservations Now

Around 9 PM last night, the doorbell rang.

This is never a good thing to hear when you live on a street where almost every household contains kids who have to be in bed earlier than the sun sets in the summertime. Hardly anyone leaves on an exterior light, and ours would have been off, too, except that we actually had a guest in the house: Taro, Chris’s fencing friend whom we last saw in May and since then has found a new job, a new girlfriend and sort of owns a house now.

When the doorbell rang, Chris and I looked at each other, puzzled. No one we knew would have arrived unexpectedly or that late at night, and I glanced outside through the window behind the couch where I was sitting. The guy standing outside saw me looking and waved at me, but I couldn’t see him clearly enough to tell if I knew him.

Chris got up and went to the front door, while the dogs commenced barking furiously. Flacko, in fact, was so disturbed by the lateness of the arrival that he leaped over the wall separating him from the front entrance and tried to slip outside to get a better angle to bark at the person. I had to lure him back with promises of treats, but in retrospect, I probably should have just let him chase the newcomer right off our property.

While I talked to Taro, Chris was busy at the door. A friend would have been invited inside by now, but Chris was taking too long for even a stranger. When he finally turned away from the door, he motioned at me.

“This guy wants to sell magazines and I said he had to talk to you because you’re the one who reads them,” he said.

“I don’t want to talk to anyone! Is this some kind of solicitation? Why can’t you get rid of him?”

“I tried to tell him we had company, but he keeps talking,” Chris said sheepishly. “I guess I”m just too weak.”

“I get rid of so many telemarketers for you, and you can’t even tell this guy to get lost?” I said. I stomped over to the door and opened it.

Insects flew closer to me, attracted by all the lights. A high school kid was standing on the front steps.

“Hi there,” he said. “I’m trying to get a savings bond for college, and I only need two more people to buy from me to qualify. All you have to do is sign up for a magazine and that would really help me out.”

He waved a laminated badge at me. I caught the mention of some kind of First Amendment group, and that the undersigned, pictured below and described as follows (”hair color: brown; weight: 120 pounds; eye color: brown” — apparently this First Amendment group was worried about imposters), had been selected to receive a $15,000.00 savings bond for college.

“Your husband said you read Reader’s Digest,” he went on. “You could just renew, and that would really help me. And I’d give you a big hug.”

The kid wasn’t bad looking, but there was something about his attitude that was really bugging me. First of all, I’ve never been a big fan of kids who ask other people to pay for their college. It’s one thing if your parents volunteer to pay for college (and preparing financially for your kid to go to college is something that I think every person needs to consider before having a kid), but to ask complete strangers? Hello, if you’re that hard up for money, try GETTING A JOB first. Second of all, it was freaking 9 PM on a weeknight and we had company.

“I actually have my subscription to Reader’s Digest until the year 2009,” I said.

He was taken aback, but only for a few seconds. The kid had obviously coasted by far too long on what someone had told him was charm and good looks. “Well, what else do you read?” he said, undeterred.

“Entertainment Weekly…” I said, flipping through his pamphlet of magazines. The titles were listed on the left, but some were crossed out in pen with no explanation, and three columns of varying prices were listed, also without explanation. “But it’s not listed here.”

“Well, what is that, like a TV Guide thing with TV listings?” he said.

Now he was begging for money, soliciting late at night, AND had clearly never read anything that didn’t involve bad voiceovers for pixellated characters carrying guns.

“No, it’s an entertainment magazine,” I explained slowly. “Entertainment Weekly…entertainment. A little like US Weekly or People Magazine,” I said. “Which is also not in here.”

“Well, your husband said you read Newsweek,” he went on. “What about that? You could renew and help me with my points. I just need some more points from two more people. And I’d give you a big hug!”

Good lord, no wonder my husband had been talking to this kid for so long–he’d been busy telling him everything about me. Apparently he’d neglected to mention that I have a severe hatred of people who call me on the phone or show up at my home to try to sell me things I don’t want or need. I also wondered whether the kid had given my husband the “give you a big hug!” line, and decided that the kid had just enough balls and greed to be an equal opportunity hugger. This kid would hit on anything that would buy from him.

“I get Newsweek through my frequent flyer miles,” I said. “I don’t pay for it.” I glanced through his booklet. “Also, there are two Newsweeks listed here with two different sets of prices. What does that mean?”

He looked at where I was pointing. “Well, sometimes they have different terms…like how many issues.”

“But both of these say 53 issues,” I pointed out. I had the advantage; I could read.

“Well, it’s about the points; you can give me more points if you want.”

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“What about kids, do you have any kids? Maybe you could get something for them.”

“We don’t have kids,” I said. I wanted to say, “And you’re the major reason why,” but he cut me off.

“Ah, you’re smart,” he said, nodding sagely at me with all the wisdom of a 17 year old jock who hasn’t yet realized he’ll never play in the Superbowl.

I handed the booklet back to him. “I really subscribe to too many magazines as it is, and this doesn’t have any of the ones I’m interested in.”

“We have another offer,” he said. “You can get $500 to use at any grocery store! Do you go to Super Stop and Shop?”

Although I knew I shouldn’t, I nodded my head.

“Well, you can just go there, and use the $500.” He pulled out an order form and started filling it out.

“How does it work?” I asked. I knew there was a catch.

“Hold on, let me fix this.” He diligently scratched at his order form, then held it out to me. He’d written $24.95 in the corner, broken down into $10.50 and $14.45.

“See, this is what you pay me today,” he said, pointing at the $10.50. I noticed that he’d added “service fees” to the total. “Don’t worry about paying me the whole amount; you can pay that later. You’re honest, right?”

“Yes, I am,” I said.

“Well, that’s an honest answer,” he said happily.

I wanted to point out that a lying answer would have been the same, but I felt that explaining the nuances of this would take up more time than I had already wasted.

“So would I get a coupon book, or what?” I asked. So far $500 for $24.95 sounded good, but I knew there was more he wasn’t telling me.

“Yes, you just fill it out whenever, for $10 at a time.”

Ah-ha!! Now we were getting somewhere.

“And do I have to use this up in a year?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“So basically, that’s, what, 50 trips a year to the grocery store?”

“Yes.”

I gave back the order form. “We don’t have kids,” I reminded him. “There’s no way we would go to the store that many times.”

“But you’d really be helping me out,” he said. “And I’d give you a great big hug!”

“Thanks, but we just can’t do it. Sorry.”

I shut the door. By now fifteen minutes of my life had gone by, and in the immortal words of Henry Rollins, I wanted my @$%*ing time back.

Chris and Taro had disappeared from the living room, presumably so Chris wouldn’t have to compound his guilt at abandoning me to the solicitor who had too many hugs and not enough huggees.

“Christopher!” I yelled. “You are in BIG trouble!”

If I couldn’t have my fifteen minutes back, I was certainly going to take fifteen minutes of Chris’s life with me.

Posted by: ssjane | July 14, 2005 | 9:47 pm
Posted in: This Life