Last Saturday night, at 8:30, a young guy came to my door peddling a home security system upgrade.
I listened. We talked for 30 minutes. Everything seemed fine. The information he had, the system and terms seemed like a good deal. He was good. He answered every question and concern I had.
As for timing the installation, he said the installers would alert me to when they would come, that there was no wiggle room with this special: I had to be home when they told me to be there. Made sense.
It being 9 on a Saturday night, I said sure, thinking it would be this week.
So I signed, obligating myself for a monthly payment for a long, long time.
And then he said the installers would be there, at the house, in 15 minutes.
Ah, he was not only good, but slick.
I had a moderate fit, excused myself to get a grip, then returned and told him that they most definitely would not be installing anything in my house starting at 9 on a Saturday night.
OK, OK, he said. How about 10 o’clock on Monday morning? That’s fine, I said. Still steamed, but still satisfied with what I’d done, I went to bed.
The next day brought the usual 13-hour third-Sunday day of church (Sunday school, morning service, afternoon prep, evening service, 90 miles away).
Monday morning, having slept on it twice, I had door-to-door salesman regret.
Wait, I thought: If I move and buy another house, the contract goes with me, and I’ll have to pay for the equipment that’s being installed for “free” now in the new place; and if I wind up renting, he said, I’ll have to negotiate to buy out the remainder of the contract.
Moving from our present house to another one within a few years is a real possibility. Moving into a rental is also more likely than ever.
Saturday, the salesman at my door caught me tired of body and weak of brain.