How To Get Rid of Door-to-Door Energy SalesRats

Yes, I said SalesRats. I have no love for them. Don't get me wrong, I understand that most of them are hard working people trying to earn a living on commission. I get that. But when your idea of earning a living regularly includes duping unsuspecting people into signing up for crap that you know won't save them any money...then I consider you to be an asshole.

Years ago I had a lovely couple living in one of my rental houses. Staying with them was the woman's elderly mother, a very nice lady in her eighties. Horribly afflicted with dementia. Not "horribly" in the horrible sense, more a case of you'd tell her something and she would stare at you like you were talking backwards. Then she'd ask you if you'd like a cup of tea and try to feed you a dog cookie.

I tolerated her because she was incredibly cute. Secretly, I worried she was going to burn my house down.

The problem with this sweet old lady was that if anyone came to the door during the day with a clipboard and a pen she would sign whatever they had without question. It wasn't too long before I started getting "contracts" in the mail from several competing energy companies. Of course, these mailings would come days after the ten-day "cooling off" period. Sometimes they were delivered to my house, sometimes to the rental house. I'm sure there are still contracts out there that she's signed that have ended up in no-man's land. Only the most tenacious of shady energy suppliers managed to figure out who really paid the bills.

I can not tell you how much of a pain in the ass it was to have to cancel those contracts. Even with legal expertise behind me it was like pulling my ears outta my arse. (Probably) Nearly impossible. Telling them I didn't sign it got me nowhere. Trying to explain the situation? Forget it. Complain about it? Pfft. Like they care.

I ended up threatening lawsuits. I sent everything on paper marked with the firm's legal letterhead and nine out of ten companies backed down. The tenth company, I paid their "cancellation fee" and fought them in Small Claims. Naturally, I won.

What came out of the whole mess was a stroke of brilliance. The energy (rats) companies I dealt with all agreed that a tenant did not have the right to sign any contract changing the energy supplier if the landlord was the one paying the bills. It took a whole lotta legal threatening to get them to say that, but eventually they had to concede. So guess what you say the next time someone comes knocking on your door?

"I don't own this house, I rent. The landlord pays the energy bills and we are not permitted to give out his contact information"

Yes, it's a lie. But these people don't know that. They work on commission, remember, so time is money. If you don't own the house, they won't waste their time. I have never had a person challenge me once I've said that. They just say thank you and move on.

Try it. It will save you time and the grief of arguing with these people. Some of them can be incredibly pushy (which is never appreciated) so at the very least you may be spared the hard sell. Or the guilt trip, or the fear mongering, or whatever other crappy sales tactic they choose to spring on you.

So what ever happened to the sweet old biddy? Well, I had to have the tenants put the energy bills in their own names. I couldn't take the hassle, she was a magnet for these reseller sales people. The day I went over to discuss the situation with them I had a binder full of all the contracts she had signed and a pen in my hand. The woman's mother answered the door and as soon as she saw the binder she said "I sign...I sign...". Even when I tried to tell her I wasn't looking for her signature she still tried to get the pen away from me. With the help of her daughter we finally figured out why she kept signing things.

She was expecting a telegram from her husband. Because apparently he was overseas in Korea. In 1950.

I ate two dog cookies that night because I felt so bad for ever being angry at her. And I smiled my damned fool face off while I was chewing 'em, too.

Dear Santa...

Last night while my kids were with the sitter they wrote their letters to Santa. My sitter makes a big production of it, with milk and cookies and fancy construction paper, etc. My kids want none of that shit. Gimme a piece of paper and a couple of catalogues, they say. Giddy up.

Letters to Santa in my house are top secret. There's a reason for this. When my boy was four some older kid told him there was no Santa Claus. And since this older kid was in a position of some sort of trust with my boy, my little guy believed him. And he was heartbroken.

There were two ways I could have gone about it. I could have told him the truth, but seeing as my daughter was only one I was not entirely in favour of having my kids go through pretty much their entire childhood not believing in the magic. So I concocted a plan. Make your list for Santa, I told him, and don't show me. Don't tell me about anything that's on your list. Seal it in an envelope and send it.

If you get even one thing on your list Christmas Morning, then you'll know what to believe.

Yes, I perpetuated a lie. But the look on his face when he got pretty much everything on his list Christmas Day was more than worth it.

Since then the "Secret Letter" concept has been a resounding success. They hoard catalogues and write their little lists (which I inevitably find in their pockets while I'm doing laundry), then they compose a final draft which they send in a Christmas Card to Santa. I never see the final letter. I make a big point of not seeing the final letter. My daughter always tries to tell me what's on her list. "Just one thing!" she always says as I stick my fingers in my ears and yell "LA LA LA LA LA!". I tell her I don't want to know.

But of course I always do know.

How do I find out? Well, the most logical way is to wait until they're out of the house and then raid their rooms for the rough drafts. That's the point of putting it in a Christmas Card, it's easier to find a card than it is to find a thousand little scraps of paper with kiddie wishes written on 'em. I let them choose a Dollar Store card early on and tell them to keep their lists in the card..."So you don't lose it".

This method has been mostly successful as red envelopes are a dead giveaway. I've only ever run into one problem, and that was last year. My boy decided that instead of writing things down he was just going to say them out loud before he went to sleep. And he did. I caught him whispering in the dark a few times before I eventually asked him what he was doing. This, I think, was a test of Santa's extensive surveillance network. If he can see me pulling my sister's hair, then he should be able to hear what I want for Christmas. The kid is incredibly bright. It took me a long time to figure out how to keep the "He knows if you've been bad or good" threat going. I mean, if I told him Santa's Elves WEREN'T watching his every move then I ran the risk of finding more headless Barbies.

I eventually hit on a solution. Santa's video surveillance is uber high-tech. He can see everything. But because the North Pole is so far away the audio sucks. It's touch and go, sometimes he hears you...sometimes he doesn't. And he can't read your lips in the dark.

I further demonstrated this concept with the radio. On the way back from my Dad's one day I put on a Toronto radio station. The further we got from the city, the more it began to crackle. By the time we got home the voices were pretty much inaudible. My boy expressed his frustration from the back seat:

"SHIT!"

At that point it was less than two weeks 'til Christmas and he was worried Santa wouldn't get his letter. I told him to write it anyways, because at least Santa's video feed was clear enough that the Elves could probably see what he was writing down. The poor kid stayed up all night fretting over it, but by morning he had his card mailed.

I have other ways of figuring out what they want. Holes appear in the toy pages of Sears' Christmas Wishbook, so I keep two copies. That's the beauty of having a boy and a girl, they never cut things out from the same pages. I keep an eye on their TV watching as well. If they fall silent during a commercial I listen to see what it is. I usually hear a whispered "I want that" and a retort of "EWWWW! That's a (Girl's/Boy's/Baby's) toy!".

Despite all my sleuthing there's always the one thing that I can't ever determine, and that's what they REALLY want. The one thing on their list that they just can't live without. That's where Grandma comes in. My mother keeps tabs on their lists from November 1st until the big day. They may not tell me what they want, but all my mother has to do is ask and they spill. Every. Single. Time.

Because Grandma would never betray their trust, right?

My mother takes great pleasure in following along. She takes them through the toy section in WalMart and whips them into a frenzy, then she reports back to me after the kids have gone to bed. From my Mom's reconnaissance I can pretty much weed out what's hot and what's not, and so far I've been pretty successful. But this method is also not without it's problems...My mother has traditionally used my kids to torture me. Because it's fun, right? For the last few years she's intentionally kept a few things to herself. Those things being the toys she knows will drive me absolutely insane. And then she buys them and gives them to my kids.

Last year my kids got electric guitars. With amps. High quality shit, too. Not the crap you can buy at WalMart. No, she bought them from Steve's downtown. One set each. It was a very loud holiday season.

Very, very, loud. Loud and FILLED WITH TYLENOL JOY.

So, back to the letters. What am I doing today? Well, I haven't found my son's rough draft yet...but I found my daughter's. She's six and predictable. Always hides things in the same place: under her bed. Here it is...



Allow me to translate:

"I want a Kax (???)
I want a thing (Okay...)
I want a thingy v glasses (I think that's what it says...)
I want Etch-a-Sketch (Cool)
I want a toy vaccuum (Only if it really sucks)
I want a(n) Ariel Doll
I want a BFC (Again with the ???)
I want a Wizard of Oz Doll (Do-able)
I want Chixos
I want Bendaroos
I want the Glow Station
I want a dog
I want a camera
I want a house"

Yes, that does say "I want a house". Not a play house, a REAL house. I know for sure that's what it is because she and I have already discussed this. I'm what you might call a bit of a real estate junkie. I own a few houses that I rent out. The kids have seen me collect rent, but to them it's not "collecting rent". It's someone giving me wads of money. Not surprisingly they've picked up on this as a way to supplement their allowance. My daughter knows she's not old enough to buy a house on her own. I've explained to her that she needs to have a steady job in order to obtain a mortgage, etc. That houses aren't cheap, nor are they free, and that at six years old she wouldn't be able to raise that kind of money. Not even if she sold all her Barbie dolls.

So I'm guessing she's figuring that if she can't BUY a house, she can always ask Santa for one. Hell, why not? He's Santa Claus, for crying out loud! He should be able to give her a house!

Hot damn. This one I'm going to have some fun with. If it ends up in her final letter I'm going to buy her a doll house. And when she complains I'm going to say something along the lines of "Oh, that's not what you wanted? Maybe he misunderstood you. You have to be really specific in those letters sometimes, you know. He does try his best. Oh well, there's always next year!".

My poor children. How I torture them so. When they eventually learn that it's been me all along they're going to need some serious therapy.

I figure I've got a few more years of hilarity until that happens.

HO HO HO!

"I think I can...I think I can..."

This video has made my day. Nay, my MONTH. Because I may go a bit too heavy on the sauce sometimes, but THIS GUY? I'll bet he puked for a week afterwards.

In the words of the great M. Boone, "He's quite the breakdancer!".

(NOTE: The video pauses several times on its' own. As long as the music's going, you're good)

Now Straining a Brain Cell Near You...

The Number 12
Uploaded by daisu. - Watch more comedy videos and sitcoms.

I didn't know the Pointer Sisters did this one. It's been stuck in my head for several minutes now. And, as you know, the only way to break the curse is to share it with absolutely everyone.

Don't say I never did anything for ya.

I'm staying put.

I think I can safely say that 2009 has come real close to being the shittiest year I've ever had. I've become unemployed twice through no fault of my own, the very notion of which astounds me...because everyone knows I have a huge problem with "fuck you, I'm doing it my way". I always expected I'd be fired before I'd ever get laid off.

(At least I got "laid". Twice!)

(And no, Mike. Telling me I was fired eight times a day didn't technically count as firing me for reals)

Aside from falling out of employment there's just been a major run of bad luck, and heaps of bullshit on the side. I've been thinking lately of packing it all in and moving far, far away. Or at least out of this town. The whole should-I-stay-or-should-I-go thing has made me lose sleep. If I move out west I'll be away from family, but closer to a good friend. If I move to the city I'll still be near family and friends, but do I really want to move to the city?

The answer is no. I don't want to move to the city. I like the fact that at any given moment I can say fuck it, place my little fat ass on a bicycle seat and pedal for hours without ever seeing a stop light. I like being outside. I don't think I could handle not living within five minutes of a snowmobile trail. I'm grateful for the fact that my kids' hockey registration costs less than a thousand dollars (for now). I like the fresh, car exhaust-free air and I would sincerely miss the smell of a wood fire. Probably to the point where I'd seek out burning houses just to be able to exclaim "MMM! Don't you just love that smell?".

Yes, I'm kidding. Mostly.

So I think I've decided to stick around here for a while. I'm gonna take the $800,000 I would have spent on a house in the city (or out west) and buy a big ass place on the water. I'm gonna gut it, put in a gourmet kitchen and buy myself a big honkin' boat. I don't know how to drive a boat (do you drive a boat?) but I want one so I can look obnoxious. Because people can't tell that I'm obnoxious from a distance, and nobody likes surprises.

Then when all is said and done I'm going to sit my little fluffy ass down in a Muskoka chair and ponder my own existence over a cup of tea. That is my plan.

Now I just have to find another job. I wonder if the grocery store is hiring?

The Simple Life

Some time when it gets colder, maybe in the early Fall, I want to make homemade mac 'n cheese and stay up all night watching All in the Family.




.....

How To Send Not-So-Secret Messages Via Twitter

People ask me this all the time..."Who the Hell are you talking to?".

Most mornings I get up, grab myself a coffee, log into Twitter and start posting random shit to people without using the @ symbol. To the casual observer it looks like I'm crazy and I'm talking to myself. The casual observer would only be half right.

Am I talking to myself? No. I'm talking to people who don't follow me on Twitter. And I don't follow them. It's all done purposefully because professionally we're technically not allowed to speak to each other in the ways that we do. Confused yet? How about if I put it this way...

This is how your lawyer is laughing at you in plain sight.

It's all done through the magic of RSS. A bunch of us shit-disturbing unprofessional professionals have Twitter accounts and we communicate with each other without following each other. Some are under our real names, most are not. We link to each other via RSS feeds which enables us to read each other's Tweets without adding followers. You subscribe to an RSS, it shows up in your Google Reader/Microsoft Reader/etc. Click on it, see a message, respond out loud without the @. Nobody knows who you're talking to except the person for which the message was intended.

For example...I get up, decide I'm going to be productive today and post "MIKE! Gimme the key to the damned office!" on my Twitter. Notice there's no @. People cluck their tongues and shake their heads and think I'm talking to nobody...but when Mike finally rolls his fat ass out of bed he logs into his feed reader, sees my message and responds: "Screw off it's only 7:30".

You can post all kinds of anonymously directed shit via Twitter if you're in on the game. Real nasty stuff, too. But the trick is you AND the other person have to subscribe to each other's RSS feeds or it won't work. It could work if you have OCD and keep checking the other person's Twitter every five minutes, but who's got the time for that? RSS is much easier.

The only flaw in this perfectly schemed system is that you can't make your Tweets private. As soon as you do the RSS feed goes dead. Nobody can see what you're saying. So your Tweets have to be public in order for it to work, which sucks if you have a reason to want to make your Tweets private. Like if aliens are following you, or you've told people you've died.

So I hope that clears it up for everyone. I'm not talking to myself online. I mean, I do talk to myself in person but I haven't let it bleed over virtually.

Yet.

Any questions?