Every salesperson has their go-to lines.   The lines they think will seal the deal and get them that 3% commission.  But sometimes they use their go-to line on the wrong customer and have to quickly retreat, trying not to trip over the tail lagging clumsily between their legs.

And once in a blue moon, you get a salesperson that uses their go-to line on the wrong customer, never realizes their mistake and continues to beat their point into the missed mark.

I went shopping for a mattress the other day and happened upon the latter.

A few clarifying points:

1. I’m not picky about my mattress
2. I don’t have a ton of money
3. I’m not very good with girls

I walked into The Mattress Warehouse and was immediately greeted by a woman in her upper 20’s.  I explained clarifying points 1 and 2 to her and she began showing me the various options.

“These are your standard mattresses,” she said as I flopped backwards onto the first bed she pointed at.

Convinced, I got up and was ready to pay and get out of there.  Seeing my eagerness to leave, she decided to take a stab and up-sell me on one of their nicer options.

“Before you decide,” she added, “you should check out this bed over here.”

Reluctant but polite, I followed her to her prized possession.  And as soon as I lay my head on the pillow came the line…

Saleswoman: “What do you think?”
Alex: “It’s nice, but I think I’m going to stick with…”
Saleswoman: “Watch this!”

(The saleswoman jumps into bed with me)

Alex: “Watch what?”
Saleswoman: “Did you feel anything?”
Alex: “Not really?”
Saleswoman: “Isn’t that amazing? A lot of people don’t like when they can feel every move of the person in bed with them.”

(I begin to get up)

Alex: “Oh I’m not really concerned with anyone being in bed with me.”
Saleswoman: (insistently) “Oh I’m sure you’ve dealt with it some.”
Alex: “Not really…”
Saleswoman: “Well think of how much a girl would like spending time on this mattress…”
Alex: “I’m sure she’d love it.”
Saleswoman: “Exactly.”

(uncomfortable silence)

Saleswoman: “So what do you think?”
Alex: “I don’t think you’re following me. I don’t really need to worry about a girl’s comfort on this mattress.”
Saleswoman: “But she would be VERY comfortable.”
Alex: “No, I get that.”
Saleswoman: “So what do you think?”
Alex: “I think I’m just gonna stick with the first one…”

I made my way to the cashier with the saleswoman right behind me, repeating something about how she just didn’t believe I wasn’t concerned with my mattress’s co-inhabited comfort. I considered pulling out mIphone and showing her my last post to put an end to the issue but decided against it, not wanting to hurt her salesmanship confidence.

As I paid the man at the cash register, he said “Wow this is a great mattress, your girlfriend is really going to enjoy this!”

I retrieved my debit card, looked at the man. Then looked at the saleswoman, smiled to myself and replied…

“She sure is.”

(Image thanks to SWP Moblog)

In high school I gave up sodas.  As a freshmen I gave up Facebook.

This year, a friend and I decided to give up not having a fish.

“What?”

I know, at first glance (read), it doesn’t make any sense.  But I figured it would be a mediocre way to practice being responsible (which I need), make for a decent story and if I’m lucky, maybe even a sub-par blog post.

So without further ado, I’d like to introduce you all to Walt, my Siamese fighting fish.

“Why’d you name him Walt?”

No, he’s not named after Walt Disney, Walt Whitman or Walt Mart.

I couldn’t handle Fantasia, I’m more of a J.V. Cunningham fan and that’s just not how it’s spelled.

No, he’s named after Walt from the ABC Drama Lost, which I’m unhealthily addicted to (I finished Heroes).

Are any of you giving up something cool for lent? Anybody giving up reading this blog for lent? It might be worth a try…

Skydiving. Surfing. Horse-back riding. Sex (just kidding Mom).

But maybe the thing I’ve most wanted to do but never done is go to the laundry mat/bar in Carrboro.

What a cool concept I thought, I hate waiting for my laundry to finish. But I love watching sports and having a drink.

At Super Suds, you can do both. (No, they did not paid me to say that.)

And every time I went to the Food Lion next to Super Suds, I’d say to the person (male) I was with, “Man, I’ve always wanted to do that…”

Until today…

…when I did that.

Before I launch into a long and drawn out tale though, let me give you a bit of background.

Bit of background:

I hate doing laundry (if you don’t agree, please let me know and maybe we can strike a bargain). It’s the same thing every time and it takes forever. You dread it all day and when you finally decide to suck it up and do the damn thing, you’re best friend asks you if you want to go to see that new Bond movie.

You of course cannot and instead go back to loading everything into the washer. Then, after sitting around for 30 minutes, you go back to change everything into the dryer only to realize that you forgot to load that one dirty sock, craftily hidden beneath the dryer sheets.

Now you may be thinking, So What? It’s one sock? You have plenty. Just wash it next time.

Well it’s not one sock. It’s bigger than one sock.

I know, you’re thinking again:

It’s two socks because you can’t wear its matching sock, right?

Wrong. I solved that problem a long time ago. But more on that later…

The only good thing about doing laundry is finishing doing laundry.

I can’t begin to describe the feeling of accomplishment I get when I gaze into a perfectly empty laundry bin…

So clean. So pure. So natural. And I don’t have to do laundry again for two/two-and-a half weeks…

But that one sock. That one effing sock. It ruins everything. And the accomplishment is replaced with frustration, regret and maybe even doom, leaving nothing but a deeper dread of doing laundry the next time, and the next, and the next…

End B.O. Background. (Pun semi-intended)

So when I finally decided to do it and make the trip to Super Suds, because I can’t do anything by myself, I sent an email to my Fraternity listserv begging someone to come with me.

I masked the selfish, pathetic invitation with something like, “We spend too much time having the same shallow conversations over and over again. How are we ever going to get to actually know each other if we can’t talk about important issues, who we are and what we believe in? Well here’s an opportunity for me and one of you to spend some quality time together. Call me if you have a couple free hours this afternoon and want to just hang out and chat…”

Luckily for me, someone fell for it, a guy named Daniel.

So I picked up Daniel, laundry in hand, and we headed to Super Suds.

When we got there, we were overwhelmed.

In the foreground were hundreds, maybe thousands of washers and dryers spinning complacently, rumbling softly, like the purr of a kitten. In the background was a full bar complete with TVs, vintage Pacman arcades and pool tables.

I quickly exchanged a $20 bill for quarters, threw my laundry into four washers and headed to the background…

There, Daniel and I caught the second half of the Duke-Michigan game, had a drink and discussed life. All three were great.

When the basketball game ended, I went to check on my laundry only to see it waiting to be switched to the dryer.

As I began scooping the first batch from the washer and loading into the dryer, I glanced over at my laundry bin and saw that (bleep)ing sock almost-hidden beneath it.

I muttered a few words that I will have to repent for next Yom Kippur and grudgingly went back to scooping and loading.

When I was done, I angrily walked back to the background and tried to explain the sock situation to Daniel.

He didn’t understand but offered to buy the first round of pool and I felt a little better.

After four games, I went back to the foreground to check on my laundry and again, found it dry and waiting to be folded.

And that’s when it hit me.

Super Suds is the answer. When I’m at Super Suds, I don’t wait on laundry. Laundry waits on me.

I was thrilled. I tried to explain my discovery to Daniel and again he didn’t get it.

But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I no longer have to fear doing laundry.

I unloaded the clothes onto a table and began folding with an energy that I haven’t felt since my Mom did my laundry for me.

Everything went perfectly. None of the shirts were inside out, the pants folded at the seams on the first try and the socks well, let me tell you about the socks…

When I came to college, I made what I believe is the best decision of my life. I threw away all my socks…

…and bought 50 of the same sock.

Everyone hates matching socks. It takes forever and when you finish, there’s always 5-10 unmatchable socks and you wonder, Where the hell are all the other socks? Then, if you’ve got some spare time, you start fishing in your pants pockets hoping to find a single, matchable sock to no avail. Then you look at that one dirty sock you forgot to wash and think about how it’s going to be another two weeks at best until you can wear that pair.

All in all, very stressful.

But that’s you.

I never have more than one leftover sock because all my socks are the same. I know. Genius.

Anyway, once I’d folded the shirts, pants and unmentionables (do guys call/not mention them that?), Daniel walked and I trotted to the car.

We got in, realized it was near dinner time, unanimously voted to go to Wendy’s and drove off into the sunset…

As my time in college is coming to an end, I think it’s important to actually do the things I’ve always wanted to do. Who knows if you’ll be able to next year and it may even change your life.

I know it did mine today…

And I agree with her. That’s why I love the dollar menu at Wendy’s.

Up until about two months ago, every time I went to Wendy’s though, I had the following mental debate/experience:

Alright, I obviously need fries and a drink, now the question is How many Jr. Bacon Cheeseburgers (Chee’s) do I want? Two or three… two or three… two or… Oh what the hell, it’s only a dollar.

Then I’d sit down and start plowing away at my food, proud that I’d ordered more than any of my friends. After scarfing down the fries and Chee #1, I’d confidently stroll over to the cashier and ask for a refill of my Coke Zero (keeping it healthy).

Note: Before college, I ordered regular Coke. Those were the Diet Coke days, the ones before Coke Zero. But there’s something about Coke Zero that’s just barely masculine enough to justify ordering. (After doing some research, it turns out that Coke Zero is marketed to adult males by using “Calorie Free” instead of “Diet” since guys associate diet drink with girls. Coke – 1, Pomer – 0)

After getting my refill, I’d head back to the table and begin Chee #2. About half-way through, I’d realize that I’d ordered way too much food and start sweating profusely. As my bites got smaller and smaller, I’d begin glancing up to check my friends’ progress on their dinner. After recognizing that each was almost finished with his food, I’d look down despairingly at my still-wrapped Chee #3 and see my meal-finishing dreams slipping through my greasy fingers.

In the next 10 minutes, I’d painstakingly finish Chee #2, unwrap Chee #3, take one barely noticeable nibble, and throw the rest down in frustration. After announcing my resignation to my friends, they’d look down at my near-full Chee, smirk, and we’d make our way to the trash can and then out the door.

But that was two months ago; I’ve evolved since then.

In September, I stumbled onto an amazing opportunity for almost no cost.

I went to Wendy’s and while trying to determine how many dollar-menu items to get, decided against ordering three Jr. Bacon Chee’s…

Instead, I ordered four.

Now I know what you’re thinking: You’re an idiot. You just spent 5 four-sentence-or-less paragraphs explaining how you can’t handle 3 JBCs. How can you even imagine finishing four?

And you’re right. But that’s the point.

By ordering far more than I can possibly fathom finishing, I eliminate any false hope of success and as a result, I don’t feel bad taking my food home.

In fact, I look forward to it.

Do you know how comforting is it knowing that you always have a Chee waiting for you in your refrigerator? I doubt it, but you (sh/c)ould, for just $1.

If you’re sold on my suggestion, you can stop reading. But if you’re the hard-to-persuade type and need some real-world examples of how valuable an extra Chee is, read on.

Real World Examples (True Stories):

1. Setting: The Undergraduate Library at 1am.

Me: “Hey man, do you happen to have any extra notecards? I need to make flashcards for my Sports Marketing exam tomorrow.”
Random Male Student: (dismissively) “I’ve got a few, but I sort of need them.”
Me: (reaching into my backpack) “I’ll trade you for a Jr. Bacon Chee…”
Random Male Student: “Are you serious?”
Me: “Oh yeah.”
Random Male Student: (excitedly handing over a pack of notecards) “Okay!”

Note: One pack of 3×5 notecards costs $1.19. For you non-math people, that’s 19% more than a $1 JBC.

2. Setting: My Marketing Class

Cute Girl Next To Me: (To herself) “Gosh, I’m hungry, I haven’t eaten all day.”
Me: “Do you want a Jr. Bacon Chee?”
Cute Girl Next To Me: “Oh no, I couldn’t take that from you.”
Me: “Oh no, it’s fine, I always order an extra.”
Cute Girl Next To Me: (confused) “Are you serious?”
Me: (confidently) “Yeah, you never know when you’re gonna need one…”
Cute Girl Next To Me: (hesitantly) “Well I’m sort of on a diet…”
Me: “That’s okay, you can have some of my Coke Zero; It’s healthy.” (wink)
Cute Girl Next To Me: “Haha, okay, thanks, that’s really sweet of you.”
Me: “No problem.”

Note: Coke – 1, Pomer – 1.

3. Setting: A Job Interview with New Media Campaigns

One Of The Interviewers: “What do you think you can do for us… (blah, blah, blah)”
Me: “Well I think I can… (blah, blah, blog)”
Other Interviewer: (uninterested) “I’m starving, I think I’m going to grab some food.”
Me: “Do you want a Jr. Bacon Chee?”
Other Interviewer: (interested) “Really?”
Me: “Yeah, I always get an extra one…”
Other Interviewer: (mouth full) “Wow, that’s pretty cool…”

Note: I got the job.

End Real World Examples.

Give it a try. It’s $1. I promise you, it’s worth (more than) it.

…and I was 15 minutes late to it.

Nope…

I didn’t wake up too late,
I didn’t run into someone on the way and talk for too long,
I didn’t watch Final Jeopardy when I should have left after the second round,
and I didn’t get lost.

Allow me to digress…

When I’m not talking to someone, I’m bored. When I’m bored, I like to create worthless games to entertain myself.

Last year, I began playing a game where I try not to touch any doors while on campus.

Some days I don’t take the game that seriously.

Today was a serious day.

End digression.

I left for class with ten minutes to spare (plenty of time). I walked casually to the building and then up to the door…

…and waited.

Usually within the first 30 seconds, someone opens the door, leaves the building and I slyly slide behind them and the closing door.

Today was not a usual day.

You know when you call a girl (or guy) and she doesn’t pick up and you’re (desperately) waiting for her to call you back? You keep looking at your phone expecting her to call at any second…

…and she never calls.

Well that’s how I felt today waiting outside my class. After 5 minutes, I called my mom. After 12, I considered returning home. When the kid in a red sweatshirt exited the building at fourteen minutes past, I almost hugged him (but I would have missed the closing door).

I jogged up the stairs, rounded the corner and when I saw the wide open door to the classroom, said a silent prayer of thanks.

I entered the class (feigning being out of breath) and quietly took my seat.

Would that fly in the real world?

Maybe.