Black Belt Mama's post about House Parties, got me to thinking. You know, the candle parties, makeup parties, fake purse parties, tupperware parties...whatever. I'm not a fan of the party where I have to buy something so my hostess can get a gift. I have friends who enjoy these parties, and hey, MORE POWER TO YOU, but I probably will find a good excuse to not be there if you hold one. Consider yourself warned. But it also got me thinking about some other experiences I've had.
Has this ever happened to you? You're walking along, enjoying the sunshine on your lunch break, getting a little bit of exercise, and another walker comes along and starts a conversation. She's maybe 15 or 20 years older than me, probably lives in the neighborhood in which I work, and she's a power walker, meaning she's doing the full arm pump walk. I don't do the full arm pump, because I'm too lazy, and I don't want to sweat. My doctor thinks EVERYONE should sweat every day, but my coworkers disagree. Anyway, we strike up a conversation about walking, about power walking, about cows (since there are cows in the field next to the trail on which we are walking), etc. She asks me if I work outside the home. Yes, I say. Oh? Where do you work? Over in Shadelands, I say. Oh, My husband worked in Shadelands for XX years, how wonderful! What company do you work at? I work at X company. Wow, that's great. OK, this conversation is getting a bit boring, and I'd kinda like to get back to my mixed tape via walkman (pre-iPod days here...at least for me). So I go one way, and she goes another, and I think, she seemed like a very nice woman. Isn't it nice that people are still willing to talk to each other sometimes? Nice.
So, the next day, I go out for my walk (I'm a walker...like the walking...not so much the running, jogging, etc.), and when I get back to my office, the receptionist tells me I have a message. Well, let me tell you, that's a rare day. The only people that ever call me are my husband and my friend Pat. That's it. And really, that's enough. I have work to do, don't need to be chatting all day with people, and my job doesn't require much phone time. But Ted and Pat both call my direct number, and this person came into the office. Yes, you guessed it, it's the nice lady from the day before. She remembered where I worked, looked it up in the phone book, and came on by. Could it be important? Did her husband used to work HERE and she HAS TO TELL ME, NOW?!? So, I call her back, wondering what she might possibly have to say to me.
Yes, you guessed it. She wants to talk to me about a way that I can make a lot of money. What? I don't WANT to make a lot of money? Seriously? Well, I asked her to tell me what the business IS that I would be doing to make this money, and she said she couldn't really describe it over the phone, that we could meet at Carl's Jr. for a cup of coffee, and she and her husband could tell me all about it. Wow, would THAT be uncomfortable. So I said, maybe you could TRY to describe it over the phone. She said, it's too complicated. I said, try me...I have a Master's degree in Comparitive Literature, and a B.A. in International Relations. I'm not a rocket scientist, but some complexity I can handle. No, really, we have to meet. OK, Sorry, not interested, good bye.
Dodged a bullet there, but BOY how annoying. This happened to Ted when we first moved to the Creek. He was at Barnes and Noble with Maya, and another dad with a kid (probably a prop, not his own child at all), struck up a conversation, and the next thing you know, Ted is meeting him and getting a video on how we can get rich quick. You know, the type with the guy on a yaught, surrounded by beautiful babes in bikinis who are at least 20 years younger than him, and he says, "You don't have the GUTS to make money". Sigh.
It's enough to turn a person off of meeting people. By the way, we never tried any of these pyramid schemes, so we're not rich. That's ok. We didn't get fleeced, either, and we don't have to pretend to be friendly to strangers on the street in order to make a living.