Last night my family (mom, dad, brother, Jer and me) went to this “get a free dinner, if you listen to our schpiel” presentation. My mom’s name had apparently been selected from a drawing she had entered. It was one of those things where they claim at the beginning that you aren’t obligated to purchase anything, they are not here to sell anything to you. But then for the rest of the evening it’s just one huge commercial for whatever shit they are really trying to peddle.
Last night’s presentation was on fire safety. What this really meant was that they were going to try to sell you fire extinguishers and really fucking expensive heat sensor/smoke alarms by trying to scare the holy living shit out of you. There were at least four stories through out the evening in which the speaker described how a three year old was burned beyond recognition while his mother was being restrained outside the house by three firemen. Yeah. Just what I want to hear while I am sitting there with our son growing inside of me. Let’s add death and screaming children to the already vivid and graphic dreams I am having. Brilliant!
When we first walked in, the lady giving the presentation was handing out name tags for us to wear. I am not one for audience participation (yes, snotty, I know, but get over it), so I proceeded to put my name tag on my purse which I then shoved under my table. Jeremy proceeded to place his right on his penis (Ok, not directly on his penis, but on the very end of his tie so that it laid on his penis region. I wonder how many google searches will hit my site for the word “penis”?!) When the lady came over to talk to Jeremy, she looked for his tag and when she couldn’t see it, she said “Did I not give you a name tag?”
Jeremy: “You did. It’s right here. . .on my penis!”
Lady (starting to giggle like a school girl): “Well I can’t see it there!”
Jeremy: “It’s the only place you need to look, baby.”
Lady (now obviously twitterpated, giggles and leans into his shoulder, completely oblivious to me..HIS WIFE…watching this all happen): “Oh Jeremy…hee hee…”
Me (as she is walking away): Don’t touch my husband.
As you can imagine, she didn’t bother us for the rest of the evening. Mission accomplished. We are such dicks sometimes, but man it is entertaining!
As another form of audience participation she had us fill out a worksheet based on a video she was showing on fire safety. One of the sections asked you to name the 8 areas or rooms in your home where fires were most likely to start. These where some of our answers (mind you, we took this VERY seriously):
1. The bathing suit area.
2. Your mom’s kitchen.
That place where the Nazis stuck the Jews Oven
At the end of the evening you had the option of filling out a comment card about the presentation. Jeremy filled one out, stating that he found it to be degrading and belittling to come to a presentation where their only selling tactic was fear-based. In the space available for your occupation he put “Fire Safety Equipment Salesman.”
Filed under: Thoughts in General |