Killing time on a Friday afternoon...

A few weeks ago, I walked downstairs in my normal evening attire; shirts are only for the most important of occasions, such as the chance of me dribbling dinner down my chest.

"Go get some clothes," my wife urged. Her fear, she said, was that unexpected guests might pop by. All I'd have is my evening, uh, best.

Her fears were realized this week when I was relaxing after a short day. I was awaiting her arrival in my typical at-home attire when the doorbell rang. Now what?

I didn't have a shirt on. When I answered the door and found out it was a traveling salesman, I didn't care that I didn't have a shirt on.

Long story short (and believe me, it'll be a lot less painful for you, dear reader, than it was for me): His company, a new startup, was in the neighborhood and was looking for suckers homeowners who needed a renovation and they were offering free estimates and would I be around Saturday and if that wasn't convienent they were also around in the weekday evenings because they know how challenging everyone's work schedule can be.

Sigh.

The guy was all about signing people up. I was all about not being signed up.

I felt like I gave him plenty of outs. Did he have a brochure I could show my wife, we would discuss it and get back to him? Nope, he just ran out of brochures. So, for the second time, would I be around Saturday and if that wasn't convienent they were also around in the weekday evenings because they know how challenging everyone's work schedule can be.

In the meantime, Grace the cat takes advantage of the open door and runs outside. Still shirtless, I chase after her and shoosh her inside.

Silly me. I thought perhaps my frustration of having the cat run outside while several minutes into this high-pressure pitch was evident on my face. It wasn't. He didn't miss a beat, even as I scolded Grace.

My sigh or general look of disinterest would've been a clue to a more adept salesman. But, well, you do the math.

My final lifeline was to ask for a phone number. My wife and I would discuss it and I would be in touch if we wanted to pursue their offer. Well, he said, we're still a pretty new company and don't really have a phone number yet, but would I be around Saturday and if that wasn't convienent they were also around in the weekday evenings because they know how challenging everyone's work schedule can be.

"Then we're not interested," I said. "Take care." And I closed the door.

Ten minutes of my life I won't get back...

I don't mean to dismiss the guy or his job; it's got to be a tough job. But how, exactly, does he expect to be taken seriously when he shows up out of nowhere selling a product we don't need from a company I've never heard of that doesn't even have a phone number? And then I'm supposed to be sympathetic when he doesn't take a veiled 'no' for an answer?

Sorry. Next caller.

But hey, if you can make some kind of a credible sales pitch, maybe I'll put a shirt on for you.

-- OVER AT THE WINE BLOG, we're rapidly coming up on our centennial wine. I can't believe I've made it that far. And I can't believe just what that says about me... (cough cough L cough U cough cough hack cough S cough cough H hack cough, clears throat)

Anyway, I signed up with this outfit called BlogBurst which takes your blogs and distributes them to various media outlets that sign up for them. When one of your blogs goes through, it gets posted on a little side area of the page.

I thought it made sense to sign up the wine blog, since that's more focused than this one, which is just a whole mess of crap.

But the latest stats from BlogBurst about who put one of my snippets on their page: Chicago Sun-Times 845, Reuters 23, Computer Shopper 1.

That's exactly what the Windy City needs: To be exposed to another blowhard.