T-to-the-A

The carpets weren’t all he wanted to clean…

In The Daily Drool on October 22, 2009 at 6:10 am

So, one of my newly discovered joys is the Money Mailer – a weekly tiding of savings perfect for those in need of dry cleaning, drape steaming, or teeth whitening.  I raid that envelope in the hopes that one of these days a Govn’t coupon will fall out that says “Congratulations!  You’re so broke and depressing that we’re going to GIVE you money!  Just bring this coupon in to your local post office and trade it in for a nice big check!  (Who says you can’t buy happiness?)”

Last week I found a great deal for carpet cleaning (and boy howdy, did my carpets need cleaning) so I called yesterday and made the appointment.  A friendly technician would be here this morning they said.  Well, he came, and after haggling on the price (My carpets were reeeeeeallly gross) he got started.  And I, being the considerate host that I am (and feeling a might gratefull for the discount on pricing) offered him a cup of tea.

I was going to have some myself anyway, it seemed rude not to offer.

Then I cleaned the kitchen while he un-soiled the carpets.

Then he picked up his tea cup and leaned.  On my counter.  And asked me about my tattoo. (the one on my lower back, the one that must have been peeking its damn head out as I bent to move furniture for the cleaning)  Then, when I wouldn’t do the necessary shirt-lifting to show it to him, he asked again and proceeded to show me his.

And I started to sweat.

Had I mistakenly crossed some Home/Work ettiquette boundary by offering the tea?  Was tea in fact code for “HIT ON ME, PLEASE!”  What was happening?  And why was he telling me wished he had more than 45 minutes till his next client?  Had I, in offering him tea, asked him to spend those 45 minutes at my apartment?  AAAAAGH!!!!!

So he stood there, sipping, and smiling, and leaning… and I did the only think I could think of.  I put my giant yellow rubber gloves back on and pulled the very gross looking strainer from the kitchen sink drain and started to scrub it.

And it worked.

He put away his smile, picked himself up off the counter and told me that the key to maintaining my carpet’s re-discovered sheen was bi-annual steam treatments.

Back inside those understandable boundaries once again, I nodded, breathed a sigh of relief, and walked him to the door with gooey the strainer.

Then I locked the door behind him.

Cuz, damn!  People are strange.

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  1. this story is dripping with creepy.

  2. […] sharing this little gem – What happens when you haggle with the carpet cleaning guy?  He might try to haggle you right out of your pants.  (So, all you […]

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