2005-03-21 - 12:50 p.m.
The other day, my lovely wife suggested that our house may need new windows.
“They look just fine to me.” I replied, as I scraped the scuzz off one window, so that I could prop my new “stay-open stick” (patent pend) that I just fashioned from an old, broken broom stick. I accidentally bumped the storm window causing it to snap out of the frame and crash into the yard below.
Hmm. My ingenious duct tape window containment system has obviously failed. Perhaps my wife is right.
So, I arranged for several window companies to come by and tell me about their windows, discuss installation and provide pricing information.
I have come to the conclusion that if you are too sleazy to sell used cars or peddle internet child pornography; you go into replacement window sales.
Ok, maybe that’s a bit harsh. I have to say that for the most part, many of the salesmen I met were pretty straight forward guys, trying to make a living.
Except for Bernie.
Bernie was a professional window salesman. I could tell by the way he shook my hand, the way he cased the house trying to figure out how much money he could shake us down for, and his smarmy smile, that Bernie was determined to sell me windows.
By “sell me windows” I actually mean, “try to convince me to give him 5 times the asking price of his nearest competitors”
Bernie spent a significant amount of time talking about his amazing windows. He talked about titanium reflective coatings, krypton gas, and of course, the miraculous, healing benefits of triple gasket sealing. He had propane torches and heat lamps. He told us how buying windows was the most important decision we would ever make in our lives.
My wife simply laughed at him and wandered off to the kitchen an opened another bottle of wine.
Bernie was not dissuaded.
After 2.5 hours, it had gotten to the point where my wife and I were making faces at him, and seeing just how long this guy would talk and how far he would go. There were several more times my wife and I laughed in his face.
“You think this is a joke?” Bernie finally asked.
“Bernie Thanks for your time, honestly, I’ve asked you several times for your quote…and you if you can give me a written quote, I’ll let you know in a few weeks when we make our decision.
Bernie refused. He knew that no rational person would ever pay that amount of money for windows. He knew he had to lull us into some deranged state where we would be so delirious from listening to him drone on and on, that we would simply give up and start to toss piles of cash at him.
“Andy, Let’s talk about the history of window. In ancient Egypt…”
“Bernie. I’m gonna have to stop you right there. I really don’t need to know the history of windows in order to make this decision.”
Bernie looked hurt. He sat there with a picture of a pharaoh in one hand and a little prop window in the other” “But, this is the fun part….”
“No.”
Switching gears, Bernie announced he needed a stick of butter.
My wife refused.
“But, these windows: Butter just wipes right off of them! Watch!” Bernie made his way over to my refrigerator. My wife stopped him dead in his tracks.
“Mister, if you are thinking on smearing my butter on my windows, you better think twice.”
She used that special tone that had a casual, lilty quality to it, but also carried the distinct, underlying threat of physical harm. It’s the tone that she normally reserves for me, when I am going to do something insanely stupid, like use the good silver to scoop out the litter box, or perhaps go for the surprise butt sex.
Bernie looked nervous. I just shrugged my shoulders. Bernie, calling upon all his experience and intuition as professional window salesman and a man, realized that my lovely wife would not hesitate to stuff the stick of butter down his throat.
“Bernie,” I said, trying to diffuse the tension “Cleaning butter off our windows isn’t really a big problem for us. Maybe if we lived on a dairy farm, or we were still into our organic lube phase….”
Without missing a beat, the window salesman from hell continued on. “Andy, let me ask you a very important question. Bernie looked at me with all seriousness. His face was stern and his eyes blazed through me. “Andy, if there was a fire in this house right now, a fire - RIGHT NOW - RIGHT HERE What would you do!?!?”
“Fire extinguisher?”
“NO!- Did you know that 75% of all household deaths are the direct result of improper fire extinguisher use?!?!” From out of no where, Bernie produced a pie chart.
“Well, I.Umm…”
“Yea, I didn’t think so.” Bernie scoffed and gave me a disgusted look as if I had just left my soiled underwear on his kitchen table.
“Andy, you’re about to die a horrible, burning death, your cats have already burst into flames, what are you going to do?! There’s fire everywhere!” He made sweeping motions with his hands and tried to stir us into a panic “FIRE!”
“Go out the door?”
“Doors are useless in a fire, you fool!”
“Geez, Bernie, I guess you’re right.” I said deadpanned. “My wife and I will die horrible, horrible deaths.” I thought Bernie went a bit over the top when he started playing Great White on a small cassette deck for effect.
“You’d think so Andy wouldn’t you? He said a bit more calmly. “BUT -These windows are made so you can escape through them. See? You can open the window and get out of the house!”
Huh! Crawling through a window to escape a fire, or sit there and burn to death. I would have never thought of that.
Bernie went on for a bit longer. My wife and I started discussing our ski plans for next weekend, completely ignoring the salesman. She started playing with the cats. I started reading magazines. Bernie kept talking. It was surreal.
Finally Bernie gave up. He packed up all his demos without saying a word and left without saying goodbye.
As he drove up out the driveway my wife was still laughing “FIRE! FIRE! Quick! Forget the doors! Forgot the fire extinguisher! To the Windows!” She laughed all night.
And I finished the wine.
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