L.R. Burt

Long-term readers of this blog may recal that one evening last May, Mr. Burt and I lost two hours of our lives to a Kirby vacuum cleaner salesman.  We didn’t willingly invite him into our home; I’d gotten a call from a neighborhood welcoming association saying that as new residents of the area (this should have been my first clue that something wasn’t right:  we’d been residents of the area for a little over a year), we were entitled to a free carpet cleaning.  No word about a demonstration or a salespitch, or anything.  With Mr. Burt’s approval, I said yes to the offer.  Two hours later, we had somewhat cleaner carpet (even after the salesman dumped a cup of sand on it, then told us we had a sand problem) and a pair of splitting headaches.  We wanted to contact Kirby and complain, but the only numbers we could find were for sales.  Which, believe me, we’d had quite enough of!

Fast-forward seventeen months to October, 2008.  I was waiting for a piano tuner to arrive when there came a knock at the door, an hour early.  I answered it, and a girl said, “Just handing out flyers today,” and gave me this slip of paper:

Oh no, Kirby vacuum cleaner company!  You will not get the better of me again.  Even if my carpet does look appalling.  In fact, you might even get a scathing letter from me about our last encounter with you, now that I know how to contact you.  I’ll demand my two hours back.

Actually, on second thought, I’d probably better not waste any more time with Kirby.

At least they’re being up-front this time.  Mostly.  I notice they didn’t mention they’ll force women and their husbands to sit and watch a vacuum cleaner demonstration for two hours.  Or dump sand on their floors.

Maybe I’ll whip up a flyer of my own two hand out to all my neighbors, informing them of the Kirby scam.

Or maybe I’ll just tell them to read my blog…

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kirby, kirby the sequel, vacuum cleaner salesman