Perpetually Peeved

Do you feel it now?

Why do people insist on trying to sell me stuff I don’t need, don’t want and didn’t ask for?  The Department of Torture has mobilized agents across the country:  telemarketers, alarm salesmen, business consultants, Mediterranean procurers of the fountain of youth ala the Dead Sea, those pesky perfume ladies that make me sneeze just thinking about them, and the people who want me to stick my face in a germ-infested massage table hole so that they can rub me in public.  I. DON’T. WANT. IT.  Why are those four words so hard to understand? 

Me: Take me off your calling list. 

Them: I’m not trying to sell you anything. 

Me: Then why are you calling me?  Are you lonely? 

Them:  No, I just want to tell you about… 


Them:  F you! 

Me: Excuse me?  What did you just say to me? 

Them: [dial tone] 

WTF?  That’s like someone bumping into you and then giving you a dirty look for not saying sorry.  F yourself, buddy. 

This past winter my husband I took a (very romantic) trip to Vegas (Without the kids!  Who the hell brings their children to Vegas?  Another peeve, another post.).  Anywho, while we were in Vegas we realized we never actually needed to see the real sky.  There were wormholes (okay, they were corridors, but I did seem to lose a few hours each time) from one casino to the next.  Very convenient considering that most had those handy-dandy flat escalator thingamabobs too, so you didn’t even have to walk.  Bonus.  Unfortunately, these wormholes seemed to be a breeding ground for bottom-dwelling salesmen.  They were selling everything from kids toys to pieces of fabric that magically turned into a dress, a skirt, a shirt, a bathing suit, you name it. 

My favorite product was the electric massager. If you have ever been to the chiropractor, you most likely have been hooked up to a machine that has little electrodes that they attach to your back.  The electrodes conduct a current into your muscles and it feels like you are getting a massage.  It is the freakiest feeling and I certainly would not be messing around with electric current and my muscles without the supervision of a doctor.  Apparently, they do things differently out West.

Here it is -- Ten's Therapy Massager with Electrodes (

How many times have you dreamed of grabbing the bottle out of the hand of the perfume lady and spraying her in the face whilst screaming, “How do you like it?”  Oh..  that’s just me?  Woopsie.  Where was I?  Yes, okay.  So, we are in Vegas for five days and these people are relentlessly berating us every time we have to go from one place to the next.  On the last night there, we were betting on the horses all day, which is the best way to get the most amount of drinks for the least amount of money.  

On the way back to the hotel, my alcohol-induced ADD strikes and since I have not managed to get a credit card with a breathalyzer on it, I go shopping.  I see this great store with baby onesies that say things like, “Party in my crib, 2 a.m.,” “I drink until I pass out,” and “Mother-sucker.”  Well, it sure beats pig art or a wrinkle-proof hat.  My husband decides to wait for me outside. 

Here is the scene when I finally come out of the store:  there is a salesman standing in front of his kiosk with his shirt unbuttoned to his waist.  There are six opened boxes on the kiosk.  There are twelve electrodes attached all over his hairy chest.  My husband is pressing the buttons of the electronic massagers and saying, “What about now?  Do you feel it now?”  I want to feel embarrassed or appalled, but the only thing going through my mind is, “God, I love this man.” 

Photo courtesy of

17 Comments so far
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Good Lord, I have to have these 8 things tacked on for a check-up at the cardiologist at least once a year. They don’t hurt but they shave your chest in 8 places always about this time of year(hang at the pool time) and you can’t even get to talk to chicks because they think you have the mange or leprosy or something and it’s like “don’t even come within 50 feet of me buddy,” radiating from their eyes. I tried to throw their concentration away from the 8 splotches by bringing my 3 grandchildren as alternative conversation pieces, but what was I thinking because now I have no chance at all and feel like a D. More precisely, an old D.

Comment by Carl D'Agostino

Just be happy my husband isn’t your cardiologist. 🙂 You could always go all “metro” on us and get a chest wax.

Comment by perpetuallypeeved

Your husband is awesome!

Comment by Pop

Yeah, the best part is the guy didn’t want him to leave. I swear my husband could charm a gazelle into a lion’s den.

Comment by perpetuallypeeved

Top marks to hubby; no police involvement for misuse of electricity?

Carl, I have the horror of a 10 inch vertical scar on my chest from sternotomy AND the ECG bald patches; always a T-shirt for me, stop the kids and feebler females puking everywhere!

Comment by davehambo

Ha ha – it takes a lot more than electricity to get the police involved in Vegas! Do you have one of those t-shirts with the muscles printed on the front? Those are so hot!

Comment by perpetuallypeeved

FFS, no way!

Comment by davehambo

Hahaha. Your husband is awesome. As well he should be. Mall hell. Had to go once which instantly put me in rotten mood. One of Those Make Up Ladies standing in front of the store said, “Honey, would you like a makeover?”. My response, “Drop dead.” Going to hell for sure.

Comment by izziedarling

I’m using your reply for every obnoxious/stupid/annoying question I ever get in the future. How do you argue with that?

Comment by perpetuallypeeved

Go here:
Sign up. We did, and we haven’t had a sales call since. I’m serious. The only calls I occasionally get are surveys and sometimes the Police or Fire Department call asking for donations, but that’s it.

Comment by writerdood

Dood – I so should. I have absolutely no freaking idea what my home phone number is. We have the line in for the sole purpose of the alarm. I’ll have to call myself and get the number tonight when I get home. Thanks for the link.

Comment by perpetuallypeeved

Peeved and davehambo. Omygosh. I have splotches and 10 inch vertical scar too – triple by-pass 2006. Am I now a D and a loser? And now I can’t go to the pool or the beach because the oil leak is coming to Miami.

Comment by Carl D'Agostino

I said no such thing! Just get yourself one of THESE HERE t-shirts and everything will be just fine.

Comment by perpetuallypeeved

The survey takers that lurk at the bottom of the escalator in the mall. You can see them on the whole ride down and by that time it is too late, you can’t escape. They attack as soon as your shoe hits the tile.
No! I just want to buy a new bra in peace!

Comment by Amy

That’s when you cross your eyes, let your tongue hang out the side of your mouth and walk with a limp. They won’t bother you then. 🙂

Comment by perpetuallypeeved

Then I would look just like one of them! Seriously, have you seen these people? (she says in her best Seinfeld voice)

Comment by Amy

[…] #23: Do you feel it now? (telemarketers, alarm salesmen, business consultants, Mediterranean procurers of the fountain of […]

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