Weasely business tactics R Us
This one goes out to all the scum businessmen who can't bring themselves to do one honest day of business. They are sons and daughters of crack whores. Here's an exemplar.
Some time back I decided to have my couch cleaned. Some scumbag carpet-cleaning business had sent me a junk mail ad, and I rang them up. They said yes they'd shampoo my couch and it would cost what it said on the ad, namely $20. Now I'm a single student that hasn't had the chance to develop his shampoo costing skills, never having had my couch shampooed and all. Therefore, I smelt no rats and sent for the van.
Out of the van tumbled an Israeli, a Mexican, much piping and tubing, and something that looked like a hobby cement mixer. All of these converged on my couch. At the bidding of the Israeli, the Mexican blew a gentle mixture of air and water all over the couch. This gentle spray landed very gently on the couch and the whole operation conveyed to me a sense of soothing gentleness. I was tingling in anticipation of the launch of actual shampooing, which I assumed would be rugged business with the potential to shatter the couch if not done right. Not so.
"That," said the Israeli when the Mexican was done, "is what we call shampooing."
I demanded to know what had been achieved in terms of cleaning the couch.
"Ahh, cleaning! That is a totally different business altogether and completely; fully unrelated to the present enterprise," explained the Israeli. "For to achieve actual cleaning, one must rigorously perform the steps of... Deep Cleaning!"
Deep cleaning?
"Yes, Deep Cleaning! The process will restore your couch to the factory-default setting of cleanliness that it originally shipped in. It is a scientific process involving many tubes, pesticides and fragrances, all of which the Mexican and I happen to be carrying with us. Would you like Deep Cleaning to be performed for the embarrassingly trivial cost of $120 (I blush at the sound of the amount, it is so shamefully insubstantial)?"
I didn't know about that, being a starving student and what not. $120 isn't exactly chickenfeed; it could buy me half a used textbook at the university bookstore, if I caught a year-end sale.
Sensing my caution, the Israeli sought to win my confidence. He said he was in fact not sure how effectively he could clean the couch, and said he would like to perform a small test before he felt confident asking for my custom. That struck me as a sound first step, and I gave him the go-ahead. With a quick nod, he set in motion the Mexican, who attacked the couch savagely this time. When the dust had settled, a one-foot square of pristinely clean fabric was shining out of the grime of the rest of the couch, and an Israeli was asking me, "So do you want the Deep Cleaning?"
One foot square! I realized what cocksucking bastardity had just been inflicted on me. I couldn't possibly refuse at this point. I obviously needed the whole couch uniformly radiant. This guy was very well schooled in the ways of crack-whore sons too. He didn't budge from his price and I realized whatever I could do in retaliation wasn't worth the effort. I like to not spend my weekends arguing with the world's crack whore heritage.
So in the end I was out $120, and the couch-cleaner and his junk-mail-sending masters were forever memorialized on this blog as SONS OF CRACK WHORES.
Some time back I decided to have my couch cleaned. Some scumbag carpet-cleaning business had sent me a junk mail ad, and I rang them up. They said yes they'd shampoo my couch and it would cost what it said on the ad, namely $20. Now I'm a single student that hasn't had the chance to develop his shampoo costing skills, never having had my couch shampooed and all. Therefore, I smelt no rats and sent for the van.
Out of the van tumbled an Israeli, a Mexican, much piping and tubing, and something that looked like a hobby cement mixer. All of these converged on my couch. At the bidding of the Israeli, the Mexican blew a gentle mixture of air and water all over the couch. This gentle spray landed very gently on the couch and the whole operation conveyed to me a sense of soothing gentleness. I was tingling in anticipation of the launch of actual shampooing, which I assumed would be rugged business with the potential to shatter the couch if not done right. Not so.
"That," said the Israeli when the Mexican was done, "is what we call shampooing."
I demanded to know what had been achieved in terms of cleaning the couch.
"Ahh, cleaning! That is a totally different business altogether and completely; fully unrelated to the present enterprise," explained the Israeli. "For to achieve actual cleaning, one must rigorously perform the steps of... Deep Cleaning!"
Deep cleaning?
"Yes, Deep Cleaning! The process will restore your couch to the factory-default setting of cleanliness that it originally shipped in. It is a scientific process involving many tubes, pesticides and fragrances, all of which the Mexican and I happen to be carrying with us. Would you like Deep Cleaning to be performed for the embarrassingly trivial cost of $120 (I blush at the sound of the amount, it is so shamefully insubstantial)?"
I didn't know about that, being a starving student and what not. $120 isn't exactly chickenfeed; it could buy me half a used textbook at the university bookstore, if I caught a year-end sale.
Sensing my caution, the Israeli sought to win my confidence. He said he was in fact not sure how effectively he could clean the couch, and said he would like to perform a small test before he felt confident asking for my custom. That struck me as a sound first step, and I gave him the go-ahead. With a quick nod, he set in motion the Mexican, who attacked the couch savagely this time. When the dust had settled, a one-foot square of pristinely clean fabric was shining out of the grime of the rest of the couch, and an Israeli was asking me, "So do you want the Deep Cleaning?"
One foot square! I realized what cocksucking bastardity had just been inflicted on me. I couldn't possibly refuse at this point. I obviously needed the whole couch uniformly radiant. This guy was very well schooled in the ways of crack-whore sons too. He didn't budge from his price and I realized whatever I could do in retaliation wasn't worth the effort. I like to not spend my weekends arguing with the world's crack whore heritage.
So in the end I was out $120, and the couch-cleaner and his junk-mail-sending masters were forever memorialized on this blog as SONS OF CRACK WHORES.
posted by greendog at 1:18 PM
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