Any kind of canvasser
It's not that they knock at god knows what time in the morning or that
they all seem to have the same script.
Its my incessant politeness, i was told its rude to interupt so they
just spend four hours doing there whole sales pitch about why i should
vote for the lettuce party or why there deity is the one for me (i've
heard good things about Shiva ) Only for me to tell them i'm not at all
intrested , which in turn makes me look like an arse.
I hate canvassers because they always make me feel guilty for being nice
and polite. Bastards the lot of em.
(shake'n'bake Tally Ho, Biatch!, Tue 1 Jun 2010, 10:11, 2 replies)

You need a trick to get rid of them.
Try picking a hefty rubber glove up as you open the door, and say 'Busy, sorry, fixing the toilet!' and wave the glove in their faces.

They run away backwards. Seen it done.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Tue 1 Jun 2010, 10:29, closed)

Actually Joe Scaramanga and I have a good story like that.
This is entirely true: we shared a batchelor pad together, in which the only part of the floor that was clear of ashtrays, beer cans, CDs or videos was the path from each of our bedrooms to the kitchen and to the toilet. We decided to blitz the place one summer's day, and as such were stripped to the waist. Joe was cleaning the oven.

A door-to-door salesman called, I answered, and halfway through his speil he packed it in, saying "OK I'll er ... I'll just go then ... er ... " and I heard a voice behind me say "You alright mate? What's up?" and turned to see Joe there, topless (as was I), his hands encased in marigold gloves which were covered in brown goo.

I'd like to think the salesman still dines out on this story too.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 1 Jun 2010, 10:39, closed)