If Someone Says, "No", try at least two rebuttals before you give up...

If someone says no, try at least two rebuttals before you give up…
I’m a natural when it comes to talking. It’s what I do. I’m like that Bubba character from Forrest Gump…you know the one who could list all the different kinds of shrimp? But instead, I can boast about the many styles of talking I’m capable of…whispering late at night, talking in a loud voice for my hearing impaired grandfather, talking on the telephone, talking off the telephone, shouting above loud music, speaking fast, speaking slow, long conversations, short pow wows…I could go on and on about the various combinations of verbal output I was capable of…

That’s why when I heard about the new telemarketing place down by the old Dairy Queen on Route 30, I knew I needed to apply. I was still working at the dry cleaners a few days a week, but I felt with summer approaching, I needed more responsibility, not to mention more cash.

After the clothing disaster at Vogue, I decided I had better ask what they expected me to wear this time. They handed me a pamphlet that said the dress code was “Smart Casual” which in layman’s terms meant, “No Jeans”. I saw lots of cute boys in the breakroom my first day on the job and gave myself an internal high five for picking what I considered to be a “hot” outfit. I had on a pair of wool plaid shorts that barely covered my butt with emerald green tights stretched over my legs. Penny loafers adorned my feet and a sweater was knotted over my shoulders to complete the look. You can imagine what the rest of my closet looked like if I fancied this outfit as “high fashion”.

I crossed and uncrossed my jolly green giant legs as I tidied my workstation. More seasoned workers had already put their headsets on, looping the extra cord around their back. I picked up my headset and discreetly pulled the alcohol swab my mother had insisted I bring out of my pocket. I tried to wipe off my headset without anyone noticing, but of course, I am never that lucky. The person in the cubicle directly across from mine was Patrick Farnsey. He had a short sleeved, button down work short on with every button fastened, even the one at the very top. He polished his glasses with a Kleenex and said matter of factly, “You’re wasting your time, you know.” I assumed he wasn’t talking to me because we hadn’t, at that point, even met yet. “The alcohol…it doesn’t kill most of the viruses that contain the common cold.” The mention of alcohol got my attention. “Shh!!!” I hissed. Being an anal retentive clean freak was NOT the first impression I wanted to make on the hot guys. This Patrick geek was going to blow my cover!