In describing our minds I like to use the analogy of a visitor knocking at the door of your house. The thoughts and emotions don’t live there. You can greet them, acknowledge them, exercise choice about how to relate to them, and watch them go.
― Sharon Salzberg, Real Happiness at Work
Fun fact, when I was 18 years old I had a (very) short lived experience as a door-to-door salesperson. I answered an ad in the classifieds that read something like “HIRING IMMEDIATELY! Enthusiastic, outgoing personalities to join a team of customer service representatives.”
I don’t remember much about the interview process other than it was brief and that I was told the company (whose name was not yet revealed to me) sold “cleaning supplies”. I was hired on the spot and scheduled to start the 5 day (unpaid) training right away.
Now I know, red flags should have been going up left and right. A vague hiring process, a week of unpaid training, a mystery company that sold an ambiguous cleaning product...I mentioned I was 18 though, right?
I happily showed up for the first day of training, at a half-garage, half-office type of situation (red flag) along with a group of about 10 other suckers. The 4 hour training was actually kind of fun - there was music playing and lots of joking around - but no talk about what we were supposed to be selling (another red flag). The big reveal, we were told, was scheduled for the end of the week (major red flag).
As the week continued, my enthusiasm waned, but I figured the time was already lost, so I might as well stick around to see what the secret product was. When the big day finally came, all the trainees were buzzing in anticipation.
Were we going to be selling environmentally friendly cleaning products to specialty stores?
Were we going to be selling medical grade sanitizing solutions to hospitals and clinics?
Were we going to be selling industrial sized paper towel rolls to corporate offices?
No my friends, we were selling vacuum cleaners. And we were selling them door-to-door.
The company was Kirby. The vacuums were behemoth machines that came with a plethora of hoses and attachments and went for about $1200 dollars each.
When I heard this, my stomach immediately sank. How was I going to show up at someone’s door, unannounced, and sell this overpriced monstrosity? How would I even get people to let me inside so I could make my pitch?
That day I begrudgingly went home with this fancy vacuum and the assignment to do one full sales pitch (complete with a carpet shampooing demo) on at least one person.
Skeptical as I was, I set off on my mission. I asked a family friend if he would volunteer as my first victim and he generously obliged.
After practically cleaning his entire house, I was supposed to make my pitch. If he said no, I was supposed to call my manager to “see what I could do” by using a series of scripted lines to give off the impression that I was really working one over on my boss to get the customer an amazing deal.
By this point I was pretty sure this wasn't the right job for me, but my first run through of the "let me call my manager" strategy really sealed the deal. I decided that I didn’t want any part of their aggressive sales tactics or their souped-up suction machines and that I'd quit on Monday.
I spent the remainder of the weekend cleaning out my car using all the specialty attachments and then turned in the vacuum and my notice first thing Monday morning.
I hadn’t really thought much about that job again until earlier this week, when I was reading Real Happiness at Work and came across the excerpt quoted above.
I started thinking about all the kinds of visitors that may show up at someone’s house - neighbors, friends, family, deliveries, missionaries, landsharks. And finally, salespeople.
I googled “Kirby salesperson” and found a plethora of horror stories about the “Kirby salesperson that just wouldn’t leave.” Salespeople who pushed their way in using flattery (you have great hair!), bribery (you’ll get free dish soap!) or guilt (I just need to do this demo to fulfill my quota!) and who more than overstayed their welcome.
And then it hit me...negative emotions are just like a Kirby salesperson.
They show up generally unannounced and uninvited, asking to be let inside.
We know we probably shouldn’t let them in, but for some reason we do it anyway.
Maybe it’s because they’re familiar.
Maybe it’s because we don’t feel strong enough to say no.
Maybe it’s because they tempt us with the offering of a free carpet shampoo.
Whatever it is, they make their way in. And once they’re inside, it can be a real struggle to get them to leave.
They slowly wear you down, drain you of your energy. They convince you that you need them (and their specialty attachments). They call on their buddies for help.
I know how hard it can be to kick them out. I’ve been there (quite literally).
But here’s the thing, as the owner of your house, you get to decide who enters. You get to choose when and if someone is allowed inside and for how long they can stay.
We all make mistakes and open the door without looking through the peephole first.
But we also all have the ability to reclaim ownership of our homes (and minds) and rid ourselves of unwelcome guests (and thoughts) whenever we see fit.
This doesn’t happen by beating ourselves up though.
The salesperson would sense your fragility and go in for the kill!
And this doesn’t happen by making a scene or threatening violence.
The police would be at your doorstep in minutes!
It happens by being calm.
It happens by being kind.
It happens by being firm.
What uninvited guests have made their way inside your home and overstayed their welcome?
How can you reclaim your ownership and calmly, but firmly, tell them to leave?
Thank them kindly for the carpet shampoo and then send them packing. Just be sure to get your free dish soap before they go.
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