Mr. Filthy Carpet Swatch

One never knows what's on the other side when selling door-to-door. Spin the bottle and knock. A gray bearded spook answers.
"Hello, I'm with _____ vacuum company, and I'm in a contest to see how many floors I can sweep this week. You'll get a free carpet cleaning and a set of steak knives (I shove a box of them in his grimy hand) just for looking. I'll be right back."
I'm gone before he can answer. Anything to get in the door and make a potential sale. I return with a boxed vacuum on my shoulder, not even slowing as I slide through the still open door.
Despite my fluidity, I'm always a bit surprised to be let in. Especially this time. The eccentric hillbilly has no real carpet! His floor is literally covered with a hodge podge collage of various free floating carpet sample swatches, about the size of a welcome mat, an inch or two apart. It's as if he's turned his home into a carpet sample store. It looks hideous, but hey, it's carpet.
I've been in a lot or weird places, but I've never seen this. A vacuum salesman's dream...(or nightmare?)
"Don't know what kind of carpet I want," he explains, observing my observations.
By the looks of the unopened boxes and piles of dissaray everywhere, it appears the eccentric can't decide if he wants to move in at all.
"How long ago did you move in?" I querie, making small talk as I set up the vacuum.
He cackles, revealing more gaps than teeth. "Been here 10 years."
(Not the quickest decision maker here. Hope he can find his checkbook for me well before the twighlight of the next decade!)
My sample filter is visible through the clear plastic demonstration device attached to the vacuum. I first ask if Mr. Carpet Swatch has a vacuum of his own. He hollers at his wife, who has emerged from the clutter to stare at my intrusion in dismay. Nope, she makes an effort, but can't seem to find a vacuum either.
Normally, the customer gets his vacuum out and I run it over a small area dozens of times, until he is thoroughly convinced the old vacuum cannot possibly pick up any more dirt in that one spot. Then, presto! I unleash my gleaming beauty and fill the micron filter pad in seconds with hidden filth. It's a powerful visual, and I'm confident today's swatches will reveal the crud superbly.
I am not disappointed as I fill filter after filter with black filth, leaving a dirt sample on each carpet sample. It's simultaneously poetic and pathetic.
"No matter what type of carpet you decide to get," I say, the hum of my vacuum silenced, "you see it will need a deep cleaning vacuum."
He's impressed, but defaults to his backup resistance plan, insisting he won't need a vacuum until he gets permanent carpet.
"Oh, but you've already had carpet for 10 years," I say, trying to mask potential mockery. "You may not know what carpet you want, but you really know what you DON'T want... dirt like this!"
My demonstration proves lethal. He asks his wife what she thinks. I wait. Any jabbering during decision time can spoil the deal.
She lingers. A good sign. They collaborate. They turn back to me. "Uh, I don't have that much money," he confesses. (He's a terrible liar, and he knows I know it.)
"We have a payment plan," I say, smiling.
Mr. Filthy Carpet Swatch won't hear of it. "I pay for things all at once. I'll make you an offer, take it or leave it."
He makes an offer, well within my range of profitability. I act like it may be too low, so I ask for his phone. I call our office.
"Mr. Van Lieu, I'm not sure if I can help this nice couple out or not," I say, for their benefit. "They really love the vacuum, but they just don't want to get involved in financing. They've made an offer, and, frankly, I'm not sure if we can accept it."
I lower my voice and almost whisper the ridiculously low offer that Mr. Van Lieu and I both know will make me $200 commission.
I nod my head, acting as if Mr. Van Lieu is making an exception here. I act somewhat apprehensive, as I continue. "Well, you see, that's the problem. They don't have a trade in."
I look at them, shaking my head. Mr. and Mrs. Filthy Carpet Swatch squirm, hoping their ridiculously low offer will stick.
Guilt trip complete, my eyes light up. "I hadn't thought of that. Wow, thank you, Mr. Van Lieu, for being so flexible. I'll tell them the good news!"
I put my hand over the receiver and announce, "He said you can have this demo model for that price, rather than an unused one in our van." (They were gonna get it anyway! No way I'm packing it up if I don't have to!)
They sigh a sigh of reflief. Before they can find their senses or lose their checkbook, I pump each of their hands, welcoming them to the family of proud new vacuum owners. We fill out the paperwork and I prepare to leave.
But Mr. Filthy Carpet Swatch has another eccentricity to unveil. "I want you to put the box and the vacuum you just sold me out on the lawn, as if I've thrown it at you and tossed you out," he says, cackling at his cleverness. "When you're boss shows up, he'll think the deal went South."
(Surely you jest, carpet swatch collector man? I mean, of all the cheesy...)
The things I have to do for a sale! Humiliated, I follow through with his hairbrained scheme, placing the box and vacuum in the yard, and looking chigrined as Mr. French pulls up in the wonder van.
Mr. French feigns shock at the scenario, as he perfectly reads my desperate look to get out of here ASAP. He nervously chuckles off the joke as the bearded wacko "comes clean", telling Mr. French what a wonderful sales job I did.
Armed with his precious check and paperwork, Mr. French and I get back in the van and look for more dirty carpet.