They Want My Money
As omnipresent kiosk hawkers bleated about their as-seen-on-TV wares, I was reminded of a kid in the Philippines who once endeavored to sell me a hat, a pair of sunglasses, and a flower-sack shirt. He offered a great selection and I was in the market for trinkets, so I was inclined to listen to his sales pitch. I bought all sorts of souvenirs from that kid because I liked the way he yelled, “Remember me…from your hotel?!” Of course, a very favorable dollar-to-peso exchange rate may have played a factor, as well. Sadly, Mrs. Hippo never really appreciated the San Miguel hat I bought for her.
That kid was onto something that Americans are just starting to learn, though. You need to make eye contact and build a relationship to make a sale. I noticed several attempts to make eye contact with me yesterday at the shopping mall, but as I have spent far more than my fair share of time in the third world, only an advanced vendor ever catches my eye for a sales pitch. No eye contact. No relationship. No sale.
I did listen to a sales pitch recently, but that guy didn’t actually catch my eye. I was too savvy for that, but the local number on my caller ID box did manage to short circuit my defenses. I was caught off guard, so a fire department guy was able to ask me to save the poor burned children by going to a country music concert. He said several kids are burned every day and they all need my help. This sounded very tragic, indeed, and I started to feel sad before my mean inner hippo spoke up: wouldn’t the poor burned children be better off if I were to give them all the money and leave the concert promoters and the guy doing the calling off the payroll? I may be the most insensitive hippo in the world because I said I wasn’t going to give those poor burned children any money. Please don’t hate me if I don’t want to pay the overhead for professional fundraisers that leave the charity with only a small portion of the take.
I guess that is why I like the guy who begs beside the road. At least if you give to that guy, you know it is all going to the intended recipient. Although Oliver Twist and the Artful Dodger may have had to pay off their Fagin, I think we can safely assume the roadside beggars in this area are independents.
You may have noticed a new sort of e-criminal around lately. Several people have called recently to inform me that I have almost certainly won a Lincoln Navigator. They are persistent, but I remain unconvinced by their recorded messages. It is almost as if they are sending that recording out to a bunch of people in the hopes of finding an idiot or two.
Today, Mrs. Maureen Johnson, a widow of 73 years who happens to suffer from cancer “of the esophageal,” e-mailed me a solicitation of sorts. It turns out that prayer led Mrs. Johnson to offer me $3.9 million dollars for doing God’s work. Sadly, she was only able to come up with my e-mail address and could not discern my name in the message she received from her higher ups, so I am left to question the veracity of her claims of divine guidance.
Although all these people offered to fill my needs in some way or another, I suppose I have become just too cynical. I don’t believe the people at the mall really care about my needs at all. I think they may just want my money. The guy who called about those poor burned kids may have a personal motive of gain, as well, and I suspect Mrs. Johnson’s offer of $3.9 million dollars could have a few strings attached, too.
At the end of the day, I’ve begun to question offers that seem to be too good to be true, and I look askance at people who say they are only interested in my needs. Perhaps I am too cynical, but I think those people just want my money.
Sincerely,
Mister Hippo
