You know, there’s not a whole lot that gets me all riled up. OK, maybe hypocritical vegans who cuss me for eating beef and then walk away in their calfskin boots. And maybe pet owners who believe they should be able to take their dogs anywhere they like but neglect to get them vaccinated or clean up the mess the pooch just deposited on a public beach. Seeing photos of slimy, spineless terrorists and killers in the media for weeks after committing their cowardly acts really chaps my hide. Oh, yeah, certain healthcare practitioners who try to pull fast ones and healthy teeth really make my fur fly. You know, I might not be as laid back as I thought. Lots of stuff gets me hot under my sweaty collar.
Last week, on a day that I usually spend relieving stress by driving a tractor or dozing in a hammock, I was coerced into visiting our timeshare out at Canyon Lake. Oh, it wasn’t a pleasure trip; we had to attend an “owner’s meeting” with a representative of the new owners of our resort. Timeshare owners were asked to come out and see improvements at the resort and give our valuable input. When I say we were “asked,” I should say we were hounded constantly by solicitors calling our home phone and occasionally our cell phones. There’s a limit to the number of times I can politely say “we’re not interested,” and after a rather nasty phone conversation one afternoon after I had returned from a deceitful dentist appointment, I thought these badgers got the message.
I soon learned these “account representatives” continued to call the house during the hours I was away at work or during supper when I refuse to answer the phone. Maw is a bit more civilized than me, and these solicitors figured they’d have a better chance chatting with her than with her redneck husband. Finally, after months of pestering calls and negotiating, we agreed to accept their offer to visit the resort. They would give us $140 just to attend, and in return, I would give them a piece of my feeble mind. Hey, I’ve done dirtier jobs for a hundred bucks. This should be a lot easier.
As soon as we got to the resort, I felt my blood pressure rising like a cheap thermometer in a roasted duck’s butt. Our “personal account representative” informed us that he wasn’t going to try to sell us anything. He just wanted to review our account and provide us with information and advice. We had attended several meetings with resort representatives before and endured endless sales pitches before, but this jolly fellow assured us this meeting wouldn’t be anything like that. He sounded sincere, but so did that fellow who sold me a beach house in White Sands, New Mexico.
After about two hours of touring new condos and hearing rhetorical rigmarole, this guy tries to sell us another timeshare. All that chatter about not trying to sell us anything flew out the window like a fat man’s fart. I knew walking into his office he was a sleazy salesman, and no matter what he told us, I knew dang well he would try to sell us something. He spruced up his spiel, providing us with all the advantages and benefits of owning an additional timeshare, but he met his match that day. I informed him that he can put whipped cream on a pile of horse crap and even place a cherry on top, but it’s still a pile of horse crap.
The flabby flim-flam man called in his manager, a fellow who resembled a hideous hybrid of a possum and a weasel, to double-team us, pressure us into buying another unit, but I was wearing a pair of cowboy boots, one for each fraudulent fanny. They, along with everyone else in the building and halfway across the lake, heard my humble opinion of their deceitful sales tactics. I took these con men to the woodshed, and walked away with $140 and a feeling of satisfaction, but I began thinking about those older couples we saw waiting to meet with their “representatives,” elderly folks who may not have the clear eyes to recognize a sham or are too frail to stand the pressure of a hard sale. Would they succumb to the strong-arm tactics of these buzzards?
I doubt anyone associated with that sales office will ever contact us in the near future, but I’m sure they will continue to call other timeshare owners across Texas in an attempt to lure them in coming for a visit. As a sentinel perched high in his Crow’s Nest, I will keep my eyes peeled for all charlatans who prey upon my neighbors. Hopefully, this column will reach others who own timeshares and inform them what’s in store for them if they attend an “owner’s meeting.” Just remember what my Cherokee ancestor, Chief Smelling Bull, once said: “Man who speaks with forked tongue drools on big belly.” Translated into modern Redneckese, it means you can put chocolate icing on a cow patty and call it a cupcake, but it’s still a big ol’ pile of crap.
