Tuesday, December 8, 2009

The Card Hander-Outer

These guys are at every street corner, outside every barbershop, and of course recruiting for that class-A “Gentlemen’s Club.” Which quickly brings me to my first tangent. Why are strip clubs called gentlemen’s clubs? Has it become a gentlemanly trait to stare at a woman’s tits while trying to land dollar bills on the stage from ten feet away? The only gentlemanly thing I’ll ever do at a strip club is look at that forty-something year old beat up stripper just so she doesn’t think she repulses me (which she does.) But, I feel bad. I mean I want the little dignity remaining with her to at least last the next two years. I think that may be about the only gentlemanly thing that occurs at a strip club - the courtesy look of interest out of pity.

Anyway, to get back on track to the guys who hand out those cards or flyers. They’re usually some poor schmuck or Mexican immigrant, who can care less about annoying the general population, so long as they make five dollars an hour under the table. I don’t blame them entirely, but do owners really see an increase in profits from these people? I’ll be walking down the street, thinking up the best way to justify being an hour late to work, when all of a sudden a card is offered to me. Now, I will instinctually grab one out of every twenty-five cards handed to me. In fact, they throw it out there so quick; I may even accidentally grab it if it was a used condom. Let’s hope Trojan doesn’t start an out of the box guerrilla marketing campaign this way.

So I have the card in my hand. It’s a five-dollar psychic reading. How karmic that this is placed into my hands. Certainly this is ingenious marketing by Chloe, the psychic. Really though? Do I even need to get started on this? First of all, for those of you who actually think there are supernatural people out there who can read the future, there aren’t. It’s a big scam! Even if these people do exist. How great can a five-dollar psychic be? A Doublecone from Mr. Softee costs more than that, and the only prediction a Doublecone yields, is that you will need to use the bathroom within an hour. If this person were legitimately capable of reading your deepest thoughts, your love life, and your future, wouldn’t they be paid more than a psychologist? Of course not. They would only pay that person five dollars for their time. That is all one’s life is worth according to Chloe’s pay scale.

The cards vary from psychic to religious jargon. I would like to speak on behalf of the average pedestrian. I have nothing against you personally, but next time you see me just skip me. I don’t feel like saying, “sorry,” or “no thanks,” when you hand me a dollar off for a foot rub card. Let me give the card-hander-outer man a tip of advice. You can cut out the middleman by simply tossing your stack of cards directly into the nearest trashcan. Because let’s be honest, nobody holds on to those things for longer than a block and a half. They are sloppily folded in half, sometimes more than once, and quickly dispersed of by the time we reach the next trash can. And hey, if you’re all out of cards, then you’ve done your job, and you should still get paid. Now that’s win, win.

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