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Friday, 17 April 2015

KEEPING IT REAL with FRIZZY LIZZY

KEEPING IT REAL with FRIZZY LIZZY

Hi dear friends and followers. First I wish to thank you for coming to my blog and today is Lizzy's day. Take five relax and read  


I cannot say that every second of every day with all of my former partners was a living hell. We had our fun times together. Once in a while it was at the expense of a third party and that made things interesting.

It was early in 1978, as I recall, and we were still living on that farm in the place that I call Poverty Pocket, Pennsylvania. We had been there long enough to begin to fit in rather well with everyone in the area, even down to the fact that both of us were unemployed and collecting the grand sum of $140 a week between us.

A letter came in the mail from a resort called Shawnee-on-the-Delaware. It was an invitation to look at their vacation condominiums and learn about the timeshare form of ownership. The invitation said that they would pay for the gasoline that we used to drive there, give us a free meal, two gifts to take home with us, and all that we had to do was to take a tour of their facilities.

We talked it over and since we were broke and there was no road trip in our future, we agreed to go, listen to their sales pitch, act interested and buy nothing. He was to be the one who was ready to buy-into the resort and I was to be the one who was to be of the mind to go home without anything but the gas money.

After about a 90-minute drive, we arrived at the sales office of Shawnee-on-the-Delaware Resort. It was on the Delaware River in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania. As we parked our new Chevrolet the sales crew must have thought that we had more money than we did.

A fellow whose name I have forgotten ushered us into a nicely-appointed sales office and gave us coffee, snacks, and two comfortable seats while he explained to us that the condominiums were sold on the timeshare basis. My ex was full of questions as I sat there with a poker face.

Then he took us to a place where there were Jeeps parked and he told us to get into one of them. The driver was already there. He was a fellow in his 30s, I would say, well-built, with black hair. The salesman took pains to tell us that the driver was a Native American and a descendant of those who lived in the area around the resort. He introduced him as “Chief.” That tacky bit of tokenism has stayed with me until today.

As we drove, Chief explained what we saw. There were buildings under renovation, new construction, snow in the beautiful hemlock trees, deer in the woods, and, generally speaking, a beautiful resort coming together. My former asked all of the questions and sounded like a child in a toy store while I kept silent.

Then we went for lunch with Chief and the salesman, who by then had become a bit more than an irritation because of the pressure he had been applying to get a comment from me.

We finished lunch and went back to the sales center. This time it was to a different room, one with a conference table and contract documents on it. On its walls were pictures of the condominium units we had seen and their prices for a two-week “deed.”

The salesman and a female accomplice sat across the table from us and pressured both of us for a commitment to buy. My ex was all for it, but I refused to agree.
Finally, the salesman looked at his partner and told us that they were leaving the room for a few minutes so we could talk it over and maybe come to a positive resolution. They rose from the table and left us alone.

My ex made many mistakes in his life but not being prepared for that trip was not one of them. He told me that it was a sure thing that we would be left alone to discuss the deal and that the salespeople would be listening to our private conversation, maybe even watching us, to get a clue as to how to close a deal.
We played our parts so well that I believed for a few minutes that we were sincerely interested in having a timeshare condominium and that being broke was no object to getting it!
He pleaded, whined, and cajoled, but it fell on unsympathetic ears. Every time he came up with a way to afford payments on a condo, I came up with an expense that would eat those payments. This went on for about five minutes.

The sales people returned and asked if they could help us to decide. My ex told them that things were at an impasse. They gave up on us, paid us for our trip, gave us our free gifts, and showed us the door.

We were about ten minutes away from there when we began to relax and share a laugh about our afternoon at Shawnee-on-the-Delaware and how well we had played our parts with no rehearsals or acting experience.

A few months later we moved from Poverty Pocket to a place where jobs were plentiful. I never looked back. 

Thank you very much again, dear friends, for visiting my blog. Please share your thoughts with us, if you will. have a great Week.

ڰۣIn Loving Light from the Fairy Ladyڰۣ


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