Tracy came at about 2, after lunch was over. She unpacked the stuff as we gathered round her. It was the Kirby Vacuum Cleaner she was selling, some creation from a guy by the name of, you guessed it, Kirby, in America. (As my Dad would say, "Amelica gud ah.") All sorts of equipment and accessories were laid out, and I must say, the Ang Mohs really take their "accessories sold separately' line seriously. What followed was a mildly interesting demonstration of its sheer brilliance on all surfaces, outshining what it was conveniently compared to: a water-technology cleaner that looked straight out of a 1960's movie, complete with the faded black look and daring fonts.

She tried it on our sofa, (wow so much dust) she tried it on a carpet, she tried it on the marble (wow so much dust) and she tried it in my room, because my brother so kindly volunteered mine. Up we went to my room, which was quite convenient, actually, since it needed cleaning. She demonstrated how the cleaner could be used on my bed. She put the vacuum cleaner on my bed after wiping the wheels. on my bed. Where I sleep on. No matter how much she tries to convince me, I can't be sold by that.

Anyway, she then proceeded to go over it again and again, and the end result was horrific. As Joel might term it, it was a holocaust. The amount of what she alleged were dust mites was quite a bit.

Needless to say, we didn't buy it. Why, you ask? Well, apart from the much-touted 'brushing action' (she must have used the term no fewer than 50 times) and apart from the fact that the design was indeed more practical, to have the suction unit in front, there were a lot of things that put us off. Firstly, the base unit cost 3000 bucks. As my dad put it, even if our current Phillips one (go advertising!) needed to be replaced once every month, we could go one year and 8 months on that path accumulate 20 decent ones to match the one cleaner.

Also, all the four of us were well aware and skeptical of anything that was sold door to door, thanks to all the years of watching western comedy. More importantly, I didn't fully appreciate the way she was selling it. Once, when my dad asked me to use it, I had to replace this attachment, and with each and every step (and I mean each and every step) I did, she went, "good... good.... good!" Like I was some autistic kid. It also didn't help that along the way, all our of us kept making snide remarks (like when she was using the telescopic handle, she said, "AH, YES. This is my favourite length" and damn, it was a classic moment of quiet giggling. Or when she kept saying "supposingly", as in, "supposingly the other vacuum cleaners cannot suck out grease." I had no idea what the word was in replacement of.)

Overall, I found it mildly interesting, not because of the product but the process. I mean, I always hear of horror stories (or hilarious ones) on door to door sales pitches, and having witnessed it first hand, It felt quite interesting, seeing what sort of techniques the salesperson would employ to either win your sympathy, win your favor or win your heart. Like the way she pinched the nose of my soft toy pig on my bed, (Nope, nothing gained. In fact, I found it eerily uncomfortable) Or when she made the call to her 'boss' to 'ask' her to lower the exorbitant price, citing that, yeah, we were such a sincere family, she enjoyed being here. Still the best is yet to come.

Going online, Isaac departed from the thing early and found out more about the product. Consumer awareness win, I'll say. If you're bored, you can go find out about it. Apparently the mark up for the product is so high, depending on the way you come across to them (as in, how interested you are) they will go to as low as 1k. (that is, by the way, still about 6 or 7 normal vacuum cleaners) They are also willing to put you into 1 dollar deposits from which you can never extricate yourself from, and that one dollar has more implications that 100 cents. (they'd say things like, madam, can you afford one dollar today?) Most incredulously, this accessory brush, from which much of the machine's plus points come from, costs 485 bucks. It's a plastic brush (she calls it polypropylene, I think, but as a fair DNT student, I'd say that, heck, plastic is plastic so long as it isn't carbon nanotubes.) that has horse hair. Some bloody regal horse, I must conclude.

The sheer number of techiques she used, the occasions where we saw through her (I don't think I'll put all of them here lah, it was a long episode altogether) and the fewer number of times we called her bluff overall made the 3 hour experience mildly interesting, I'd say. As for the dust and whatnot on my bed, I don't care. I've been living with it for some time now, and not only do you have to draw the line at how clean you want to live, but you also sometimes (disclaimer) need to realise that life has too many events to think deeper about things you have never really put much thought to.

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