Salesbod arrives ten minutes late for his 7.30pm appointment to measure up and quote for conservatory blinds.We go through all the sales pitch, interlaced with gentle compliments and just a few downright patronising ones.
We are allowed to have a go at the remote control for the motorised blinds. Thoughtfully, he has also brought along his digital camera with movie clips of the motorised blinds opening and closing (which is not unlike watching paint dry)We have a look at all the samples (which come in two cases, similar to the sort you would expect to take on a two week expedition to Mount Everest) not to mention all the photos (lots of good ones of their’s and lots of bad ones of their competitors). We even have a little session of trying different coloured samples inside the conservatory itself. Of course, all the while, he is very careful not to give any hint of how much it is all going to cost. That particular delight, he saves for the grand finale, by which time, he almost qualifies for squatters rights.
It takes him twenty minutes to measure the windows, but handily, he has another photo album of pictures for us to look at, this one, complete with testimonials.
Then we play a little game called “guess the price”. Round 1: how much would the most expensive roof blind cost (taking into account that it is state of the art in the world of blinds). £20, Hub says, under duress. Salesbod forces a worried laugh. Eventually, we get to Round 3: how much would the whole roof cost. £400? Hub takes a stab. Salesbod suggests we sit down.
The cost of superdooper pleaty state-of-the-art blinds, taking into account the three special offers that they have, is just shy of six and a half grand. Good grief, the conservatory itself wasn’t much more than that! Salesbod asks if I need oxygen.
Still, I suppose he has to justify his three hour sales pitch. Perhaps I should ask for lessons.