by Joyce Tremel
I haven't been able to come up with anything witty this week, so I'm recycling a post from last September from my own blog, Musings of a Middle Aged Writer. I hope you enjoy it!
THE OMAHA STEAK INCIDENT
No, it’s not the title of my next novel. It’s what happened when I gave Jerry the phone when the salesman from Omaha Steaks called. I don’t know how they got our number, unless we’re in the phone book under “these people will mortgage their house for steak.”
It started out innocently enough. We’d bought steaks from Omaha in the past, but we purchased them online. We got a nice package of filets and some other things for a reasonable price. They came in a nice little Styrofoam cooler and didn’t take up much space in our freezer. And they were very tasty.
After that, we’d get an occasional email with their latest “special.” Most of the time I’d look at it, then delete it. I think we ordered something once or twice.
Then came the phone call which went something like this:
“This is Omaha Steaks, can I tell you about our latest special?”
“We don’t really need anything right now,” I said.
“I understand that, but we have some really good specials right now.”
He wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I handed the phone off to Jerry. Surely he could get rid of a pushy salesman.
The Omaha Steak guy and Jerry got along like they’d been best friends since kindergarten.
This is not good, I thought. Boy, was that an understatement.
After he hung up, Jerry said, “$154.00 for steaks is a good price, isn’t it?”
When I could speak again, I found out he’d ordered 12 filet mignons, 6 of some other steak and some hamburgers. After I figured out the cost per pound, it did turn out to be a decent price. It’s just that I’m not used to spending that much on steak. Not all at one time, anyway.
So the next time the Omaha Steak guy calls, I’m telling him that Jerry is not allowed to talk to him anymore.