Don't Stiff a Stiff

by Annette Dashofy

Last week I spent a day helping my Avon District Sales Manager at a job fair. While it was my first event of this type, I have worked booths at health fairs in the past, and as I expected, it wasn’t much different. Except, of course, for the focus being on employment.


I had two goals for the day. First, I hoped to sign up some new recruits to my sales team, since that’s my next step in Avon. I help them earn money, and as a result, I earn money. Win win. My second goal was to sell a few products. I had a nice display of fragrances set up and I had a few odds and ends in my bag…stuff left over from visiting customers.

For the most part, it was fun.

Key words there: FOR THE MOST PART.

One gentleman (and I use the term loosely) came bustling through and stopped at our table. Wearing a snazzy, expensive-looking suit, he obviously was not one of the college kids looking for a summer job. He scanned our wares, told us he had two secretaries he wanted to get gifts for, and asked if we had anything. I put on my salesperson smile and launched into a pitch about the great deal I was offering on this fragrance gift set.

He cut me off with a question. “Is it free?”

“Err. Well. No.”

“Don’t you have anything for free?”

My manager and I exchanged puzzled looks. She pointed out that all we had were some samples, but they weren’t much for a “gift.”

I dove into my bag and pulled out a travel sized hand lotion and a couple of lip balms and told him these were the only inexpensive items I had and they cost a dollar each.

That price appealed to the cheapskate…err… “gentleman.”

“Don’t you have another hand lotion?” he asked.

“No. Sorry. I only have one of those.”

“I take all of them,” he said, pointing to the three items in my hand. He pulled some ones from his wallet, stacked them together VERY neatly, and laid them on the table. Then he snatched the three items from me and started to leave.

But you see, I’m a crime writer. I have a suspicious mind. And something didn’t look right about the neatness of that stack of one dollar bills.

I picked them up and fanned them out. And discovered there were only TWO.

Now, if the guy had been at all nice… if he weren’t wearing a super expensive suit while trying to find some cheap trinket for the secretaries who labored for him...I probably would have kept my mouth shut, allowed myself to assume it was an error. But instead…

“Ah, sir,” I called after him. “You only left two dollars.”

He froze in his tracks. Busted. He turned around and sputtered, “Oh, I thought you said these were two for a dollar.”

“No. Everything was a dollar EACH.”

At that point he basically winged one of the lip balms back at me and made his escape.

You will never convince me this chump believed those lip balms were 2 for a dollar. Not only was he a tightwad…he was trying to stiff me out of a buck.

My sales manager and I just shook our heads and agreed we were thrilled that we didn’t work for that guy.

If this sounds like your boss, you have my sympathy. And come see me. I’ll GIVE you something from my Avon stash. Just don’t try to stiff a Stiff!

Out of Work Working Stiff

By Annette Dashofy


One of the best bits of advice I ever received as a writer was to marry someone with good health insurance.

Excellent advice.

But then the economy tanked. Last week, my supportive husband—he of the steady employment and decent health insurance—had his job phased out from under him.

It came as no surprise. We smelled hints of impending doom as early as last fall. This was followed by the stench of major lay-offs around the holidays. When the ax finally fell, it was almost a relief.

But that relief was short-lived. We’ve launched into what I can only term as the five stages of grief. Over the weekend, it was easy to live in denial. He went fishing. I visited some friends. It was all stuff we’d already planned to do. But when Monday rolled around and he had nowhere to go…

I’d have to say we’ve reached the anger phase. After being at that job for 32 years, the idea of pounding the pavement, filling out applications, and creating a resume are daunting. Not to mention giving up all the hard-earned vacation and sick days he’d accumulated.

“Get that book published,” he tells me.

I’m trying. I’m trying!

In the meantime, I’m selling Avon. (Mother’s Day is coming. We’ve got some great gift ideas at reasonable prices!)

Sorry. I slip into sales mode without warning these days. It will be great practice for when I have a book to sell. (Please, God.)

Is desperation one of the stages of grief? I don’t think so. Maybe it should be.

I suspect this is the hardest part of it. We don’t know yet how much we’ll be collecting in unemployment compensation. And we don’t know how much we’ll have to pay for that health insurance. I’m still researching new plans and coverages. It’s scary.

Yet in the midst of it all, I’m trying to hammer out my third draft of my wip with the goal of having it ready to pitch at the Pennwriters Conference in less than a month. Nothing like a little bit of distraction when you need to focus on perfecting a 90,000 word manuscript.

So misery loves company. Anyone care to share your employment/unemployment stories? I’m especially looking for those that provide hope. But if you want to vent, rant, or whine, hey, have at it.

Time Management HELP!

By Annette Dashofy

I need some time management help. Or maybe lessons in juggling.

Or maybe psychiatric treatment. What leads a person to completely overload their life? It’s a sickness. And I have it.

Remember last year when I was losing my mind as conference coordinator? At that time, I dreamt of being done with the job so I could have free time. And what do I do with free time? I fill it with other stuff.

Part of it, I blame on my darling hubby. A few months ago, it looked that he might be unemployed by the end of 2009. So far, his job is intact. Knock wood. But at the time, there was much discussion that I should consider “getting a real job.” Never mind that I already work hard at writing, teach some yoga classes, and am primary caregiver for my mom (who, thankfully, is fairly self-sufficient most days). Never mind that I’m area rep for Pennwriters.

I don’t have time for a “real job.”

My solution?

I am now an Independent Sales Representative for Avon. As in Avon Lady.

I love it! For much of my life, I’ve been something of a Tom Boy. Now I get to play with jewelry and makeup and lotions and perfumes. Suddenly, I’m a Girly Girl.

This wasn’t exactly what my husband had in mind. Starting your own business does not result in reeling in copious amounts of cash. I think I’m doing pretty well because I’m not spending more than I’m making. Even with my new collection of cute Girly Girl earrings! But since his job doesn’t APPEAR to be in immediate jeopardy at the moment, he’s ceased the “real job” rumblings. For the moment.

So I’m now juggling THREE jobs. Plus the Pennwriters Area Rep gig.

What, then, incensed me to agree to take on the presidency of the Mary Roberts Rinehart Chapter of Sisters in Crime??? Okay. That one’s easy. No one else would take it.

I’m considering changing my name to Ado Annie. Remember her? From the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical Oklahoma? “I’m just a girl who cain’t say no…”

Which brings me back to the time management thing. I figure if I can find a way to balance my writing, my Avon business, my yoga students, my Pennwriters duties, AND my Sisters in Crime presidential duties, I should rank as a time management expert. I could write the book.

If I could find the time.

And now, for your musical enjoyment: