A conversation I had this morning while putting up posters:
Random oldish guy (in a condescending, conversational tone): I hope someone comes along and takes that down.
ROG: Your poster. They make an awful mess, you know.
Me: I have to advertise, dude.
I bike on to the next post. ROG catches up to me:
ROG: It’s illegal, you know.
Me: So call the cops.
(Actually postering is not only legal, it isn’t even forbidden by bylaw. But I never let facts get in the way of my witty repartee.)
ROG: I just want you to clean up after yourself. All these posters make a mess.
Me: I’m not stopping you. If you don’t like it, take it down.
At this point I stopped and pretended to do something with my Ipod and let ROG continue on his merry way, where he no doubt told some kids to pull up their pants and stop using all that slang.
Now if you know me at all you know that I am Sensitive. Not in the sense of “unusually aware and considerate of other people’s feelings”. No, in the sense of “touchy”. I do not like conflict. I do not enjoy criticism, though I’ve learned to take constructive criticism in the spirit it’s meant, as well as to be critical of myself and my own work. But even so it wasn’t the fact that I was told off by a retiree that made me need to go home and eat a bag of chips in the bathtub.
Because I KNOW people don’t like the posters. I don’t much like them myself and I don’t like spending an hour or so a day putting them up. I do it because I have to – because it is literally the only cost-effective method of advertising that is available to me. I even wrote about it here the last time I went on a big postering jag.
No, what made me want to scream was the way this man talked to me like I was a misbehaving child. I am thirty goddamn years old. I own a home and run a business. I’m not rich or anything but I am contributing, tax-paying member of society, not to mention a freakin’ ADULT and I don’t appreciate being scolded by random strangers like a kid who failed to pick up after their dog.
Anyway. I’m over it. Ben suggested I go back and put a poster on his door, but I can’t remember exactly which house he came out of. And stapling a poster to his door probably IS against the law.