The people down the street apparently use Merry Maids. At least, there were a couple of the Merry Maids leaving their house, and I don't think they were burglarizing it. But the two women didn't act anything like the maids in the television ads. They weren't dancing, singing, or kicking up their heels with joyful shrieks at the thought of vacuuming.
D'ya think Merry Maids engages in deceptive advertising? If I had the inclination to hire a maid service, the ony reason I'd hire Merry Maids is to have someone who was gleeful about cleaning my house. If the maids aren't really merry, then what's the point?
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A Purdue Boilermaker who is also a wife, mom, and attorney, pontificating on law, politics, news, sports, kids, and miscellaneous other things.
About Me
- Wilson
- Wife, mother, daughter, sister, aunt, cousin, professor,lawyer, handbell ringer, Cadet, Boilermaker, Wildcat, reader, Christian, American, moderate Democrat, popcorn-lover, jogger, shower singer, news junkie, Court-TV junkie, animal lover, geocaching fool, Delta, Dallas Cowboys fan, HUMAN BEING.
Blogroll
Blog Archive
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2007
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August
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- What a way to spend summer vacation
- Too old for this
- What goes around, comes around?
- The understatement of the millenium
- It's official
- Justice not entirely denied
- Merry maids?
- This could have ended badly
- A voice of reason
- Give me the night . . .
- Homecoming
- Surviving tax-free weekend
- The perfect gift?
- Random thoughts on current commercials
- Happiness is a Warm Gun?
- Michael Vick/SCLC Update
- Serves the witch right
- Capt. Obvious strikes again
- The Flim-flam game?
- Countdown
- Summertime
- Thinking like the KKK
- The ultimate kick in the pants?
- Minneapolis tragedy
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August
(24)
2 comments:
If you ever read "Nickled and Dimed," you'd understand why they aren't so Merry. That's why I use Crabby Maids. At least it's honest.
I've been meaning to read Nickel and Dimed for a long time. I'm about to finish a lighter version of Nickel and Dimed that makes some of the same points I understand are made in Nickel and Dimed. It's called "Working Stiff's Manifesto: A Memoir of Thirty Jobs I Quit, Nine That Fired Me, and Three I Can't Remember". I now know more about fish processing than I ever wanted to know, including how little the workers get paid for dangerous, dirty, and back-breaking work.
Somehow, the author, an otherwise unemployed English major, managed to walk the thin line between writing a humorous account of his many low-paying jobs while sensitively recounting the plight of those who often have few options.
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