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When a fast-talking salesman on a motorized scooter invades Aaron's Saturday peace, things spiral into a hilarious—and nearly hostile—driveway showdown. In this episode, Aaron recounts the moment he transformed into the fictional version of Larry David, wrestling with his own patience, boundaries, and a stranger’s relentless sales script. It’s a story about personal space, emotional restraint, and why no really means no.
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Story created & performed by: Aaron Calafato
Senior Audio Engineer: Ken Wendt
Additional vocals: Cori Calafato
Art: Pete Whitehead
Original Theme Music: thomas j. duke
Additional Soundscape Design: Isaac Gehring
TRANSCRIPT
Aaron Calafato:
The scooter man did it. He transformed me into the character of Larry David.
Now, I know there’s a real Larry David, but I’m talking about the character—the version from Curb Your Enthusiasm. It was like I became a werewolf, and he was the one responsible. And it almost led to an altercation.
I’ll tell you how, why, and where we go from here—right after the music.
Not every episode is sunshine and rainbows. I have my moments. And I appreciate you creating a safe space for me to tell you these stories, too.
Let me explain. I’ve shared a story before on this podcast about door-to-door salespeople, and I’ll be honest—I have a real issue with the whole thing. Full stop. It’s not even the tactic itself. It’s how it’s done.
Just this past weekend, it all went over the top. There was this guy rolling around our neighborhood on one of those two-wheel, stand-up things. You know what I mean—you see kids on them. Sometimes adults. They usually end up falling and hurting themselves. I just call it a scooter. A glorified scooter.
Anyway, this one sales guy is cruising around the neighborhood on it, going door-to-door. I get it. He’s working. He’s hustling. He’s using his scooter to move faster, hit more houses. Tactically, it makes sense.
But then it’s Saturday. I’m in my driveway doing my thing. And this dude scoots right up to me and says, “Hey, how you doing, sir? I’m just going through the neighborhood. I’m looking for bugs.”
I said, “You’re looking for bugs?”
“Yeah,” he says, “we’re just checking to make sure there are no ground wasps and stuff like that.”
And here’s the deal—this is my promise to you, because you’re my people: I said, “Hey, I really appreciate it. I get it. Thank you so much. But we’ve got a bug guy. We’re good.”
He goes, “Well, who’s your bug guy?”
I said, “Yeah... I don’t know him by name. Gotta be honest. I can’t remember the guy’s name. And it’s Saturday. I don’t want to go into the house and dig out paperwork.”
Now I’m engaged. And the transformation begins. The Larry David energy starts rising because I was trying to show grace, to say, “Thank you, but no thank you.” And now he’s asking me to share personal information about my bug guy.
I didn’t want to do that.
So I said, “Listen, I understand sales. I did it for a long time. I know what you’re doing. You’ve got a script, right? A 1-2-3 ask? First ask: you’re my friend. Second ask: you push past resistance. It’s all psychological warfare. That’s what this is.”
He’d already pushed past my second “no.”
So I said, “Look, I respect what you’re doing, but I don’t want to do this right now.”
He finally said, “Okay, no problem.”
And I thought—okay, an act of love and compassion. I resisted anger. I could feel myself returning to being Aaron. My hair’s growing back. I’m not becoming Larry David anymore. My space—my driveway—feels safe again. I’m not doing the whole confrontation thing.
But then… just as he’s about to leave, the guy scoots even further up into my driveway and goes, “Hey, is that your neighbor’s car?”
I looked over, confused. “What?”
He said, “Is that your neighbor’s car?”
I replied, “I’m not telling you if that’s my neighbor’s car.”
Then he asked, “Is that the man of the house? I didn’t see his car earlier. Did he just pull in? I tried talking to his wife and she said no, but I’d like to talk to him.”
At this point, I’m about to Stone Cold Stun this guy in the middle of my driveway. I’m ready to put him in the Sharpshooter. Submission hold.
I take a breath.
Then I said, “Are you asking me for intel on my neighbors’ personal lives? You think I’m going to sell out my neighbors to you, Scooter Man?”
I told him, “I said no on the first ask. I said no on the second ask. You’re on number three right now.”
And as they say in the old baseball anthem: three strikes, you’re out.
I looked him in the eye and said, “Do we have a problem here?”
He said, “Oh, no sir. We’re okay. You have a good day.”
But why did it have to come to that?
He scoots off into the distance.
Bye, Scooter Man.
Why did he do it to me? Why did he make me become the guy shaking his fist in the driveway?
We get a lot of criticism these days—people saying some of us are too uptight. But there are a lot of us out here trying not to be. We’re trying to be better. And it’s people like Scooter Man who push us to the edge. We only have so much grace to give. We’re failing forward every day.
But then someone shows up and forces us into a place we don’t want to go. I was this close to Stone Cold Stunning someone in my driveway.
Here’s the most important thing: no means no. And that transcends everything. “No” means freaking no. Doesn’t matter what it’s about. Doesn’t matter who’s asking. Full stop.
Because what he was asking me to do was submit to his will. He didn’t care what I was doing. He was saying: “I’m Scooter Man, and I’m going to get information from you or sell you something no matter what. And your only choices are either to be so gracious that you cave in… or escalate and get into trouble.”
That’s a tough place to put someone.
So I’ll say this: there’s only one person I submit my will to. And that’s the man upstairs.
And I’m just asking—for strength. Help me be better. Help me navigate people like Scooter Man. Help me find the humanity in them. I know it’s there. I know I love them as my brothers.
But… damn. Damn, you’re making it tough.
I’m putting more signs up. I’m doing what I’ve gotta do. And God willing, I don’t have to come off the top rope and drop an elbow on your ass.
And that’s the bottom line… because Larry David said so.
