Since everyone started roving the planet with a cell phone glued to their face/hands, people don’t just drop by anymore. In fact, according to a University of Northern Michigan study, the “just thought I’d knock on your door cause I was in the neighborhood” traffic has declined by over 96 percent since 1994.
Okay, so I just made up that stat (and that school, I think).
But seriously: When was the last time someone knocked on your door, unannounced, and you actually wanted to talk to them. Hmmm, I am going to go with never in the last 10 years.
Aside from a nice neighb welcoming you to the block with a big plate of scones, when the doorbell rings and I am not expecting anyone, my butt puckers like an unassuming toddler who just licked his first lemon.
No, I don’t want to buy your Cutco knives.
And screw you and your shady magazine subscriptions!
And actually I am fine that you think I’m going to Hell (and no, that’s my boyfriend, not my husband… and yes, we live together!).
And while I do care about education, I do not want to donate $50 a month on a whim, to an organization I’ve never heard of, because you knocked on my door while I was trying to catch up on Breaking Bad.
Wait, you have Girl Scout cookies? I’ll take four boxes, please.
The thing about unannounced door knockers is that conversations with them are always uncomfortable. I’m all, “Get to the point!” And I’m sure they’re all, “Blah, blah, blah lady, grow a pair and just tell me to getthufugouttahurr.”
‘Cause I always feel like I have to be polite.
The worst is when they will not take no for an answer. Actually, what’s really the worst is when they really won’t take no for an answer and I continue talking to them!
I am so from Minnesota!
I hate talking to random door knockers so much that lately, I’ve been running away. My friend Marge will back me up on this. A few weeks ago, she was over someone rang the doorbell. Pretty sure I know what this is all about. We walked halfway down the stairs. I saw clipboards through our door’s glass. I may have made eye contact with one of the dudes outside. I looked at Marge and screamed, “RUN!”
We did, slamming the door at the top of the stairs, breathing heavily from the sudden burst of adrenaline. Then we hi-fived. Thank goodness we avoided those kids volunteering for some lady running for city council!
Then one day, a family of three knocked on my door. I answered, bracing for the awkwardness. They asked if the boyf was home. I said no. Then they handed me some reading material and said, “Tell Josh we stopped by and said hi.” Jehova’s Witnesses.
Later, the boyf told me he’d met them while he was out doing man things in the yard or some shit like that. They talked and the JW’s were actually pretty nice (not that I was doubting). Then I got to thinking… why didn’t they care about saving me?! I was just the Maria Full of Grace for their Watchtower literature?
I felt so used.
It wasn’t a week later that the doorbell rang again. I took a deep breath and walked down the stairs. I noticed two young men wearing ties and name tags. Mormons. With a wince, I opened the door ready for conversation. I learned a lot about their missionary work, mostly ’cause I peppered the crap out of them with nosy questions. Call me crazy, but they seemed psyched to talk to someone other than each other, and told me more about their lives than about why I should be a Mormon.
Which is great, because I am not becoming one.
‘d consider knocking on their door this Sunday; it’s a “prep” day. I’d offer to take them bowling or to the Science Museum or the Walker, since they’re just in Minneapolis for a few months and all. I’m not going to do that because knocking on someone’s door unannounced is annoying. But I’ll be praying they get out and do something fun while they’re here. I’m sure they’ll be praying for my depraved soul.