It’s Saturday night. I’m sitting on the couch with a mocha – from Victor’s, no less – and updating a whole shit load of album art for my iPods. The doorbell rings…
I’m not expecting anyone, and most of the people that would stop by are in my IM window at the moment, so I hop up to answer. There’s a dude standing in my doorway, so I open the door with a “Hullo?”
“Hi! Is the man or woman of the house at home?”, he says. This sets off every alarm system in my being – old habit.
“What’s this about?” I ask.
“Oh, I’m a salesman… I-”
“Not interested,” I interject.
“Oh, I’m not selling anything. I was wondering if I could use the phone to call my manager – I need to be picked up,” he quips.
ERROR! REDO FROM START. Um, in other words, how about no? I mean, I’ve got an alarm system, true, but WTF is this shit? You want in the house because you think it’ll be harder for me to say no to you, if you’re in there? Like I won’t be able to get you out until I buy something? Hah! As if. I’ve thrown half dressed women outta my house for miscellaneous [and very good] reasons; a salesman has no chance. Or better yet, maybe this is a ploy so that I can invite you in so you can case my house, eh? I’ve seen A Clockwork Orange. And they had proper British accents – you don’t even have that. Since my porch light wasn’t on, alls I could see were a set of eyes and a smile… wait, don’t get up, I’ll hold the door open for you!
“I don’t have a phone,” I replied, completely deadpanned.
He looked rather incredulously at me and said, “Oh… alright.” He turned and walked away.
Now, while we’ve got a “No Solicitation” policy in my complex, but that’s not the police department’s problem. However, given that this kid tried to sling two stories past me in one 90 second conversation… and we’ve got older people living here… Screw that – I called the cops on their non-911 number. They took the information and told me that this wasn’t the first call they got tonight, so they appreciated the update – they’d take care of it.
Lo! I am l33t citizen! :D