Today I tweeted about Bella unlocking and opening the front door before I could get to her and prevent it. The churchboys on the other side were smiling in their starched white shirts with pocket protectors. I'm sure what they saw made them want to run away, if only they'd had the inclination to do so: Arabella leading the pack in her fancy pink-gingham dress (far too fancy for a day of playing), Nero ( who is a fucking ginormous husky, if you didn't know) on her heels, me (the braless wonder in cotton short shorts and a snug-round-the-chest white RHCP t-shirt, grabbing desperately for Nero's collar lest he escape), and Anna-Lee and Addison, who had stepped to the side to let me through (Anna, all the time saying, "Don't open the door, Bella," without actually moving to stop her). Ah, what a sight we must have been. I can still see their smiling faces. Right before I told them, "Just go away, please. That would be great." And shut the door abruptly.
I didn't mean to be so amusing, it just happened that way. Don't worry, I'm not completely rude to everyone who comes to the door. I tip the pizza delivery people really well. And I'm even polite to them. But that's because I've been expecting them. If I'm elbow deep in dish water, wearing lounge clothes, I usually don't even answer the door. Honestly, most people are thwarted by the "NO SOLICITING..." sign. Unfortunately, there wasn't one hanging beside the front door today. The one that was there had gotten torn and I had forgotten to replace it. I had had three or so blissfully undisturbed days during which I neglected to make and hang a new sign. Until today's incident. The churchboys hadn't yet made their way completely around the court before I was hanging a new one. Wouldn't want to make THAT mistake again.
Sometimes the sign doesn't thwart unwanted solicitors. In fact, just a couple of weeks ago I had to point out the sign to someone... The doorbell rang. I stopped right in the middle of making lunch to answer it, assuming it was an unscheduled visitor, because who would possibly ring the bell after reading the sign?
He was a young man, maybe 20, if that, and began his speech about meeting new people as soon as I opened the door. I can spot a salesman from a thousand yards. Hell, I was raised by a salesman, and I even married one. I was nonplussed. I silenced him with a gesture. I didn't want to know why he was at the door.
"You didn't read the sign, did you?" I sighed, giving the young man a disdainful look.
"I--I didn't know there was a sign," he stammered, the salesman turned young boy before my wilting gaze.
"Read the sign," I said, and shut the door.
During my years living in the burbs I've learned that it's better for both parties involved if you just abruptly put an end to their sales pitch. Otherwise you risk (1) either buying something you neither want nor need (out of pity or because you're a complete push-over incapable of being blunt) or (2) pissing off the salesman by letting them get through their entire pitch before saying, "I don't actually want what you're selling," or (better still) "I don't actually have any cash on me, but thanks for stopping by." And, trust me, there's nothing worse than the look on their face once they know they've just wasted 20 minutes telling you all about a product that you're not actually going to buy or sign up for--or better. I'm torn really. I hate to waste their time, but if I'm being perfectly honest I have actually waited for them to finish their sales pitch before saying I'm not interested (this also works really well for telemarketers, though they are more prone to cussing and angry rants if you do). It's all a matter of what you're interested in, I suppose. If you've got the time and just really want to irritate someone, go for it. Otherwise, make yourself a sign for the door that dares anyone with enough balls to ring anyway. It really weeds out the true, I-won't-take-no-for-an-answer types from their mealy-mouthed counterparts. In which case, if you've got enough balls to read my sign that all but says "Fuck Off," then you deserve my withering gaze, acid tongue, and door slammed in your face.
Come on over to the suburbs and I'll show you how it's done. Or not. Whatever.
