Go away, no one's home

One day, while talking on the phone with my friend, Amy, she suddenly got real quiet. I asked what was going on and she whispered, “Someone is knocking on the door.”

I was a little worried about who might be at her door waiting to assault her, but when I inquired about the reason for her stealth, after she tucked herself safely into her closet so she could speak at a normal level, she replied, “It’s probably the church people. They come by all the time and I can never get rid of them once they’re here.” I asked where her daughter was and she said, “She knows to hide too.”

After chastising her for not politely, but firmly telling them she’s not interested, she said “Damara, you know I’m way too nice to ask someone to just leave!”

Though I laughed heartily at her predicament, I do understand. I am also polite to strangers and often answer my door even though every fiber in my being screams at me not to open it because, more often than not, it’s one of three people.

The first unsolicited door knockers are actually church people who are usually members of a certain religious following I am not inclined to become affiliated with at any point in my life.

I’m a firm believer in freedom of religion and it is one of the reasons I love the United States of America. I have my own church in town that I adore which means I’m really not looking to convert and no amount bullet-pointed handouts is going to change that.

I’d never think to be rude to anyone passionate about their beliefs, but I have been friends with someone from this religion and when I found out that he couldn’t celebrate his birthday or Christmas, well that sealed the deal for me. Sorry, but no thanks.

The next mysterious knocker is the meat-in-a-truck guy. He’s always got one or two extra slabs of steak that are leftovers from his stock and I am fortunate that he happened to be driving by to offer me this bargain.

I always buy our family’s meat supply from some type of stationary store. Years ago, a friend of ours worked for Schwan’s and we bought a few things once or twice, but I didn’t feel like we got an incredible deal. It seemed like an odd version of an ice cream truck, minus the loud, obnoxious music and not everything edible was sweet.

In any case, we never buy anything from the meat truck guy. I don’t trust it. Where is the meat from? How long has he been driving around with all that meat? Why don’t they have vegetable trucks?

The last group of unwanted solicitors is kids selling “fill-in-the-blank” of whatever item you currently do not need: gift wrap, candy bars, cookies, candles, magazines, etc. These children need to sell you this junk so that they can win a bicycle or some other prize from their school.

The worst ones are the teenagers who are attempting to finance a trip to Washington D.C. to meet the President or they are just five pot holders away from a summer field trip to Paris. This is their dream and I’m heartlessly crushing it to pieces.

Until Amy and I get security fences with video cameras monitoring the gates, if you come knocking, we’ll be hiding. Be so kind as to quietly leave us in peace.