I opened the door at about 8 pm in the dark.
“I’m not selling anything, I’m not here about anything political or religious.”
I’m a Mormon. The guy had no idea why I laughed.
“And your neighbor Dave over there and Sarah over in the cul-de-sac said that you wouldn’t have any dogs barking or biting to worry about or anything and that you were cool, so, I’m here to tell you about some fundraising I’m doing for” (names a cause that sounds good) “and I’m here from Chicago and helping by getting credits for” (selling these magazines but claiming it was all for donations’ sake.)
I smiled and said I was very familiar with (his spiel, basically) that we hear it several times a year. But I wasn’t interested in buying any magazines.
But I hadn’t closed the door yet, and I did let him show me a page listing some of those magazines, so he continued in great pretended earnestness, and when I apologized for the No Solicitors sign he told me he had a problem with reading, he was so sorry (and yet you want me to write down all my financial information and name and address that you say you wouldn’t be able to read.)
Etc.
What he didn’t know is that he completely gave himself away in the second sentence, not that I needed him to. He was counting on neighbors not knowing neighbors–but we do, we have a much-celebrated annual block party that has expanded over the years as people in the next block and the next have asked to be included; we all wear name tags. There is no Sarah and there is no Dave, those were as fake as the rest of the guy’s come-on.
Nor did that voice sound like it was from Chicago.
Maybe I was as fake as he was by not saying any of that but I can definitely live with that.
My husband, hearing from the next room, complimented me afterwards on how nice I was as I finally got him to go away (was he checking to see who was home and who was still away on vacation?) But then, it was cold out there and what I really wanted to do was just go find the guy a much warmer sweater than that thin one he had on.
But not so much so as I’d knit him one, y’know?