What's left to be said?
9:22am: I woke up this morning, sort of, to a persistent knocking on my apartment door.
My eyes fluttered open in the midst of bam!bam!bam!bam!bam!bam!bam!--an urgent, demanding sort of pounding. The urgent, let-me-in! kind. The kind that demands that you answer, even if only to say "Nobody home!".
I at first assumed it was an apartment down the hall and that either someone would answer it or the person would go away. I turned over and resolved to get back to sleep. I had food and water and a bed. I could stay in here for weeks, if necessary, see? myeah. see. myeah. But the pounding continued, in 15 rep sets to which Rufus would reply, "BARK BARK BARK!" I wanted to be in a coma.
Hmm, that's my
door. Drat. I clearly am unable to reach the door from my bed and I try to guage the importance of my getting up to do so. I give way too little thought to what I will wear if I do; at this point I do not plan to get up. The knocking is authoritative though, and I start to envision a mistake raid on my apartment by police or an emergency landlord visit about a burst pipe or a raging fire. I stick with my instinct to remain prostrate through rounds 3 and 4, but my resolve is flagging and my annoyance is rising.
Apparently, my would-be visitor is also annoyed, but with a steely resolve that comes through with the 20th impatient blow in this latest salvo against the last line of defense between me and the outside world. I am not as angry as some of you that know me might guess, but I admit to a little indignance. I had no plan to explode on whoever it was. Nevertheless, I decided to meet this assault on my peace with a scowling countenance and the full dishevelment of my interrupted sleep. In the little administrative part of my brain, a decision was made without following the proper channels of command or established protocol: Pants were not needed for this mission.
I creep up to the peephole (If it's anyone except a cop or a maintenance man I'm going to go back to bed) and peer out. No one there. I start to scowl a little; but of course whoever it is gave up just as I get motivated. Some emergency! My eye was still against the door, and my brain was sluggishly trying to calculate Murphy's Law (I used the famous bathtub-ringing telephone corrollary). "Must've given up," I conclude. I am happy about that but regretting that it was not a total victory. I was standing here instead of remaining prostrate and stubborn. "At least I didn't put on pants," I think as I stare out the peephole.
What the hell!? There is no mistaking this as a knock on *my* door but I have just determined that no one is there! In my power-saving mental mode I am completely unable to figure out what is happening here. I have no choice at this point. I am no longer annoyed but confused and curious. I make sure the chain is on the door and open it, half expecting a cadre of uniformed authority or bloodthirsty criminals to begin pouring in to my humble abode.
I wonder what it was about standing there in my underwear that I considered an asset going in to this unknown but I swear I got bolder thinking about how effective it would be at keeping whatever this was to a short meeting.
No one had yelled anything about being cops and criminal gangs don't usually knock at 9am so I figured it was a)A politician b)a salesman or c)religious people. In the space of a few seconds I had before opening the door I called on my ever present sense of indignation at people like this and plastered it on my face. I positioned myself mostly behind the door, mostly hiding myself from the waist down. I wanted to look very inconvenienced, not give the impression I was happy for the chance to be seen mostly naked. In retrospect this was a very very lucky thing. I opened the door with my eyes pointed at an estimated angle to make eye contact with this early morning seller of whatever. I was off by about 4 feet.
This little 6 or 7 year old girl with the manliest knock ever
was not selling anything at all. She was cop-knockin' at the wrong apartment. She expected her friend or her mom or someone to answer the door and let her in. The look on her face as I opened the door was meant for another person, who was behind some door down the hall. She quickly found a new face for me though. She looked up at me with a little "oh" that popped out of her mouth in about the same fashion as my little "hey" came out. Then she turned and bailed but my door was already closing. I am convinced that if I had not opened the door she would be out there at this very minute, pounding like she had a search warrant.
I'm sorry, little girl! I taught you a very valuable lesson today, but I had no intention of doing it and I really regret not throwing on some sweats first. I may have scarred you for life but I meant you no harm! I almost certainly learned *my* lesson...
To Hillary Clinton: This is why the "It takes a village" thing was a bad idea.
posted by M@ at 1:27 PM