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    July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2005

    "The slovenliness of our language makes it easier for us to have foolish thoughts" ~ George Orwell

    "An effective way to deal with predators is to taste terrible." ~ Unknown

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    Sunday, September 05, 2004

    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   2 comments links to this post


    At 2:17 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

    whats with peephole age discrimination?

    fuckn cruel world.

    At 9:53 PM, Blogger kimberley said...

    he who laughs last...lasts.

    maybe it wasn't a child at all. maybe it was only a midget-sized jehovah's witness come round to save your soul from the lake of eternal fire and damnation and the look of scorn so unnerved her that she turned toe and ran for in fear for her own soul.

    it could happen. :/


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