Yesterday, deep into my writing, I was alerted to the epitome of rudeness. Someone was pounding on my door. It was the kind of sound that can only be followed by the sentence, “Police! Open up”, which, by the way, did not happen. First of all, when I am writing, I am in a trance, so I might have peed a little in my pants from the jolt back into reality. Second of all, WTAF?????
The beauty of avoiding people is wrapped up with the presence of my video doorbell. I don’t even have to move from the sofa to observe the morons that have invaded my space. A man and a woman looked impatient as they stood on my sidewalk hoping I would answer the door. Sadly, they aren’t aware that I literally won’t open the door for anyone unless I know them and, people that I actually have a relationship with, come to the side door. Let me also point out that I have a sign that clearly reads, “No Soliciting. We are too broke to buy anything. We have chosen our religion. We know who we are voting for. So unless you are selling Girl Scout cookies, GO AWAY!”.
In the age, of technology, I had hoped canvasing neighborhoods would be a thing of the past. And who is telling them pounding on doors will result in a sale? All it really did was piss me off and make Presley bark uncontrollably for 15 minutes. I was unable to resume my writing flow and one of my character’s precarious position was not solved because my thoughts were interrupted.
If you are pounding on my front door, you either need to be the cops or Publisher’s Clearing House that is delivering my winning check.
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