Leave Me Alone

Yesterday I got home from work and immediately jumped in — making dinner, emptying the dishwasher, folding clean laundry. Basically doing 100 things at once because I wanted to try to watch Buffy that I’d taped.

So someone leans on the doorbell. DingdongDingdongDingdong. Normally I ignore the doorbell if I’m not expecting anyone, but I’ve been trying to change my ways to be more neighborly and what do I get for my efforts but the Bible thumpers and the Sierra Club. I believe there is no excuse for being rude so I try to be honest, but kind.

So Mr. Sierra Club starts his song and dance with the whole manipulation how all my neighbors have signed his clipboard and the Arctic and oil drilling and save the polar bears, etc. So I’m standing there, hungry and tired and he’s talking to me like he suspects I don’t understand English. I am politely listening and then he asks for my signature and $75!

I snort and hand him back his clipboard, like I have $75 laying around. And he pushes it back at me, “you can donate at any level.”

Now isn’t it sort of presumptuous to show up at some strangers door, ask for personal information, a signature and $75? I say, “Look, I’m tired, I’m hungry and I don’t even want to think about this right now.”

So he gives this pained look and checks his watch and says, “oooh, I’m only here until 9 o’clock. Should I come back?”

“No,” I say, and hand him back his clipboard.

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