The man at the door

Summer of 2007, prior to my senior year of college.

 

I really should check through the window before I ever answer the door. But I haven’t, because I am an idiot. So for punishment, I run the risk of getting abducted by old men posing as charity members.

I was upstairs, waiting for Sierra to call because we were going to hang out. Then I heard a knock on the door. I figured maybe she just came over, because she often shows up unexpectedly at my doorstep. So I jump downstairs, all excited to open the door and hug Sierra. Instead, I blindly open the door and nearly fling my arms around the middle aged man waiting on my doorstep.

I am instantly confused, because I have never seen this person before. He begins to speak, his voice a bit muffled. He talks about a mile a minute, so it’s hard for me to understand. He says something about going around and meeting all the neighbors. I think to myself, “Oh, he just moved in on the street and wants to meet people. That’s sweet.” So I stick out my hand and say “I’m Joelle.” I should have lied and said “My name’s Cordelia,” but I wasn’t thinking straight.

He keeps on talking, explaining he’s part of a group that helps people get over a fear of public speaking. He asks me if I have ever given a public speech. “Uhh…” I say, thinking back to the speech I gave in high school to a crowd of a thousand or so. “Yeah, this one time in high school.”

“And wasn’t it scary?” he asks. Not really, I think. This guy started talking about how he gets points for talking to people, and he whips out this laminated paper thingy, and I start to think I will have to sign something saying he talked to me so he can get his points. It's like Cub Scouts for socially awkward middle-aged people.

Then he gives me a laminated list of magazine titles, so I become more confused.

“What do you like to do?” he asks me. I say that I like to read, because I am a nerd. He assures me that I am not a nerd. First of all, he doesn’t know that I’ve read about a thousand pages this week, and it’s only Wednesday. Second, I don’t need some stranger to tell me he thinks I am not nerdy, because he’s only saying that because he’s after his points.

Then he asks me what my boyfriend likes to do. In retrospect, I should have either said 1) My boyfriend likes shooting guns and bounty hunting, or 2) My boyfriend likes boxing. Because then maybe he’d think twice before kidnapping me. But what I really said was “Oh, I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” he says. Yeah, big joke, haha.

“No,” I say. I mean, we really don’t need to get into my personal life and talk about how I often spend time in my flannel pajamas, watching HGTV, alone.

“Wow.” he says, “every guy in this town must be either blind or gay.” Oh great, now we can get into my past and talk about how I once had a crush on a guy who I later found out was homosexual. Just what I need to remember.

“Well, again, my name is Jim and I like long walks on the beach and blah blah blah”. That statement sort of creeps me out, because he really doesn’t need to pretend like he thinks I’m cute. Flattery is the sort of thing a kidnapper would say to lure a victim. And really, strangers knocking on my doorstep can just save it and shove it. After all, his only motivation is those stupid points.

Then he tells me about when he gets enough points, he gets to go to Bermuda for spring break. Well, great. He encourages me to look over the list he's put in my hands. I glance down at it and finally realize what has happened. 1) He is not my neighbor 2) He does not really think I am attractive (but I knew that was a ploy all along) 3) He is not just trying to get over his fear of public speaking, and 4) He is really trying to sell me magazines.

I ask to confirm. “So, you want me to buy one of these?”

“Yeah,” he says, “that’s how I get my points.”

“How much are they?” I ask

“Oh, really cheap. Just like my mother and old roommate.

I’m taken aback.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’m interested today.” 

This is the part where he hits me over the head and throws me in his trunk for not cooperating. But I'm sorry, I'm just not going to buy a subscription to US Weekly. This thirty-something year old man is trying to sell magazines so that he can go to Bermuda for spring break, meanwhile I have never even been to Disneyland? I think I'll save my money, thank you very much.

And that is the story about the time I should've dead bolted the door.