My front door came complete with an adhesive that says, “No Soliciting” (or maybe No Solicitors?-I don’t look at it much).
I’ve promised Justin that he can still solicit at my house, if he wants to, and I’ve explained what the sign meant to six-year-old Clayton. It’s been a source of interest.
What it has NOT been, is effective.
I’ve come home many a night to find notes, flyers, and whatnot stuck to the door. I don’t know for sure that this counts as soliciting, but I would guess so.
Here’s the kicker: I don’t mind soliciting. I understand that there’s a job to do and some people still think face-to-face is the most effective. And, really, it isn’t like people are bombarded with door-to-door salesmen and the like.
But, the sign is affixed and there you have it.
I was “cooking” in my kitchen and just puttering around. I had already realized that I was NOT getting 28 Hour stew for dinner, so I was making something else.
**Knock at the door**
I jumped. It was so unexpected. No one ever just drops by (I’m fine with it, but no one does).
I raced (literally leaped the last couple stairs) down the steps to go and answer the door. I had no idea who it could be. I opened my Melrose Place-window and peeked out. There was a handsome boy on my stoop, he smiled and waved. (Yes, waved.)
I opened the door and he introduced himself as Zach, from Qwest.
I reciprocated and we shook hands.
He was there to pitch the new services from Qwest. I invited him to step inside (it was too cold to leave the door propped open, plus, this poor boy forced to go door-to-door on one of the coldest nights of the year?) and I politely listened to his pitch. His job, apparently, is to convince people to leave Comcast. Qwest has, supposedly, been out digging in my neighborhood, laying fiber-optic cable (I’m not sure why, but Zach said it like it was a big deal), though I’ve never actually seen them.
When Zach asked about my current plan, I proudly stated I had none.
Who does your phone? I use a cell phone.
Who does your internet? I don’t use it at home…or I use my cell phone.
Who does your tv? I use an antenna.
Zach seemed stymied by my responses. I guess, when you’re 19 (tops, I swear) and grew up with a never ending stream of technology, my relatively low-tech home seems bizarre. But, come on, I can’t be the only one. I just can’t be.
We chatted a few more minutes, during which, Zach received about 12 text messages, by my count. I then asked for his card, because he was a nice kid and very well-mannered and seemed genuinely interested when he found out I was a librarian. If I were getting service, I’d call him. However, Zach looked puzzled when I asked for his card and said, “I’m a sales rep, we don’t do cards.”
Translation: I’m 19 and cards are from the fuddy-duddy era. (I am weak on my teen speak, but I think I translated that pretty accurately.)
I said, “well, okay, then how would I get hold of you?”
He said, (and really, you can’t make this up) “just give a shout, I’ll hear you.”
I don’t know what that means.
Does he really expect me to open my front door and shout? People will think I’m crazy.
Maybe Zach plans to wander up and down my street for years on end, hoping someone will shout his name?
At least we ended with a smile. I told him to keep warm as it was below zero outside and he had no hat and no gloves as he went door-to-door. He said he forgot his warm clothes, but “whatever, it’s cool”.
Yes, Zach, it is certainly cool. As, obviously, are you.
Then, I locked up and headed up to my kitchen to resume foraging for food.
When I hit the top of the stairs, I was looking into the kitchen and saw this:
Apparently, I was so excited for the knock at the door, I couldn’t even take one second to close the damn fridge. I truly had an open-door policy that night!