Mrs. Kravitz had a knock at her door yesterday at around 4:20 pm. After looking through the peephole and determining it was not UPS, FEDEX nor a maintenance gnome, Mrs. Kravitz did something she never does. She opened the door!
Standing there was a slightly unkempt young man. He had nothing with him except for a pen which he held in one hand and kept thwacking into the palm of the other hand. His first words were, “I’m not selling anything.”
The gears in my suspicious little mind were cranking. How did you get in to the locked Village of the Damned? Do they allow soliciting here? Why did I open my door? Dude, you really should tidy up before going door to door not selling things. Why didn’t I hear you knocking on any other doors nearby? How do I get you to go away? What if you’re up to no good? How much wood can a woodchuck really chuck? I hate that you can see into my apartment so clearly to see the computers set up for my super secret government mission.
While he stood there telling me about a project he’s working on to get over his fear of speaking in public and Miss, do you have a fear of public speaking? I made a mental note “Late teens to very early 20s, 5’9”, 140 lbs, thin build, short but shaggy dark brown hair, dark eyes, distinctively rotted teeth, thin angular face, dark pants, bright green track suit kind of jacket”.
When he glanced into my apartment again I told him that I’m sorry, I don’t have time but thank you very much and then I closed the door. I watched through the peephole as his bright green jacket went across the parking lot. He did not go to another nearby building to continue his spiel. It seems illogical to me that my apartment would be the last unit to have tried in this part of the complex. There are so many other nearby buildings.
Things like this make me go hmmm.
Once again I look forward to moving from The Village and into The House. The House where we have a moat stocked with piranha and a cement wall topped with concertina wire. Mrs. Kravitz isn’t very sociable.