Saturday, August 27, 2011

Door knocking

I don't know what it is that's going on at the moment but there seems to be some sort of increase in people knocking on our door to sell us things. I told you about Crazy Eyes already trying to sell me some Jesus. I wish it had ended there.

See, I still live in a time when I lived in Redfern. Mentally I mean. In Redfern police presence is not all that uncommon and no one likes to have them knocking on your door. You can be a saint and still worry about that kind of door knocking business. Redfern was the suburb Pizza Hut wouldn't deliver to in the 90s. We used to have to lie and tell them we lived in neighboring Surry Hills but they figured our little scheme out so no more Pizza Hut for us which was probably a good thing.

I will illustrate with an example.

When I was 24 years old, still young, beautiful and still relatively fresh to Australia, one night there was a knock on the door. I was alone at home since husband #1 was still at work. I opened the door only find myself confronted with a very tall policewoman being backed up by a very short policeman who sort of hovered in the background.

The policewoman looked very stern and certainly sounded like she was accusing me of something when she demanded to see my 15 year old son. I could have laughed but I chose to the maths instead because the policewoman looked like there wasn't much in this world that she could possibly find amusing. So, in an effort to build bridges and start a line of communication I offered "I don't have a son" thinking, because I had done the maths that it would be bleeding obvious that I didn't have a 15 year old son.

She wasn't going to be fooled by my feeble attempts to deny my son's existence. Oh no. She demanded to see my 15 year old son again and I again told her that I didn't have one. She proceeded to ask me where I was hiding him. I countered with asking why she thought I had a 15 year old son. She retorted telling me that he had been seen sitting in front of our house. I made a comeback proclaiming that so did a lot of teens. She topped that with that saying she wasn't looking for the other teens, she was looking for my 15 year old son.

I failed to find anything to say other than that if she was so sure I had a son could she please go inside my house and find him because I would really like to meet him. It was at that precise moment I noticed the hovering short policeman in the background trying his absolute best not to laugh audibly. He had done the maths, obviously and now he was really enjoying listening to the conversation. It was probably when I was looking at the very amused short policeman that the penny somehow dropped for our tall policewomen and she came to do the maths too. I was simply too young to be the mother of the teen she was looking for. She quickly excused herself and they left. I was left childless.

You would think that after all these years I would have gotten over this little episode and come to think of police as my friends and stopped fearing people knocking on my door but I haven't. It is for this reason that I always mess up my hair when I get home at the end of the day. That way, when I open the door, the unsuspecting door knocker will automatically think that it's quite possible that I'm insane and be more likely to go away quickly. Should they prove to be of the useful variety I can always smooth things over by being my usual charming self. It's easier to start low and works yourself up. People are more likely to want to get relieved to find that you are not a complete nutter despite all the initial signs pointing to it than they are to believe that the charming lady who opened the door is one. This is especially the case if she didn't turn nutty until after you told her that you wanted to sell her something. It's my theory.

I'm just saying.


  1. I don't like people knocking on my door either and have been known, on occasions, to crawl on my belly into a room at the back of the house and hold my breath until they decide that there is no-one home.

    Not so easy here where there are few such places to hide and the dog always gives me away by standing over me and barking loudly.

    I'm not sure why I flee from door-knockers except that in my experience their appearance rarely heralds good news nor do they bring something nice with them. Usually the opposite

    So I will continue to hide and hope that no-one knocks on my door

    PS I also do not like phone calls and often dread the postman's deliveries

  2. I'm so glad I'm not the only one who doesn't like phone calls or the postman either. I was told that it was abnormal but I always felt I had good reason. :P


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