So, Sunday afternoon, my husband and I were enjoying lunch before going back to work on our next story. I had heated up the low-carb chili I had made the night before and we were watching his favorite series, Buying Alaska.
The doorbell rang. I answered it, thinking maybe it was UPS or USPS with an Amazon package. Instead it was a young college-age girl holding a clipboard. I was not in the mood to talk to anyone. She started by saying she wasn’t selling anything but collecting for scholarships. I said politely that I don’t donate to people who come to my door but through the journalism school at my alma mater. And, then she asked me to listen to her.
I said, “Actually I was in the middle of something and would like to get back to it.” And then she hit me with, “If you were in the middle of something, why did you answer the door then?” I was struck aback. I closed the door and locked it, something I normally don’t do during the day.
Her words bothered me the rest of the day. I answered the door because it might have been a delivery that we were expecting, because it might be a neighbor needing some vinegar (it has happened) or my lawn guy doing his final mowing of the season. I answered the door because it was how I was brought up. The doorbell rings, you answer it. My father rushed to answer both the door and the phone. It bothered him when I would let the phone ring and go to voicemail. I haven’t mastered that trick with the door. Perhaps it is because our Fedex driver who sometimes requires a signature rings the doorbell and then bolts.
Sharing my frustration with my husband who heard the whole exchange, we concocted a story about a Ghost Visitor who haunts people who don’t support her clipboard. I feel the story taking shape. Who knows what will happen when the bell rings?