(no subject)
Just when I think that I'm not an antisocial trainwreck of a human being, something happens to set me back even further than I ever figured I was.
Around three-thirty, 1530, I was just lounging on the comp. Mum was sleeping before she went into work tonight, father was already at work, and my brother was in the living room watching the telly.
Someone knocks on my door and I get that wonderfully familiar beat-skipping my heart does when I feel the inevitibility of having to answer the door. I get up and glance through the diamond-shaped holes (three of them) on our front door and see these two men standing there. Collared shirts, ties, nice pants. Large leather-bound books in their hands.
I can safely say I thought I was going to just stop breathing. I have serious issues about people coming to my door and asking me to give them stuff, whether it be money in exchange for cookies or my immortal soul. That made me a terrible Girl Scout, really.
I wasn't going to answer the door. I high-tailed it to the living room, where my brother was curiously coming over wondering who it was. I figured I'd send him over to shoo them off because he's far better at it than I am and doesn't stutter or sound nearly as offensive. So I'm stammering and panicking and telling him to just tell them our parents our sleeping (half true) and this was not a good time.
He's already opened the door, said hi, and keeps looking over at me. Then, completely screwing me over, says to me plainly "they probably know you're there."
Well NOW they do, thank you very much. You're not exactly the most secretive little bastard around.
Called out, I go to the door--dressed in shorts and a t-shirt as that is my customary sleep/around the house choice--and simply go "yes?" Not "can I help you" or "hello." "Yes." Which I felt bad for later, but I was panicking and I hate talking to people and who the hell are they to come to my house like this anyway?
One of the men tells me they're from some church or other, and was very vague, actually now I think about it, about if they could come in to talk. I told him right away that my parents are sleeping, to which I got one of those "you are so lying but I can't really call you on it" looks, along with an "ah, really" and I returned with a half-shrug "nightshift." So now was not a good time, sorry.
Now, polite people would have realized this was the end of the conversation. Accept defeat and go away. Leave me to hyperventilate and breathe into my paper bag in peace.
He asks if there's anything they can do for us, like pull weeds, mow the lawn, and I think there were a couple other things in there too. I'm sure he was joking. I hope he was joking. But I was expecting them to go away so I was thrown and blinked, paused, then muttered that "no, no, it's a terrible day out, couldn't do that." And it was. Overcast, damp ground (and you don't mow on wet days. geez).
Finally, they leave. And I have a lil card now. I dropped it on the dining room table and I think it got eaten by the remnants of the Sunday paper. Heh.
Around three-thirty, 1530, I was just lounging on the comp. Mum was sleeping before she went into work tonight, father was already at work, and my brother was in the living room watching the telly.
Someone knocks on my door and I get that wonderfully familiar beat-skipping my heart does when I feel the inevitibility of having to answer the door. I get up and glance through the diamond-shaped holes (three of them) on our front door and see these two men standing there. Collared shirts, ties, nice pants. Large leather-bound books in their hands.
I can safely say I thought I was going to just stop breathing. I have serious issues about people coming to my door and asking me to give them stuff, whether it be money in exchange for cookies or my immortal soul. That made me a terrible Girl Scout, really.
I wasn't going to answer the door. I high-tailed it to the living room, where my brother was curiously coming over wondering who it was. I figured I'd send him over to shoo them off because he's far better at it than I am and doesn't stutter or sound nearly as offensive. So I'm stammering and panicking and telling him to just tell them our parents our sleeping (half true) and this was not a good time.
He's already opened the door, said hi, and keeps looking over at me. Then, completely screwing me over, says to me plainly "they probably know you're there."
Well NOW they do, thank you very much. You're not exactly the most secretive little bastard around.
Called out, I go to the door--dressed in shorts and a t-shirt as that is my customary sleep/around the house choice--and simply go "yes?" Not "can I help you" or "hello." "Yes." Which I felt bad for later, but I was panicking and I hate talking to people and who the hell are they to come to my house like this anyway?
One of the men tells me they're from some church or other, and was very vague, actually now I think about it, about if they could come in to talk. I told him right away that my parents are sleeping, to which I got one of those "you are so lying but I can't really call you on it" looks, along with an "ah, really" and I returned with a half-shrug "nightshift." So now was not a good time, sorry.
Now, polite people would have realized this was the end of the conversation. Accept defeat and go away. Leave me to hyperventilate and breathe into my paper bag in peace.
He asks if there's anything they can do for us, like pull weeds, mow the lawn, and I think there were a couple other things in there too. I'm sure he was joking. I hope he was joking. But I was expecting them to go away so I was thrown and blinked, paused, then muttered that "no, no, it's a terrible day out, couldn't do that." And it was. Overcast, damp ground (and you don't mow on wet days. geez).
Finally, they leave. And I have a lil card now. I dropped it on the dining room table and I think it got eaten by the remnants of the Sunday paper. Heh.