You know what the great thing about being inside my place of residence? I don’t have to answer the phone and I don’t have to answer the door. Truly, it is a great thing.
I mention this because a little while ago, I was sitting in my office goofing off on some anime-related message boards when to my amazement I hear my door knocker being used. No one, and I mean no one, comes calling at my place unless I know about it ahead of time. So if someone is swinging by for a visit, or if I have a package on route for delivery, I know about it and will answer the door.
Still, we’ve been programmed from our youth that when there’s a knock on the door or the doorbell rings, we got to go answer it no matter what. Why is that?
Seriously, who’s going to be knocking on my door on a Sunday evening? Jehovah’s Witnesses? Mormon’s? I suppose that might be, but seeing as how their “God” isn’t the one I read about in the Bible, I’d rather not talk with them. Maybe that’s the wrong thing to say, but I go on past experiences where if you let ’em in, they will try to overwhelm you if possible. It isn’t possible since I’m in God’s hands, but still I just feel that getting into an argument over doctrine doesn’t really help the Gospel, does it?
It could have been someone looking for “John” or “Mary” or “Wanita” or “Takahashi-kun.” Man, I’ve had plenty of those kinds of knocks in the past. The person doing the knocking always looks surprised to see someone they weren’t expecting and more often than not, suspicious that the person they want is really inside somewhere. Sorry mate, just me, myself, and I here.
Maybe it was someone wanting me to move my car for whatever reason. That’s happened before where someone is moving into the complex and wants the primo-spot for their moving truck. That’s certainly an understandable desire, but then I don’t see any moving trucks out there.
Of course, it may have been someone needing help. After the first knocking on the door, ten minutes later, there was more knocking, followed by some mild pounding on the door. Yeah, all the lights in the apartment are on, but I’m not getting up to answer the door, buddy.
One thing I miss about my apartment in Denver was the fact that the door was on the ground level even though I had a 2nd-floor apartment. That meant that the stairs to get to my place were actually in my apartment, making it seem bigger than it was. The benefit of this arrangement is that I could peek down from my upstairs window to see who the smeg was ringing my doorbell without them even knowing it. So my curiosity of seeing this person who dared attempt to gain access to my domicile was satiated. With my current apartment, I’d have to creep up to the door and peek out the peep-hole viewer, which would likely be detected on the part of the person outside the door.
So, I sat and eventually the smegger went away. Yay!
Still, as I write, I wonder if I shouldn’t just answer the door as I’ve been trained to do. I wonder if I’m unique in this aversion I have to answering the door when I’m not expecting company.