My wife and had a little tiff at dinner tonight.
The source of our discussion and tension happened while I was at the reclaimed lumberyard this afternoon (and getting my hair cut, but the lumberyard part of my errands sounds more manly). While I was gone, several losers came to the door. I’ve talked to my wife about what to do, or not do, when someone we don’t know comes to the door – don’t open the door. This is L.A., not Mayberry.
So, here is a shortened version of the conversation:
Wonderful wife: We never have people come to the door anymore but we had a few today.
Evil me: Really, who?
Wonderful wife: Two kids. I opened the door . . .
Evil me: You opened the door?
Wonderful wife: Yeah, I thought it might be UPS with my sunglasses?
Evil me: Why didn’t you look in the monitor first to see?
Wonderful wife: I don’t know. I didn’t think of it.
Evil me: Why did you open the door?
Wonderful wife: I don’t know. The dogs were there.
Charming 10-year-old daughter who always takes her mother’s side: Yeah, Daddy, the dogs were there. She only opened the door a crack.
Wonderful wife: I made a mistake. Sorry, I’m not perfect. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.
Evil me: Why did you open the door? You could have talked to them through the glass.
Wonderful wife: I don’t want to talk about it.
Evil me: Why did you open the door?
Now if my wife were writing this, she would have added, “in an angry tone,” next to all of my lines. And she’d be correct about that. I was pissed because I tell both my wife and daughter never to open the door when I’m not home. I don’t even open the door anymore. I talk to the assholes who invade our privacy through the glass or window. The police told us most of the time it’s either a scam or someone casing the house. There is no reason to open the door for anyone you don’t recognize. It’s why I’ve considered gating in the house.
Most of the people who come to the door are creepy, with crazy-ass stories they’ve perfected while smoking meth day after day in the back of the Scooby van. Their stories require instant decoding to understand and sort the bullshit from the truth.
They’re the “door-to-door” equivalent of spam emails asking for money.
(Hello, good Sir, I’m Herbert Harold Henningsworth the fourth, and I’m here at your door today to give you share of 1 million dollars in Spanish bullion discovered off the coast of Florida. But I had the bad fortune to park my van, which holds the gold, illegally, and your local constables towed it away. I need $500 and a share shall be yours when I retrieve my transportation from the impound lot. Cash is preferred, please.)
My favorite scam is when teenagers arrive at my door and say, “I live over on [insert street name of your choice]. I’m Ron and Mary Wilson’s son. Ronny Jr., Hi, and I’m working to earn enough points to go to China to help orphan children learn to read and assemble iPads. I’m hoping you can help me, a good local kid, save the world. Cash is fine.”
Oh, the Wilson’s son, because I know everyone in a 10-mile radius around my neighborhood. Yeah, Ron and Mary. What the heck?
These little scum artists try to knock you off guard because your brain is trying to make out if this is a real neighborhood kid, which means you don’t want to tell him to F off, lest his real parents show up later with baseball bats and pitchforks and a little payback for Ronny’s Jr.’s humiliation and trauma, all caused by you.
I know I’m overly protective. But there are only two people I value above all else in this life, and protecting the two of them isn’t always easy, especially when they are nice and loving and caring females. I, being the complete opposite in sex and temperament, try to keep the lions and hyenas away from them.
But some days, it ain’t easy. Nope, it sure isn’t. But every day I try to figure out new ways to do it better.
UC my friend,
I have discovered, as you most likely have also, that when they say, “I don’t want to talk about it anymore”, they are guilty and know it but that’s their God given defense mechanism kicking in. Though it’s not actually any defense for what has occurred. Unless you want tears to start flowing or a reminder of something you may have done stupidly many moons ago; it’s best to let it go and just say to yourself, “I hope they got the message intended.” And if your dogs are like mine, I’m sure there was plenty of barking, but if they entered the door, a good sniff would be all they would get.
Enjoyed your post. Take care.
Well said. You’re right. It’s a lesson I haven’t learned. But I didn’t press it too far. I was more amazed that it happened. I should have let it go right away. I’m working on it and am usually pretty good about letting things go. This one bugged me. But the two women in my house have taught me to let a lot of things pass.
And, yes, there was plenty of barking. Not sure what would have happened if the knuckleheads tried to enter. I’m hoping one of the dogs would put some teeth into them. I’m sure they would continue barking.
Best to you and thanks for the advice.
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Dear Madman of LAShire,
I’m afraid the only time the women of our great households tend to listen to us is when we pay them complements, maybe you need to make a notice and pin it to the front door? A step by step guide to answering the door to potential scumbags.
My vision of LAShire being all sunny, beautiful beaches and equally beautiful people has been shattered by this post, when I visit I will be bringing my full riot gear, oh and some green paint to paint your brown lawns!
I have never claimed to have the magic touch with women. It’s amazing my wife married me. Charity case, if you ask me. Next time she opens the door for a stranger, I shall just bang my head on the dinner table six or seven times and change the subject.
LA is filled with everything you described. Unfortunately, the beautiful cupcake is filled with a rotton, creamy center section. Riot gear is always a good idea regardless.