Everyone knows that feeling of not wanting to go answer the door. It's not a matter of laziness, but a matter of understandable distaste for the "ding-dong" melody. Not to mention the troublesome possibility of opening the door to a bill collector, a poorly dressed girl scout, a Jehovah's witness attempting to spread "the Good Word", or an ax-wielding psycho killer. There are a myriad of things that could go wrong when embarking out of that thin barrier that protects you from the outside world. But this has nothing to do with wanting to deal with a telemarketer or a door-to-door salesman. This has to do with a big glob of nachos left hanging from my shirt.
Right after school, I have no recollection of what is happening around me. I am usually drained or just simply annoyed with people. The thought of undergoing the daunting task of dealing with anyone behind the front door, is abhorrent. And so it begun. The doorbell rings. And rings. And rings. At this point it's apparent that this creeper isn't giving up or going away without some sort of an awkward fight..or duel. What's with this guy? I pretty sure it was a good minute and a half of "ding-dong" before I took it upon myself to unfavorably answer the door and shut this dude up.
And here is the kicker; Before this incident, I had been reluctantly enjoying a rather messy nacho platter. Gross, I know. And me being the flustered spaz that I am, I'm sure I twitched a little when I heard the door bell ring, inevitably dropping a huge blob of messy nacho scum onto my shirt. But, I was so discombobulated from hearing that uninviting "ding-dong", that I did not notice the "Food Attack" that slammed down onto my white shirt. Just to note, that my luck that day was not in my favor whatsoever anyway, which was why I just decided to go answer the door. Not such a stupendous idea. When opening the door I could see that I was going to have to deal with a "Sherk-looker"; a stubby, Irish-looking, bulging, almost green skinned, and almost hairless single dude. Possibly in his late 30's or early 40's chatting on a dating site trying to find a "pretty girl" that will except him for him, and that he had a painful divorce and is struggling to keep up with the young people, though he is only coming across as an illegitimate creeper. Anyway, I do not fully remember what this dude what selling or talking about, but I sure it was about some terrible magazine. Maybe I should have bought it from the little guy, but I didn't. As he started to talk I could tell he looked a little taken aback for some reason. I wondered why of course. He looked as though he was chocking to hold back a laugh. This is understandable, since I am considered a very high-larious child. No. (Note to self: Sarcasm does not work accurately on the internet.) But I digress. I hated not knowing what this "Shrek-looker" was fighting back a laugh for. When I'm annoyed, my face says everything, and that was the day I was annoyed in advance of this wonderful event.
After I continuously refused this "young" man's awful magazine collection for the past two abnormal minutes, I was ready to close the door, so I told him
,"No, thanks." once more, and inexplicably told him,
" Bye. And good luck." Which doesn't seem weird, but you'd be surprised what something like
"Good luck" could come across as; Sarcasm. And if it wasn't for him being all entertained by my "Shirt-Nacho Tattoo", he would have noticed. Good thing.
After closing that thin wooden barrier, my cousin laughed at me.
"What?" I found out why, and with no really "real" reason, I was filled with irrational and unnecessary embarrassment, but of course, me being me, I laughed at myself. It was cool...I guess, not as awful as it could have been. I just knew that mister "Shrek-looker" wanted to report
"You Have Food On Your Shirt".
