Don’t Ring My Doorbell: I’m Afraid of You.

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So, I have a confession to make: I am utterly terrified of people coming to my front door. I literally just hid, crouching on the floor in my kitchen for 10 minutes, to avoid whoever rang my doorbell at noon on a weekday. It’s just the latest quirk on my growing list of rookie suburbanite neuroses.

Maybe it’s that I used to produce crime shows for a living and I’m a little spooked about home invasions, angry former interviewees, murderers posing as book salesmen or jealous exes (hello… remember Amy Fisher?!). Or, it might be that I just got a little too used to city living in an apartment building with video entry and I’m lazy.

But maybe it’s something deeper. Would I rather they email or text me first? Does this speak to larger deep-seated issues I might have about face-to-face contact in today’s text-email-Facebook-Twitter dominated landscape?

Nah. I love me some face-to-face action.

My fear of uninvited doorbell ringers stems mostly from the fact that Bruce Willis (our dog, not the actor, but maybe he’d go nuts too) goes ape whenever anyone rings the bell. This usually ignites a chain reaction that involves The Bear either waking up early from a nap and/or freaking out and chasing the dog, resulting in me chasing both of them, tripping, bruising something, and finally, once I’ve corralled both of them, angrily answering the door with an irate “WHAT,” only to discover that the person has left. So, I’ve just stopped answering altogether.

I’m shocked (and, clearly, dismayed) by the amount of unexpected people that ring our doorbell on a daily basis. At least once a day, and it’s never anyone I know. Sometimes it’s a neighborhood kid asking for a donation for his sports team (we usually oblige), but more often than not it’s the paid employee of a company asking—nay, telling—me to buy something.  So far no murderers, but then again, I only open the door one out of five times (usually when they’ve seen me in the window and I have no choice). I’m pretty positive those four unanswered doorbells saved all our lives.

My doorbell fear goes both ways, too. Two winters ago, when my brother-in-law was running for Alderman in Chicago, my husband recruited me to go door-to-door with him on a cold day to get signatures on a petition to get my BIL on the ballot… I suspect it was because I was 7 months pregnant, and the sight of a chubby, huffing, puffing, Preggo with a clipboard, pen and a smile would be disarming. I was terrified then, too. What if we caught someone on a bad day, and they came to the door with a baseball bat or a shotgun? Or, god forbid, what if they (gasp) yelled at us for bothering them?

In the end, it worked out pretty well… most of the people either happily signed or politely declined. There were a few Grumpies, but no baseball bats. [Also, I made sure to look extra pregnant and winded when they looked through their windows before opening. I think that was the trick. My BIL is a pretty stand up guy, too :)]

My husband had a hearty chortle last week when I told him I wanted to post a “No Soliciters” sign on our front gate. “Only you would be afraid of little kids coming to the door asking for money,” he laughed. Have I transformed into one of those hypothetical angry people I was afraid of encountering back on that blustery door-to-door day in Chicago? Sounds like it, huh?

Because I’m not really the unfriendly weirdo I seem like from my story above, I’ve decided to create my own sign for our front gate, to help clarify my neuroses:

Murderers: Keep out (obviously).

Salesmen: Leave me alone; our spare cash goes to The Bear.

Kids asking for money: Only when it’s not nap time.

Girl Scouts selling cookies: What the hell took you so long? Get in here, kid!

I’ll keep working on my front door phobia, but until then, Friends, if you’re planning to drop by for a visit, call me first. Otherwise you’ll know where to find me when you have to crawl in through the window because I don’t answer: under my dining room table.

Have a great night, Friends!

Oh, and thanks to everyone who’s started following me on Twitter (@eluda, @MommyTestDrive)! It makes me feel so loved! Post your Twitter name here and I promise I’ll return the favor!

xoxo
Erin

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4 thoughts on “Don’t Ring My Doorbell: I’m Afraid of You.

  1. Oh Erin, I don’t know how to tell you this…..That was the California Welcome Wagon at your door. You and your whole family have missed out on a year subscription to Field and Stream,a bottle of Dunes Berry wine, 2 rubber screw top openers and a pkg of post-it-notes (we know who loves those)!

  2. I am so glad I am not the only nut crawling across the floor….I also now scream to the kids…”Nobody go near the door! get down!” There is nothing worse than when I am upstairs, the bell rings and I hear their little feet running to the door. I still don’t move!
    I wonder what they think when two kids appear and just stand there looking back and forth from the door to me crouching on the stairs hissing at them to get away.

  3. Someone rings my doorbell four or five times a day. It’s NEVER anyone I want to talk to, and it always sets my 3 dogs into hysterics. I’d disconnect the thing, except that there are occasions when I do need to know who it is. We live in a duplex of sorts – the absolute worst is when the person ringing it is actually looking for the neighbors. Bad enough if they ring by accident (don’t know how, since the buttons are marked with number and name!), but I’ma set the dogs on the next one that rings to tell me “Your neighbors aren’t answering their bell – do you know where they are?”

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