Ah, do you remember during lockdown when we didn’t used to get cold calls, or those charity bags through the door from eight thousand different charities you’d never heard of but who all wanted to sell your shoes, or door-to-door salespeople.
Ugh, I miss lockdown.
This afternoon alone, we’ve had the third (at least) charity bag of the week pushed through the door and we’ve had a visit from a door-to-door salesperson.
I don’t know what he was door-to-door salesing. I didn’t get that far. I didn’t even answer the door.
He did that thing that door sales people did even before lockdown, where they knock on your door then walk down your path a bit and look back at the house as though sizing it up for how much they can do – windows, trees, gutters, whatever the chuff it might be.
So as he walked down the path I caught his attention, from my seated position in front of the TV in view of the computer, gaming headset on for no other reason than to hear the audio from the game and not disturb Carole’s zoom meeting, and I waved him away.
And he went.
And it was lovely.
It was a lot easier than shouting away the Jehovah’s Witnesses as I’ve had to do in the past. They haven’t yet made it out, it would appear, in this Covid-19 world. Probably because anyone who comes to the door is well inside the highest risk categories because they’re all about a gazillion years old, but that time will come. And what better time to turn to religion than while we’re all going mental in our own homes, they’ll say.
No, I say.
Without even getting up.