Thursday, February 08, 2007

Oh Yeah? Well I sell baked goods for SATAN!

I haven’t posted all week out of despair from the cold. As a matter of fact, my toes have been in a constant state of feeling like they were dipped into a steaming tank of liquid nitrogen by Mr. Wizard. So today, I think I’ll make lemonade out of lemons. Creepy, religious, lemons...

I’m sitting at work; space heater roaring and office door cracked a few inches. All of a sudden I hear a faint tapping and look over and see someone peeking in at me. The employee who sits behind the front counter happened to be off, so naturally I assumed it was either a delivery guy in need of a signature, or a courier from one of my vendors. I get up and open the door to find a tall man of Asian descent, medium build, and approximately 25-35 years of age standing in front of me holding a nondescript rectangular box.

It’s always awkward when someone I don’t know comes to see me with unannounced business... Which actually happens more than I’d care to admit. So I put on my best fake cheerfulness, and exude a polite greeting followed by an intentional pause. The box’s owner stutters for a moment, and then finally spits out that he’s fund-raising for his “church group,” and opens the box to reveal an assortment of crappy suncatchers; like the kind you paint yourself with a small palette of predetermined primary colors.

First of all, our building is a small renovated doctor’s office. Second of all, we just moved in recently. There’s no sign out front, and this man entered through a front door to find a dim, still unfurnished lobby containing nothing but a card table, a few unhung pieces of framed artwork and some boxes and bags on the floor.

For some reason, however, it didn’t discourage him from just coming the fuck in and poking around. At this point I’m completely taken aback, so I lamely excused myself to “go get my boss” much like an 8 year old would do in a similar situation. Unfortunately the sheer panic in my eyes wouldn’t budge her to come to my rescue, and she told me to get rid of him myself. But not before he craned his neck past me towards the other offices down the hall beyond mine, asking if anyone else was back there. I locked the door behind him after he finally left.

I often watch true crime shows. I watch Court TV’s Forensic Files on pretty much a nightly basis. I watch, more of less unfazed, as they go into gory detail after detail about serial killers and home invaders. Because in the safety of my own home, under protection of a man, a firearm and two uppity medium-large sized dogs... That stuff might as well be fiction as far as I’m concerned. This? Freaked me the hell out. Afterwards I was even afraid to go down into the basement to use the “Privacy Dump” bathroom because I couldn’t remember if the basement door was locked.

I suppose when it comes down to it... intrusive religious zealots are much more common than serial killers who break into random advertising agencies in broad daylight to go on murderous sprees, but you never know. Maybe I’ll start keeping mace at my desk. “You wanna take one step closer with that little bible? Go ahead and make my day, motherfucker!"

4 comments:

aejr said...

i agree. that's scary. it's funny how those guys are supposed to be caring and good and decent and religious, yet they are never sensitive enough to consider anyone else's privacy or feelings. at least it reminded you to lock your door?

sme said...

I find it very strange that an asian man is selling native american trinkets door to door for the lord.

Next time I'm accosted by a religious fiend trying to sell me something I am stealing the title of this blog as my retort.

sme said...

oh CRAP! i just realized that you said SUNcatchers, not DREAMcatchers.

it would've been weird if it was dreamcatchers.

Meech! said...

Be doubly scared if you start finding suncatchers hanging around the office, mysetriously appearing.

(oooOOooooo)

We have a poop room at work, too. We call it The Shatroom. It's the only place in the building you can pinch a moderately private loaf.