Or: How I Became a RUDE Person
I’m no different from ninety eight percent of
Americans. Inundated with sales calls, advertisement on sites, the airwaves,
and practically everywhere I look, I count on my home being my sanctuary. I
willingly climb the many steps that form an obstacle-course to our door,
because they have kept most door-to-door solicitors away. Who wants to walk up
two flights of stairs of a now-in-construction path when some homes have front
doors at street level?
A few years back, the lauded Do-Not-Call Registry stopped stopping anyone. I still had the front
door, though. But for some reason the unofficial moat is no longer working. The
floodgates have broken, and the solicitors have been floating in at an alarming
rate all summer long.
On our neighborhood Email group, alerts have been
coming of rude solicitors who hurl insults, yell, and walk away name-calling.
The number of unique descriptions has increased from once a week to a few a day,
every day. Since it’s not a crime to knock on a stranger’s door or even walk
away yelling at them, the police have no interest in such. The neighbors are
left to videotaping and sharing, and
rubbing our ears in the hope we haven’t heard what we thought we did, then
rubbing our hands in frustration. We glance at our NO SOLICITORS signs, and
wonder why they didn't look as pathetic to us when we hung them up.
The word solicitous,
which is related to solicitor, is
defined as being concerned, caring, considerate, attentive, mindful, and thoughtful. Oh, really?
I used to be nice at the door. I used to
listen and consider. I used to think about what the huffing ‘n puffing person had
to say. After all, they came all the way up from the street. Only my very best
friends would deem to attempt this feat, and only because they valued my
company.
The other day DD told me my abrupt way of
speaking to a solicitor who came back
after I asked her, nicely, not to, was rude. “They are people,” she said.
I realized I had become rude.
Gimme’ your tired, yearning to breath free. I
no longer know which of us are the poor. I should probably go away to recharge
on some island for a while. Only I suspect the road to it will be littered with
billboards eager to make sales/converts/conquests of the huddled masses.
