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.