Come on, ring that bell

The only people who ever ring my doorbell are the police, evangelists, and people selling stuff (I guess evangelists are sort of selling stuff). I don't like it. I don't like company. I don't like people "dropping by" or any of that mess. I'm single and male. My house is a wreck. It's not a bio-hazard; I trash food scraps, etc, but there's mail everywhere, books piled up waist high, no room on my couch, etc.

When the bell rings early Saturday morning, I assume it's the police delivering a "package". I get a packet from City Hall every two weeks with reports, agendas, and so forth. I don't normally bother dressing for the police: I just scamper down the hall and throw open the door. The officer gets the pleasure of seeing me in all my unclothed glory. If I'm wearing skimpy underclothes and I'm feeling charitable, I might throw on a pair of "sleeping shorts".

I've found that answering the door nearly naked discourages evangelists from returning. I'm guessing they have a list somewhere and I'm on it: Single/Male, answers door naked, crazed expression

My hair is generally nuts in the morning. To the left is an illustrative picture of how I look when I'm first woken up. It was taken in 2004, but except for no beard and less hair on my head, it's pretty much dead-on. I look like a nearly naked drug-crazed maniac. To enhance the effect, I generally smile broadly when I see new people and giggle to myself softly the whole time they're plying their Jesus.

The no-clothes-maniac routine works so well, I've started stripping when people ring my bell even in the middle of the day, afternoon, or evening. I quickly wet my hands, muss up my hair, and shuffle to the door. I know I've accomplished my goal when whomever is calling jumps back in horror when I fling open the door and start grinning like a nut. If I could only smell worse...

Several months ago, I went bowling on a Friday night. Had a great time. That Saturday morning I woke up early (heaven knows why), and was milling around the house, dressed in the clothes I'd worn the night before. I SMELLED like I'd spent the night in a strip-joint. Not hard to imagine, really: The bowling alley was filled with smoke and I had perspired in my clothes that night. I heard some folks shuffling around outside and opened the door just as an elderly gentleman with a light-bulb was about to ring the bell.

Evangelists. They must not have gotten the memo. He looked shocked at my appearance (even though I was fully clothed, I probably had food stains and I know my hair was a wreck). He and hist little band of proselytizers stepped back when the smell hit them. "Uh, good morning, sir, I'm sorry to have woken you, but I'd like to invite you to our special services this week." Giggling, I replied, "No, you didn't wake me hahahahahah I've been up for HOURS!" He handed me the light-bulb, simultaneously backing away, "Jesus is the light of the world. We'll pray for you." They left rather quickly. I put the bulb in a burned out fixture in my den.

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