The Wicked Witch of the West

Yesterday afternoon I was minding my own business, tidying
up my living room while I watched a little Oprah, when the doorbell rang. I am always a little alarmed when I have
unexpected company so I took a peek out of the bay window to see who was
there. It was a white minivan that I
did not recognize. I walked to the door
and opened it ever so slightly. On my
front porch was a young man who immediately made me uncomfortable. I’m not sure why. He just did. My instincts
tend to be pretty accurate so I kept the door cracked and waited for him to
talk, peering at him through the two inch slit between the door and the frame.

He looked at me, smiled and said, “I’m melting. How are you?” and chuckled. It was raining outside but he was no Wicked
Witch of the West. He was MUCH more
creepy than her. I did not
respond. He then handed me a can of
Airwick air freshener and told me that it was his gift to me. What a smooth talker he was, insinuating
that my house smelled without ever having stepped foot in it. Not knowing what to do, I took the air
freshener in my free hand (the other was gripping the door knob, ready to slam
it at anytime) and waited for the catch.

As soon as I had the air freshener in my hand, he took off
for his van saying, “Now, let me run to the car and get the rest of my products
so I can show you what we are all about.”

I immediately said, “No.” and placed the air freshener on
the floor of the porch. “I am not
interested.” He tried to continue his
spiel and kept walking towards his car so I said it again, this time a little
more assertively, “No. Thank you. I am not interested.” I politely slammed the door and locked the
deadbolt. I grabbed my daughter. We ran into her room where the blinds were
closed on the window that faced the front yard. I peered out a slit in the blinds, watching him leave.

I hoped that he would stop in the driveways of my neighbors’
houses but he did not. He kept driving
to the end of the street. My neurotic
mind went crazy. Why did he just stop
at my house? Did he want to test the
water and see if I would open the door to a stranger? Was he scoping out the property for a later burglary attempt? Our home, after all, is filled with
valuables. We’ve got the 27-inch TV
that we bought ten years ago, the china that we bought at Target, my fake Louis
Vuitton purse, and my extensive cubic zirconium collection. Who wouldn’t want to rob us? My husband assured me that he was just a
salesman trying to make a buck and that I had seen one too many episodes of Law
and Order. He’s probably right but
I’m not taking any chances. The next
time my doorbell rings unexpectedly, I’ll be armed with my son’s baseball bat and some
hairspray to spray in the face of the perpetrator. I will feel pretty awful if the unsuspecting solicitor hands me a
copy of The Watchtower but that’s the price they pay for not calling
before they come over.