Dear door-to-door AT&T representative,
When you rang my doorbell I had just gotten into the bathroom. I knew no one was dropping by and so I ignored you. You rang again but I was clearly busy and figured who ever was at the door would assume no one was home. Sure, there was a car in the driveway, but all the lights were off and there was no sound from the tv. But you rang again.
Then you started knocking. My doorbell works. I know you can hear it ringing from outside. There was no need to knock. I no longer needed to be in the bathroom but I really didn’t want to talk to some stranger who was probably trying to sell me something. I don’t like buying things sold door to door. My last neighborhood had missionary types trying to convert those naive enough to answer the door in the middle of the day. I don’t like being converted either.
You kept knocking. I tried to be quiet, not washing my hands or flushing, just quietly standing a few inches from my bathroom. Hiding in my own house so you would leave. No luck. Following the third set of loud knocking, I came to the door and motioned you to come around to the garage. After seeing your AT&T uniform I almost didn’t meet you there. But I knew you would have no inhibitions about banging on my garage door so I opened the side door a crack and asked how I could help you.
You shook my hand and speed talked through your sales pitch. I interrupted somewhere around “more high def channels than Comcast” to let you know I already had the service you were trying to sell me. You weren’t deterred. You kept up pretenses and asked me how I liked the service, was the technician installing everything nice, did we have internet too? Yes, we do. Please leave.
You wanted to know if you could have my name so you could tell my neighbors how much I liked AT&T after banging on their doors for twenty minutes. I said yes to get you away from my house. I know it’s a tough economy, but if someone doesn’t answer their door, they don’t want to talk to you. I wish I hadn’t given you my name to use. You probably wish I had washed my hands.
Sincerely,
Kelly
