This morning the doorbell rang. I peeked out the window and noticed a nondescript silver car, and I thought "Oooh! Maybe it's Jenny!" Jenny's a friend from high school who lives close enough to drop by, even though it's been, like, months and months since either of us has just dropped by. And she drives a silver Honda Civic.
So I answer the door. I'm in my pajamas, which are too sheer for strangers, but I don't really care if Jenny sees me in my pjs. Plus, I can always say "I'm gonna go put a robe on, hang on for a sec." I have obviously, foolishly decided that it must be my friend at the door.
Two fellows in suits are my door. I'm sort of hovering behind the door for modesty's sake.
(Lesson 1: You never know who is going to be at the door. Cover yourself up if you don't want strangers seeing the outline of your black underwear through your cream-colored pj pants.)
The younger of the two tells me that he'd like to share a Bible verse with me. Now, I'm not the kind of person who shuts the door in people's faces. If someone came by with clown college pamphlets, I might still listen. So I'm thinking "Sure, I don't mind a bible verse." In fact, if I were more outgoing and less selfish about my precious time off from work, I might even be interested in inviting them in some time and debating theology. They ain't gonna get me, but I find different religious perspectives fascinating.
So he starts talking about the book of John, and I'm hovering behind the partially-open door, and then Alfie, our feral cat we got at the Humane League, slips out the door, desperately seeking freedom. We haven't started letting him out yet, so I say, "Oh shit!" The scripture reader smiles patiently-- or perhaps it was a grimace. Asks if I would like him to get the cat. I say "Um, yeah, but hold on, just lemme..." and I dash off to put a coat on over my sheer pajama shirt.
So I get Alfie. Put him back inside. Scripture Reader picks up immediately, and I'm standing outside in pajamas and a winter coat with two guys in suits and it's 65 degrees outside. Scripture Reader talks about how we don't focus on love enough in today's world, and I nod (because I agree) and then I tune out and listen to the birds and notice my neighbor playing basketball next door. The verse is brief and soon the missionary is giving me pamphlets about Jehovah's Kingdom, and I take them.
He asks if he can come back to visit, see what I thought of the pamphlets. I am evasive, say that I'm not home that often, but whatever. Then he asks my name, tells me his (Sasha, not Scripture Reader), and off they go.
I wonder what the percentage is of people who say "No, you cannot come back and I actually do not want your pamphlets." Or "Unless you would like me to throw them in the trash, you should keep them." Or "No, I don't want to hear a bible verse." Or "I'm in my fucking pajamas!" Of course, people who are in their pajamas may opt not to answer the door. Perhaps what I should have said when I answered the door was, "Oh, I thought you were someone else. Bye bye then." Or, ahhh the obvious... "Now is not a good time."
One time when I was a kid all of eight years old, I answered the door. My parents weren't home, but my babysitter, my fifteen-year-old cousin Megan, was right behind me. There were two elderly (well, maybe in their fifties, which is elderly to an eight-year-old), well-dressed women waiting expectantly. They started their speech, and I remember them talking about wastefulness in the world, pointing at these coins in plastic cases sitting on our front steps. I had dug those coins up out of our front yard just a few days before and had left them out front, hoping it would rain and wash the dirt off of them. Apparently, though, it was clear to the women on our stoop that they were simply trash left out front to destroy God's green earth.
When the women left, I had no idea that they were Jehovah's Witnesses. I had no idea what a Jehovah's Witness was. I knew who God and Jesus were; I was a Sunday-school educated little tike. But I remember wondering how I was supposed to feel about them, if I was supposed to believe what they were saying, if I was supposed to be impressed by them.
I'm sure that later, when I told my parents about the surprise visit, they shared knowing glances but indulged me in my retelling anyway.
I don't think I'm going to answer the door anymore. Or maybe, I should just go all out, answer the door only when I'm in a towel. If I had answered the door in a towel, do you think the JWs would have asked to read a scripture anyway? Would it have passed through their minds that the only thing separating them from a stranger's nudity was a bit of terry cloth? Would they have asked me to put something on? Who would be more embarrassed, me or them? Do you have any right to be embarrassed if you willingly answer the door in a towel?
Well, that settles that. I'm going to go put on my towel and wait by the front door.
