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Every so often, I'm tempted to erect a no
solicitors
sign on the front gate. But as it is,
potential solicitors have to navigate a crumbling sidewalk,
a tricky gate latch, one family pet in the form a large and
noisy chow mix with huge teeth, and an often-cluttered
front porch. So I doubt a sign would add to the
deterrence.
Besides, the solicitors provide some relief. On several occasions I've nearly panicked when two overly kempt men in fresh-pressed dark suits have appeared on the front porch.
FBI? I wonder. Maybe ATF. Secret Service. What could I have possibly done to attract the attention of the federales? Are they holding any papers? What's my lawyer's phone number?
And then, I get my relief. They're just Mormon missionaries, standing ready to explain the virtues of Family Home Evening -- a concept I heartily endorse, by the way, although the telephone solicitors usually manage to interrupt any evening time that you might want to spend with your family.
The best tactic for us heathens interrupted by missionaries is one my mother-in-law invented.
She would graciously inform the Mormons that she was quite busy at the moment, but would be glad to take their literature. When the Jehovah's Witnesses came around, she made the same offer.
When the Mormons returned, she'd tell them she was a Witness and start pressing apocalyptic literature upon them. They quickly left and never returned, and the same happened with the Witnesses after she told them she was a devoted LDS member.
She had no moral qualms about practicing such deception:
If they're going to interrupt my day, then I'm under no
obligation to be truthful to them. It's not like they were
invited guests.
Proselytizers aren't the only nuisances on the porch, of course.
Another type appeared last week with an offer that sounded great. If I'd just be among the first three homeowners in this part of Frémont County to get new maintenance-free vinyl siding, and if I'd let them display my house to prospective clients hereabouts, then I'd get a substantial discount on this wonderful siding that would keep me from ever having to paint the house again.
I quickly concluded that the fellow was not actually selling vinyl siding, but was instead secretly collecting on behalf of the visually impaired -- my house has a brick facade, obvious even when I have my glasses off, and anyone who could read a map would know that Salida is in Chaffee County, not Frémont County.
Sometimes the pests are performing a public service. Just before the Fourth, fire trucks were creeping along our streets, sirens blaring intermittently -- a subtle reminder, I suppose, that we should contribute money toward the community fireworks.
Meanwhile the city has been in court over its noise ordinance, trying to enforce it against a downtown bistro which offers music on the patio.
But Sunday afternoon offered the finest hustle yet. Two teenagers rang the doorbell, then explained that they had enlisted in the nationwide war against youth gangs.
Some company, whose name I did not catch, had hired them just to keep them from joining a gang, and I could help sponsor this noble enterprise by purchasing something out of the cardboard box they were toting.
The only gangs I've noticed in Salida are the kids with Stetson hats, cuds of chewing tobacco, big belt buckles and bigger pickups -- loutish wannabe cowboys. And they're such an important part of local tradition that some merchants are sponsoring Wild West Days in August to celebrate the same exuberant youthful gangs of yesteryear, who delighted in shooting up the place, so this must not be a problem.
Kids used to offer something positive when they came
around -- sponsor them in the jump rope for heart,
or help them go to college by subscribing to a newspaper,
or promote wholesome outdoor activities by buying Girl
Scout cookies, that sort of thing.
Now the message is negative and starts to sound like
extortion: Unless you buy this stuff, I'll join a
gang.
I was tempted to say You already have,
but
instead politely refused, and went back inside to wonder
what will come next.
Buy this stuff or I'll tag your house,
perhaps.
Or Sponsor me or else I'll start huffing paint
thinner.
Maybe Contribute to this fund, or else our
next drive-by could be in your neighborhood.
Maybe it is time to invest in a sign, or at least send the dog off for some assertiveness training.
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