What's behind your front door?

I was reading about a recent research done by some scientists or other. It's amazing how many people are paid to carry out research which seems pointless and leading to nowhere.

In this research they asked people what do they have immediately behind the front door of their homes.

I can't see the point in that, can you? Why doesn't someone pay me to conduct some pointless research like how quickly can certain TV programs put one to sleep?

Anyway, this research discovered that 30% of people had a mirror by the front door so they can have a final look before they go out. 15% had a small table where they put car keys and other things. 32% had an umbrella container or a place to put walking sticks, 18% had a coat hanger, and so on.

Personally, I have none of these. I have behind the front door a big butterfly, or fish, net. You know the one? A large hoop fixed to a long stick with a long conical net pocket to land a fish when you have caught him with a hook and line.

I keep that net in case there's ever a butterfly or fish calling on me at the most inappropriate time; like when I'm getting ready for a shower. Or if ever an alien from outer-space calls, like a Martian for instance. I could capture him and become famous.

So far I've had no use of the butterfly net. But a while back I found a snail on my doorstep. To save him from being stepped on and killed I picked him up and threw him in the bushes. A week later the doorbell rang and he said, "What's the idea of throwing me in the bush?"

What's behind your front door?

Door-To-Door

Did you know one of my first jobs when I was young was as a door-to-door salesman? I fancied myself as a good talker and took up the challenge to be a salesman able to sell just anything.

The marketing agency for which I worked linked me with a door manufacturer and my first job was a door-to-door salesman selling doors.

I had three doors strapped on my back to show potential clients the different qualities available; and I also carried two suitcases. One was full of locks and handles for clients to choose, and the other case was full of hinges of different sizes and materials.

I remember once I knocked at a door and a very tall man opened it and said: “Yes? What do you want?”

“Good morning Sir,” I said as I was trained by our chief salesman to say, “I am here to open doors to great opportunities!”

I know, it’s a corny opening line, but it was part of our slogan and it had to be said every time we met a new customer.

Anyway, I said my line to the astonished man standing there then as I stooped down to place the two suitcases I was carrying on the ground, I bent forward a little, and the doors on my back hit him hard on the forehead.

He had a small cut on his head and it started bleeding a little.

"Do you have any Band-Aid and bandage dressing?" I asked him.

"Do you need some too?" he replied holding a handkerchief to his head, "where did you hurt yourself?"

"Not for me ... for you ..." I said. "I’m a trained first-aider you know, as well as being a door salesman. Anyway ... it looks like your injury has stopped bleeding now, and I'm glad you didn't damage my doors."

He grunted and said nothing.

I then unstrapped the three doors off my back and proceeded to explain how well made they were. One was made of oak, another of mahogany, and the third was cheap plastic in case the clients couldn't afford the other two.

"It's the de-lux economy version ..." I said trying to encourage a sale.

He explained that he already had a front door which suited him quite nicely, thank you.

On another occasion I was selling in a very posh area of town. To be honest, I had no chance of selling a door there. The houses were so big and luxurious that I wouldn’t mind guessing that their front doors cost more than the house where I was living at the time. But I was assigned that area by the chief salesman and as an extra incentive he doubled the commission I would make if I sold any doors there.

I rang the bell at one of these luxurious houses and it was opened by a young woman totally naked.

“Yes?” she whispered softly standing there with a smile on her face.

For a moment or so I forgot our opening line, “I am here to open doors to great opportunities!”

I just mumbled, “Do you want a door?”

She smiled and said, “Not today, thank you!”

Before I could say anything more, the strap holding the doors to my back broke and the three doors I was carrying crashed to the ground with a big bang. A large dog inside the house began to bark ferociously. I left the doors there and ran away.

I phoned my chief salesman and he instructed me to retrieve the doors or else he would deduct the money from my pay.

I plucked up courage and returned to the house. My doors were no longer there. I summoned every ounce of courage and rang the bell again.

This time it was opened by a big man, also totally naked.

I explained the situation about the doors and my chief salesman and I must admit I was surprised at how understanding he was.

I guess I am the only salesman to buy back his products from a client who never paid for them in the first place.

IF YOU WANT TO LAUGH MORE AT ME 

READ MY MEMOIRES HERE

Go away and leave me in peace

Why is it that one thing happens after the other in a seemingly endless continuum into infinity with the express end result of irritating me? Why can't people leave me alone in peace?

It started this morning. Got an e-mail from one of those courier companies saying the item I bought on the Internet will be delivered today between 2:00 and 6:00. 

Great ... that's four hours that I have to sit and wait. Can't go out. Can't do any gardening in case they arrive and I don't hear the doorbell. Can't go climb Mount Everest, or visit the Seven Wonders of the World, or go to the bathroom or anything else in case they arrive in this four hours window. The rest of the family is out for the day, and I have to stay indoors and listen for the doorbell.

Eventually they deliver. Moments later they send another e-mail saying the item was delivered successfully. Surprisingly, they have a photo of me receiving the item on my doorstep. Obviouly, the courier holding his cell-phone took a photo of me at the time.

Is that legal? 

Let that be a lesson to all those people who open the door in the nude. It happened to me several times when I was a door-to-door salesman selling doors. Ladies used to open the door in all manners of nakedness. I may not have had a cell-phone at the time but my memory is still fresh! I keep it so!!!

Anyway, after the courier came and went, I got up the ladder to fix the smoke alarm which started going Beep ... Beep ... Beep ... indicating it was running out of power. As I was up there by the high ceiling the doorbell rang again. I was not expecting anyone. I ignored it. It rang again. I ignored it once more. There was a knock at the door. I tried to get down the ladder, missed a step, fell to the ground with the ladder on top of me.

The smoke alarm fell down on my head and rolled under a cupboard still going Beep ... Beep ... Beep ... I was dazed for a moment or two. The sound of the alarm upset the dog who came running in and licked my face. I hate that. What is it with dogs licking faces after they've licked their private parts? What if we humans did that? Can you imagine? Licking peoples' faces instead of a shake-hand?

As I lay there, the doorbell rang again. Then the phone rang. I tried to lift myself off the ground. My back really hurt. Then the cell-phone rang also. 

I ignored both and opened the door. It was an old friend of ours. Mrs Fulton. She is in her eighties. She brought some biscuits she had just baked. I hate her biscuits even more that being licked in the face by a dog. They are hard and no one likes them. Except the dog.

"Are you OK?" she asked, "I heard a loud noise ... were you in the shower?"

"No I wasn't," I growled with a smile, "why do you ask?"

"Because the last time I came you had an inflatable rubber ring in your hand and you were all wet!" she replied with a genuine smile. Unlike mine.

"The last time," I said a little calmly, "I had a rubber ring because I was out in the garden picking up toys and bits and pieces left after a party we just had. I was wet because in order to answer the door quickly I slipped and fell into a paddling pool!"

"I heard a loud noise," she said, "it sounded as if someone fell off a ladder. Was that you?"

"Yes ... it was," I said politely, "I make it a habit to jump off ladders whenever someone rings the doorbell. I'd been up there hours waiting for someone to call."

"I also phoned you," she continued having missed my sarcasm, "both on your home phone and your cell-phone. I also wrote you a note. Here it is. It says: Are you all right? I was going to post it through the letter box and call again tomorrow!"

That is typical of her demented albeit well-meaning brain. Post a letter asking if the person is OK and call again the next day. In the meantime I could be lying there on the ground having my face licked by an equally stupid dog.

I thanked her for the biscuits. Hugged her and kissed her on both cheeks and sent her away happy for her good deed.

The dog enjoyed the biscuits then licked himself clean.

Knock Knock ...

 

What a week it's been. Why can't I have some peace for a change? We had people at the door everyday; disturbing me when I have more important things to do than find out who's at the door. I don't like people, you see. Well ... I like them from a distance. I think they should knock on their own doors not mine.

There was a knock at the door on Monday. I did not open the door. That's because I was out at the time. I was at the library returning a book detailing the fines to be paid for overdue books. My book was overdue and I was fined £3; which is more than the cost of the book. So I kept the book. 

I can hear you thinking, you know. You're wondering how I knew there was a knock at the door if I was out. The dog told me. I have trained him to put his toy bone just by the door when someone knocks at the door. When I came back home, the bone was behind the door.

On Tuesday there was another knock at the door. This time I opened the door because I was home. It was the postman. Her had a letter and he said, "Is this letter for you. The name is obliterated!" 

I told him my name is Victor Moubarak. He gave me the letter anyway. It was from a lawyer. I had been left two valuable items in Aunt Matilda’s last will and testament when she died last year.

On Wednesday I took the items to an antiques dealer and he confirmed them as a genuine Stradivarius and a Rembrandt.

Unfortunately, Rembrandt was bad at making violins and Stradivarius was a terrible painter!

As I got home there was another knock at the door. This time it was one of those couriers working for an Internet Shopping Website. He was delivering a package. He asked, "Is this Number 11?"

I said, "No. It is Number π ... pronounced pi. But the horizontal line at the top has fallen and it looks like 11. In fact our house Number is 3.14 because it is slightly larger than other houses ... 0.14% larger to be precise. So I called it pi."

He did not understand a word I said. He asked me if the packet was for me. So I sent him to Number 11 down the road.

On Thursday there was another knock at the door. It was one of those food delivery people. You order a meal on the phone and they deliver. He stood there with a flat box in his hand and said, "Pizza?"

"No ..." I replied, "Pi ... not pizza ..."

He stood there nonplussed. Obviously he was no good at mathematics. In order to help him I asked him, "Did you cut the pizza in six or eight slices?"

He looked in the box and said, "Eight ..."

I replied, "I'm not that hungry to eat eight slices," and sent him away to Number 11.

On Friday there was another knock at the door. It was a man. He said he was collecting for the Home For Fallen Women. I told him I did not have any fallen women. At that point there was a loud noise of something falling down the stairs. I turned round and it was the mother-in-law. I asked her, "did you miss a step?"

"No," she said, "I hit every one of them!"

On Saturday there was another knock at the door. I opened and found a snail on the doorstep. I remembered that on Monday I had seen that snail on the doorstep and to save him from being trodden on and killed I threw him in the bushes. I bent down to pick him up and he said, "what's the great idea of throwing me in the bushes?"

On Sunday there was another knock at the door. I opened and it was our priest. Trust him to call on Sunday. He said that he had not seen me for confession for a number of weeks, so he called to see if all was well. I told him I'd given up sinning. Too much effort. I could not see the point of going to all the trouble of sinning and then confessing it afterwards. I thought it would be easier to stop sinning altogether. Besides, my neighbour does not have an ass for me to covet and his wife is too ugly to covet anyway. 

The priest looked disappointed. He said no one seems to be sinning these days. Either that, or they don't know what sinning is.

He said he will run talks at the church hall on the Ten Commandments with various examples to  demonstrate each sin. There will be a talk on each Commandment every week.

I said I'll attend when he talks about adultery. I'd like to know how he'll demonstrate that!