Door Crasher
DOOR CRASHER – September 4, 2024 – Savannah, Georgia, USA
Martina loved almost everything about her new townhome. She shared one wall with a quiet neighbor, and unlike her old apartment, had no one above or below her. Her one complaint was the frequent visits by door-to-door salespeople and fundraisers. Her street was an easy target because tightly packed homes lined both sides. Solicitors did not need to walk very far to reach lots of people in a short amount of time.
Some people have no problem turning away people at their door. Not Martina. Whenever she saw a face, any face, standing in front of her with pleading eyes, her heart melted. She admired their courage and felt sorry when they were outdoors in the muggy heat. She hated to see them disappointed and ended up buying plenty of stuff she did not need.
In the three months since moving into her townhome, she helped kids on sports teams and school bands and ended up with countless cookies, flavored popcorns, and expensive fruits. She bought glass jars, candles, and wrapping paper from people who looked down on their luck and needed a boost. A wannabe writer showed up with copies of his self-published novel. Martina was his first sale. She even bought a cup of water from neighborhood kids pulling around a pitcher in their wagon.
“I’m a sucker. I just can’t say no,” Martina complained to one of her work friends.
“You should get a Ring doorbell,” her friend replied. “Then you can see who’s outside and ignore them if it’s no one you know.”
“Yeah, I probably need one,” Marina answered half-heartedly. “But it seems like just one more electronic gadget to keep track of. I’ve got more apps on my phone than I can keep up with. My door’s already got a peephole. Maybe I could do a better job at using that.”
“Whatever works for you.”
“I’m not sure I can be quiet enough. I hate the idea of people hearing me coming and knowing I’m staring at them.”
“You’ll figure it out,” her friend said, losing interest in the conversation.
The remainder of the afternoon was especially demanding as Martina had to cover for an absent hygienist at the dental office where she worked. She returned home hungry and exhausted. She craved a well-cooked meal but had no motivation to prepare it herself or drive to a restaurant and eat alone. She decided to indulge by having food delivered.
Martina used her phone to scan the menu for a nearby place with good Italian food. She selected Chicken Parmesan and breadsticks and chose the delivery option through Doordash. She kicked off her shoes, dropped onto her couch, and kept one eye on phone updates showing when her food would be ready and picked up by her Doordasher.
Martina’s driver looked to be a few minutes away from her house when the doorbell rang. She automatically stood up and shuffled to the door, assuming her food had arrived and there was a delay between the driver’s actual location and what appeared on her phone. She made no attempt to be quiet, but as she reached for the doorknob, she remembered her plan to use her peephole to check on visitors. She leaned her head forward, closed one eye, and used the other to scan her porch. Instead of a Doordasher holding a bag of food, she saw a guy wearing wire frame glasses and staring back at her.
The peephole’s fish-eye lens exaggerated the visitor’s features, making his nose enormous. Martina did not get a complete picture because she only dared look for a second, but she saw that he had a beard and stringy hair and was dragging around two rolling cases. Martina immediately recognized that he was hoping to sell her something. She ducked below the peephole and held her breath to remain as quiet as possible.
The doorbell rang again but Martina did not move. Then she slowly sunk down so that she was sitting on the ground with her ear against the door. “If I don’t make a sound, he’ll give up and go away,” she said to herself.
Martina heard the salesman rustling around on the other side of the door. He opened and shut one of his cases.
“Ugh. He knows I’m in here,” Martina thought. “He must have seen me looking through the peephole. How long is he willing to stand there?”
Martina was on the verge of quietly crawling away from the door when she remembered the Doordasher and her food. A few seconds later, she heard a car pull up and its door slam shut. Then she heard a muffled conversation begin on her porch.
“Do you live here?” a man’s voice asked.
“No, I’m just delivering,” a female voice answered.
“I’ve got some great stuff I’m selling today at a discount. Hats, shirts, gold chains. I’ve got some finished paintings, or if you want, I can paint something for you right now. I also take donations.”
“Okay, well, I don’t have a lot of money. I’m just here to deliver food. Why don’t you ask whoever lives here?”
The doorbell rang.
“I already tried the bell,” the man’s voice said. “They aren’t answering.”
“I’m not waiting. I’m leaving the bag of food on the porch and I hope someone gets it.”
Martina heard shuffling outside and then the sound of a car starting up and driving away. “What do I do now?” she asked herself. “My food is out there getting cold, but the salesman’s out there too.” She decided it would be too embarrassing to open the door with him watching. She would simply wait until he left. He could not stand there all night. Could he?
As she sat with her ear pressed against her door, Martina began to worry that the salesman might take her food. If he thought no one was home, no one would be there to stop him. And if he did think someone was home, maybe he would eat her food out of spite because she was ignoring him. She could practically taste the delicious Chicken Parmesan, sitting right outside the door like bait in a trap.
“Leave already!” Martina screamed inside her head, hoping the salesman would get the message. She slowly counted in her head and imagined flinging open the door, grabbing the food, and retreating back inside without saying a word. But she could not convince herself to move. She stayed still and listened.
Finally, after what seemed like an hour of silent suffering, she heard the muffled sounds of the salesman shuffling around and then dragging his cases away from the porch. Martina cautiously rose to her feet and peered through the peephole. She saw him on a porch across the street but did not want to open her door and reveal she was home while he still might be watching. She stared as he slowly moved from door to door and then disappeared from her narrow view.
“Took long enough,” Martina said to herself. Although she could no longer see the salesman, she did not want to make a big display of retrieving her food. She cracked open her door, hoping she could reach out her hand and grab the bag. It was not where she expected it to be. Then she realized that the food must be on the other side of the porch and she would need to tiptoe around her door to get it. She took a cautious step outside.
“I thought you were home!” called a voice Martina recognized. The salesman hurried around a corner before she could lunge for her food. “I’m Vonn,” he added, positioning himself between Martina and the Chicken Parmesan.
She now got a more complete picture of him. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties and wore cowboy boots, jeans, and a green T-shirt featuring a drawing of three birds. A caption over the birds read, “Mom, Dad, and Me.” His fingers were covered in silver rings.
“I’ve got some fantastic stuff for you today,” Vonn said quickly. He repeated the list shared with the Doordasher and assured Martina that he also accepted donations. Then he opened up one of his cases and showed her a few small paintings best described as colorful abstracts.
“If you don’t like any of these, I could paint something custom. Or maybe a little sign or logo.” Vonn pulled a clear rubber ball from his pants pocket and bounced it on Martina’s porch as a sign he was giving her time to decide on a purchase.
Her glance shifted between the bouncing ball, the bright paintings, and her food resting on the ground. And then she had an idea.
“Let me ask you something. What kind of sign would scare you from ringing my doorbell?”
Vonn smiled. “I dunno. I’m not scared of many signs.”
“How about ‘No Soliciting’?”
“Nah, I’d ignore that.”
“Beware of dog?”
“I like dogs.” Then Vonn grew thoughtful. “I also like talking to people. If the sign said something about not being able to communicate, like maybe they spoke a different language, that would probably stop me.”
It was Martina’s turn to smile. “How much for a custom sign I could hang on my door?” They negotiated for $20. While Vonn pulled out a brush and painted, Martina decided on a language she thought very few people would speak. Vonn finished the sign and walked away looking satisfied. Martina finally got to eat her dinner, after which, she hung up Vonn’s creation on her door’s existing hook. She hoped the $20 she spent would save her much more in the future. From then on, arriving visitors were met with this message: “If you want to talk with me, you must speak Estonian.”
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