It happened at 2:14 PM.

I was in a state of peak performance. I was lying horizontally on the living room rug, staring at a dust bunny and contemplating the complex physics of doing absolutely nothing. The house was silent. The world was at peace.

And then it happened.

Ding-Dong.

The Panic Sets In

There is no sound on earth more terrifying than a doorbell you weren’t expecting. It cuts through the silence like a scream in a library.

Immediately, I went into tactical survival mode. I rolled off the rug and army-crawled behind the sofa with a speed I usually reserve for fleeing from exercise. My heart rate doubled. Who could it be?

I ran through the mental checklist. Did I order something? No, I am banned from online shopping until payday. Is the house on fire? I checked the ceiling. No smoke. Is it a friend? Unlikely. My friends know that if they come over unannounced, I will pretend not to be home.

The Waiting Game

I peeked around the corner of the sofa. Through the frosted glass of the front door, I saw a silhouette.

It was human-shaped. It was standing still. And worst of all, it was holding a clipboard.

A clipboard is the universal symbol of doom. It means “I want to talk to you about your energy provider” or “Have you found a moment to discuss your car’s extended warranty?”

I stopped breathing. If I don’t move, he can’t see me. If I don’t breathe, he can’t sense my thermal signature. I am not a bear right now. I am a piece of furniture. I am a lamp. I am a void.

The Second Ring

He rang it again. Ding-Dong.

The audacity of this person.

This is a clear violation of social etiquette. If I didn’t answer the first time, it means one of two things. Either I am not home, or I am currently hiding behind a sofa to avoid you. in either scenario, ringing the bell a second time will not help your cause.

I briefly considered my options. I could open the door and roar. I could open the door and cry. Or I could continue to lie on the floorboards, gathering dust on my stomach, and wait for him to give up.

The Departure

After forty-five seconds, the silhouette turned. To me, it felt like three decades. I heard the crunch of gravel as he walked away.

I waited another ten minutes just to be safe. You can never be too careful with these people. He might be feigning a retreat to lure me out.

The Lesson

I have learned my lesson. I have now disconnected the doorbell. If you really need to reach me, send a carrier pigeon. Or better yet, don’t. The rug and I have a lot of staring to catch up on.