Guest Recluse Posted October 22, 2010 Share Posted October 22, 2010 So today I'm sitting on the couch, writing in the cool quiet...and a shadow crosses the glass inlay of my front door. I am now paying attention. After moment of hovering at the glass, the shape begins fiddling with the doorknob. My hair is raising. Is someone trying to break in? Two days ago, a neighbor a few houses down shot and killed a man trying to invade her home. Maybe I'm a little on edge about that. My revolver is always in my purse, and I have it now, held next to my thigh. I love the .38 special, there's no safety, there's no external hammer, it's just point and click. My heart is pounding, I can feel it in my neck, in my temples, and I've started to shake. The guy is still fiddling with the doorknob, and I don't want to confront him, but I'd rather try to avoid shooting someone by scaring them off. In half a breath, the deadbolt is slipped, the knob is squeezed and the door is open. The pistol is out of view, between my thigh and the door frame, easy to lift it and shoot from the hip if I have to. "Something on your mind?" I ask, a little louder, a little angrier than I wanted. A middle-aged man, white, somewhat portly, is stumbling backward, dropping a handful of political advertisement knob-hangers. He reaches to cling to the pillar outside the front door to steady himself, the faces of his old white-guy candidate strewn and grinning around his old-lady tennis shoes. He quickly rights himself and peers at me...I am not a normal-looking, pretty woman...and so he immediately frowns, but glosses over with a fake smile a seconds later. "I...uh...I'm walking the neighborhood, letting people know about [candidate] and what he intends to do for you." "Surely you saw the sign that reads 'No Solicitation - Leave No Fliers', yes?" I ask, there's acid in my tone. "Guess I didn't see it." He answers, but he's not looking at me, he's busy gathering up the fallen door-hangers. I can see his sensible white cotton briefs over the muffin-lip of his back fat. Without looking up, he asks, "If you don't mind my askin', how do you intend on voting on November 2nd?" "I *do* mind you asking, and it's a rude question. Ballots in the US are anonymous for a fucking reason. You have no right to ask anyone how they intend on voting." For a moment, he straightens, looking stunned. Had he never thought about this? "But since you asked, your candidate is conservative, clearly you can see by looking at me that I'm at the very least, a moderate swing-voter, and at the very worst, a pro-gay, leftist libertarian with a love for letting women have abortions on medicare and letting gay people get married and serve openly in the military now - get the fuck off my porch, you knew you weren't wanted the second I opened the door." He looks like a fish. A little gape, his face is reddening. He's looking down at my hand. I hadn't realized I'd taken a step toward him. The pistol is now in partial view, hanging at my side. Oops. I'm a little embarrassed. Oh well, nothing I can do about it now. He leaves. I hate door-to-door political advertisements. I hate getting phone calls, I hate seeing the stupid fucking attack ads. They should all be fucking illegal. I know that's probably going to twinge people in regard to the 1st Amendment, and for that I'm sorry, but the candidates should just cite their views on topics and ship them out in the mail...once. No shit-slinging, no drama, no bothering people in their homes, no emotional bribery, just say what they think about hot-button topics and shut the fuck up until November 2nd. /end snarl Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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