Going door to door

Your comments brought me back to my blog, guys. Thank you all for that, I read them all and I love you beautiful people.

I haven’t written anything in a while and for that I am sorry.

Do I sound drunk? Probably. But I’m not. I had a really bizarre evening and I’m kind of feeling grateful for stuff. Kind of,

I went canvassing door to door for a local charity. We were just getting intel on the neighbourhood and whether people would be open to being contacted later for support/volunteering. We weren’t asking for money or anything.

Before you judge me, hear me out. I HATE people who knock on my door, interrupt my dinner, and try to shake some dollars out of me. Even worse are those who pretend they’re from the government/your water heating company and force their way into your home. Yes, it’s very big here in Ontario. Google “Ontario water heater scam.” The scam is that they tell you you’re eligible for a free upgrade, just sign these forms! You sign the forms, they bring in a new water heater, and now you’re locked into a new (and pricey) contract with some other water heater company. I am terrible to these people.

Luckily, I live in a complex and we don’t get a lot of door to door activity. I’m decent to the folks that aren’t trying to upgrade my water heater.

I was part of a mass e-mail sent out by college friends involved with the charity. They were inviting a group of us canvassing with them. Canvassing is when you go door to door and talk to people. I didn’t want to do it. I thought it would be brutal, having to deal with rejection all evening. I’m not in sales for a reason.

Let me tell you, I was just fine ignoring that email and going about my life as per usual. No. Some son of a bitch hit “reply all” and cheerfully told us he’s interested. Then another one. And another. Fuck you guys, you’re making me look bad. So I obliged.

I bought a sandwich after work and took the subway to meet everyone. I ate half of the sandwich on my way there. I tried to eat the other half discreetly while we were all walking to the charity’s office. I lingered behind everyone while they caught up on their lives. Someone made it their morality duty to embarrass me. He patted my back and practically shouted, “having a late lunch, Kat?” No, fuckhead. This is my dinner, considering you wanted to meet right after work.

The evening was actually decent. Only one person slammed a door in my face and told me to fuck off. It was OK. I got over it instantly. Fear of rejection begone!

There was a pantsless–I repeat, PANTSLESS man answering the door at another house. His balls were hanging out and everything. I tried to focus on his eyes and keep a straight face. Then I realized he was probably a troll and this was his way of getting us to fuck off.

There was a house with a sign just above the door, which read “If I don’t know your first name, fuck off and don’t knock”. It was something like that. We still knocked and I gave him my first name.

Eventually I realized we were in a really low income housing area. The people looked like regular people. It wasn’t the people that gave it away. It was the apartment itself. It looked dingy. It was a co-op. I realized the people I spent all evening talking to were possibly struggling with poverty, domestic abuse, mental health, and addiction. They were so nice to us, even though we were interrupting their dinners. It was lovely.

I have more to say about the last three weeks but I’ll save it.

Ta