At the Door (Part 1)

I opened the door, and hoped for it not to be Ms. Gibbs. She used to knock on the door all the time, and she would walk all the way from her house, at the end of the block, to my house, so I could open her jar of pickles or something. She chose me because unlike most of the people there, I was actually nice, and preferred to hide my emotions than being mean to people.

But no Ms. Gibbs today, no. It wasn’t the cat either, who would accidentally crashed against the door following some dumb butterfly or delicious bird. Today, there was a man standing at the door.

He wasn’t so much a man, though. He looked more like a teenager, because his hair was not yet ugly and white, and because he seemed nervous and embarrassed. Why would he?

Ah, probably because he was dressed up bizarrely. Believe it or not, this guy was wearing something similar to a Girl Scouts’ outfit. No, maybe he was wearing one of those things. It was pathetic enough, and it wasn’t even pink. But there was an unnecessary hat un top of his head, and he had pins all over the uniform. Proud to be a Girl Scout.

His hairy legs didn’t look fantastic with those tiny short of his, and he was just missing an allergy to look absolutely gross. The laces of his preppy and shiny boots were untied, what made him looked clumsy, even when standing still. His posture didn’t help, either. The socks were a darker brown than the rest of the uniform, and one was up straight while the other was rugged at the bottom, covering the boot’s neck.

Other than the fact that he didn’t have a squirrel resting on his shoulder, he was holding a tray. It was nothing fancy, nothing that would’ve been stolen from his mom, or anything. But there were cookies in the tray.

Handmade? Unfortunately, not many Girl Scouts have visited my front porch, and so I haven’t learned to distinguish between a handmade cookie and a ‘real’ one. Not like the odor was fascinating; I wasn’t hungry, and so I didn’t feel any urge to eat one of those. They looked burned and hard to chew, and the supposed decoration un top was rotting them instead. No, thank you.

I tried to laugh. Or at least tried to think that this was funny. But, no. It was weird. This probably only happens to me, I thought. What does he want? Should I get my money…? Maybe, it was all one big laugh, because, what normal teenage BOY dresses up in THIS outfit and knocks on doors and hopes to make a profit out of it…? But maybe, he wasn’t looking for money. Maybe he wasn’t normal. Maybe he had problems. For a crazy second, I felt sorry for him, and wanted to be nice and take him inside and be some kind of wannabe psychologist.

I was messing up my mind, and finally stopped when Girl Scout dude said something.