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  In the prior column, I listed most of the main classes of door-to-door irritants. But I reserved the best for last and a column all unto themselves.
Because the Jehovah’s Witnesses are in a class all by themselves. We’re just down the street from a huge Kingdom Hall, meaning that our neighborhood is always a target. And, this side of a televangelist, there is no one more intent upon saving your soul than a JW. We get them all, usually utilizing an adorable moppet as a selling tool. The hubs is a sucker for this, but I’m not. I usually suggest that junior looks thirsty and would he/she prefer a shot of ice cold vodka or room temperature scotch, and they tend to meander off. But, sadly, they keep on coming BACK. Maybe junior really wants that drink. I would, if I were hanging with these people 24/7.
My favorite JW experience was when we only had one dog, the big fella. It’s also the reason we installed a heavy-duty metal screen door -- not to keep anyone out, but to keep him IN. He’s 110 pounds of muscle and a runt for his breed, so, you know, he’s always overcompensating. He’s also a guard dog and he takes his job VERY seriously. It was a weekend, so prime JW time. A man and what I took to be his wife came by, in their Missionary Best, which looked exactly as that sounds. They rang the bell. The big fella started his standard cacophony. And the woman started backing up. But not her husband. He was going to save my soul! So, I opened the door a crack. The big fella started instantly clawing at the door to get through, while making sounds reminiscent of both original and mecha-Godzilla. By now, the woman was at the sidewalk. But the man held fast. I managed to ask what he wanted. The JWs usually come with a prepared spiel, and he was no exception.  Jehovah who? Instead, he looked down at my precious puppy, Love Spawn of Alien and Predator, and said, “…and there’s yours…” and lost it. We looked at each other and suddenly he was in danger of dying because I was laughing so hard I was at risk of not being able to hold the dog back and he was laughing too hard to run. In between howls of laughter I managed to share the usual ‘we have our own religion’ line while he nodded and waved merrily while he backed away. Meanwhile, his loving spouse was already out of view, running down the street. I assume she decided she only had to outrun him and that it wasn’t all that far back to the Kingdom Hall and salvation from the big fella. However, one funny anecdote is not enough to make me want to keep on having the JWs and their less religiously-minded but still all-too-annoying brethren beating down my doors. So I have a solution. I’m getting a sign made. A big one. It’ll say: “No Soliciting! This means you, yes, you. Yes, you, if you are a tree trimmer, salesperson of any kind or stripe, kid selling anything for any reason, and especially if you’re peddling a religion of any kind. Stay away, keep off the weeds, and take your moppets with you. And if all else fails and you continue to annoy me, I shall release the Hounds. They just want to have you help them stay off the streets and off kibble.” Then, when they ring the bell anyway, I’ll greet them with something sure to make them run. I think a naked, middle-of-forty woman with a .357 Magnum makes a clear statement, don’t you? |
The Great Corrupter
