The mystery person pounded on the door. It was the kind of knock only the UPS guy does, or maybe Fedex. I was not expecting a package, but the knock said I must have one.
I opened the door and saw a salesperson. I glanced behind him and saw his truck: “Meaties.”
“Hello,” he began cheerfully, “Have you ever heard of Meaties?”
I had not heard of Meaties, but from the looks of it, he was selling frozen meat door-to-door.
I did the only thing I could: “I’m vegetarian.”
He looked crestfallen, like a child expecting Christmas when it is already January.
“Sorry,” I added, an afterthought.
“Your whole family?”
“Even your husband?”
I’m not really gay (although I think gay people are wonderful and wish I had more gay friends) and I am not really vegetarian. I am just extremely morally opposed to people trying to sell me things when I am basking in the comfort of my own home taking a break from blatant consumerism.
“I don’t believe you.”
About which part? The vegetarian or the gay?
“It’s true. My whole family is vegetarian.” Here I almost added “vegan,” but thought better of it.
He gave me a blank stare.
“I shut you down, huh?” I inquired, stating the obvious.
“Yeah,” he shrugged.
I suddenly felt obligated to throw him a bone (so to speak): “My neighbors LOVE meat!” I pointed to their house for emphasis.
“Have a good evening,” he murmured, defeated.
Ahhh, Meaties. They don’t stand a chance. Now if someone just knocked on my door with a truck called “Chocolate-ies.”