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Fucking Solicitors


This blog may get a little long, but read on. It’s pretty fucking insane.

I was enjoying my Sunday morning, watching TV, when suddenly there was a knock at my door. I glanced through the peep hole and saw a frail looking older woman standing there. Was the volume of my TV too high? I muted the TV and answered the door.

An older man in a jogging suit was standing next to her. He started the sales pitch: Apparently, this woman who looked familiar, lived in my building on the other side. She was trying to get a job with the L.A. Times and needed some neighbors to sign up for the Sunday delivery for a few weeks to help her out.

As the man was talking, it suddenly dawned on me. I’d seen these people before. Not in my building. But several years ago in a condominium complex I was living in almost thirty miles away. They were giving me a similar pitch, only that time the woman was a recent widow. I didn’t fall for the scam then, either. Was this a coincidence that the same woman chose to live exactly where I live now? I didn’t think so. I declined their offer and shut the door.

Of course, I could’ve just let that go. But I didn’t. I was pretty pissed off that they were pulling this scam, so I decided to hunt them down and confront them. When I caught up with them, they were just leaving another resident’s door. They apparently scored there.

I walked right up to them, ready to let them have it, and I did. Only it didn’t come out the way I wanted it to. You see, my body was filled with adrenaline at the time, and I kind of have a problem with anxiety. My voice cracked as I told them I remember them from my old residence. The man denied it. Now he was claiming to live across the street. Despite my body wanting me to flee, I persisted. I told them to get the fuck out of the building. And it would’ve been pretty cool, except with the cracking voice, it sounded more like Peter Brady telling them.

Finally, they started to leave, but not before the man in the jogging suit managed to ruin my day. He turned to me and he looked me in the eye and said, “I know where you live.” I said, “So, fucking what! Get the fuck out of here!” But my mind was saying, “Oh, fuck. I am so fucking dead. This guy probably has mob ties. I’ll probably wake up tonight with the barrel of a shotgun shoved down my throat.”

Anyhow, they eventually left. I managed keep my legs from falling out from under me and get back to my apartment. Then I called the police. After waiting on hold for several minutes, it was explained to me that the “I know where you live” statement could not be considered a threat. Basically, I’m fucked. So, if you don’t see any entries on this blogger site next week, you’ll know why. It’s kind of hard to write when your brains are splattered all over the wall. Fucking Solicitors suck.

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