The doorbell rang around 6 last night as I was starting to prepare dinner. This isn't typical, as someone has come to the door only 5 or 6 times in the 6 months we've lived here. Mostly the UPS guy, once a neighborhood kid selling coupon books to fund a school trip to California. Enzo reacted to the sound with his usual crazed high-intensity alarm; I picked him up and went to the door.
Two guys were there; one seemed rather young and was wearing a grey sweatshirt with the hood up. The other was a little older, maybe in his mid-twenties. He was better dressed, with a tie, I think, and a fleece vest. No hat. The older one did all the talking. He started saying things like, "I just talked to your neighbor Bill..." and "you might remember two young ladies who came here last year..." Well, no I really don't because we're new here, and my neighbor's name is not Bill. He must have interpreted my nonverbal cues as a willingness to listen because he came up onto the front porch and stood near me by the door.
He was talking fast, it seemed to me, and I didn't quite grasp the nature of his visit. My first thought was that they were Jehovah's witnesses come to try to save me. But there was a clipboard and something about needing to gain job skills, and didn't I remember what it was like, just starting out? Something about a mentor, something about customer service skills. He held the clipboard in front of me, showing me some writing on a page, meant to impart legitimacy.
I was uncomfortable. I was home alone, it was dark and this guy was talking fast. What did he want from me? The young guy just stood there and smiled.
So I said, I'm not comfortable talking with you. I'm just not comfortable.
The older guy actually scoffed, threw up his hands and snickered as he turned and left the porch. He probably thought (my projection) that I was uncomfortable because both of the guys were black and they were not from around here. It made me uncomfortable to think that they would think that. Rich white lady in a big house in a fancy white neighborhood doesn't want to give the time of day to 2 young black kids trying to make their way in the world. Ummmm, no, not really.
Mark was more matter-of-fact about it. People don't come to your door at night just to spend time with you. They either want to save your soul or sell you something. Or worse, case your house.
When I was talking to Mark about the visit, I felt small and old and vulnerable. I felt out of practice being savvy and street-smart like I was when I lived back east near hard-hittin' New Britain. I felt unnerved at 3:30 this morning when I woke up with this on my mind. I connected this event to the horrific murders of Dr. Petit's wife and daughters in Cheshire in 2007. That time it was 2 white guys who cased the house and came back to rip a family apart. That was an event that left a permanent scar on the psyche of every person who heard about it, watched it unfold on the news, read about it day after day in the papers. It reminded us all about how vulnerable we are all of the time.
If it had been 2 young white guys last night, one standing silently wearing a hoodie, the other one a smooth-fast-talker standing a foot away from me in the thin yellow pool of the porch light, I believe I would have felt just as uncomfortable and would have tried to get them to go away just as quickly. I suppose I wouldn't have had that instantaneous internal white-oriented conflict of wanting them to leave while hoping they wouldn't think I was sending them away because they're black. But I would have wanted them to go away, of that I'm sure.
first of all, i want to say how completely well written this is. now that we've gotten that out of the way, i want to get to the nitty gritty. I think Dad's right - people don't usually come to the house unless they want something one way or another. period. if that was unclear to you, why they were there in the first place, that's a red flag. it could be nothing - true. but as a hyper vigilant woman, in this world which is scary sometimes, i always ALWAYS tell myself in any kind of situation like that ... to go with my instinct. we are taught, as women, to be nice. to make people feel comfortable. to give the benefit of the doubt. and sometimes, that comes in handy. but in other times, that still small voice whispering something...listening to that voice could be the difference to a good day and a very very bad one. i don't think it matters what color their skin was. truly. i know you, obviously, and i understand your reticince about that one small factor. but personally, i think if it were two white guys, a guy and a girl... whatever, and you had that uncomfortable, why are you here feeling...you would've felt the same regardless. whatever the reason for their being there, it's important that you listened to your instinct. that's what it's there for. and the details...honestly, it doesn't really matter that much. you have every right to say - i don't want to listen and you're not welcome here. even if they were really looking for job skills or a mentor or whatever (honestly - haven't they heard of the internet for that kind of thing?!) no apologies, no exceptions. it's your right and your life. we do not need to be friends with everybody. sometimes the best thing you can do, no matter how uncomfortable, is be friends with yourself and say "No." when your inner voice is on alert.
ReplyDeleteThanks, wise Jodi.
DeleteSo uncomfortable and down-right scary to read about! Jodi has said it perfectly! We ARE (as women) always wanting to be nice. Nope...gotta make that change happen and feel good about listening to our own inner voices.
ReplyDeleteSo, do you have an alarm system in place, up there on your mesa?! xo